Page 65 of Worth the Risk

Otherwise something...someone might slip through?

A deep pang caught in my chest as she approached, wide blue eyes locked on mine as she slid her hand onto my waist. ‘That’s why it hurts so much, isn’t it?’

I pressed my lips together. Trust her to get to the heart of it.

‘Did you ever let him explain?’

My laughter grated my throat. ‘The evidence was pretty damn self-explanatory.’

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Maybe you should hear him out—’

Dark dismay punched me in the gut. ‘Are you rethinking dinner with your ex? Are you going to hear him out, give him a chance to win you back?’

She paled, and her hand dropped from my body. I wanted to catch it back, reverse that unnerving feeling that she was slipping through my fingers.

Yeah. Trust. Betrayal. Forgiveness. Slippery fuckers.

‘My situation is different.’

‘Is it?’

‘If you’re trying to pick a fight with me, you’re wasting your time. I’ve dealt with what happened to me and I’ve moved on.’

For a disgraceful second, I envied her strength.

I cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to me before sealing my mouth over hers. Yes, I wanted to shut her up.

I also might have hated her a little for being so bloody self-contained while I was unravelling. I attacked her tongue with mine, that fever to see her undone clambering through me.

At her moan, my heart leapt. I wanted her raw, unfettered and all bloody mine.

Mine. The realisation that I wanted Leonora beyond today, beyond this time and place, even if I had nothing to offer, struck me hard. Enough to deepen the kiss, grab her by the waist and stride towards the nearest wall.

It took a few confusing seconds to realise she was shoving at my shoulders.

What the fuck? ‘Leonora,’ I growled under my breath.

‘No.’

Her denial took a moment to sink in. ‘What?’

‘You’re doing it again. I won’t be used like that.’

Her fierce condemnation staggered me. Shame flamed inside me and I realised she was right. Again.

‘Fucking hell.’ I turned away from her and attempted to claw back much-needed control. When I could take half a breath without choking on the fumes of my less than stellar reaction, I faced her again.

But she was walking away.

‘I’ve got work to do. I’ll send the head steward along to get a menu approval. Be sure to let him know when you want dinner to be served.’

I was being dismissed. And I’d earned this one, too.

More than a little shaken, I headed for the deck where, on the horizon, the picturesque coastline of Sicily baked in the sunlight.

The scene was the exact opposite of my mood. I reached for my phone, toying with the idea of cancelling the dinner.

I abandoned the idea.

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