Page 58 of Hell to Pay

“Rafe has good taste in weapons,” I said.

“A sentence I never thought I’d hear spoken. About anyone.”

I collapsed the knife. “Mind if I set it on the nightstand for now? Assuming you were telling the truth about not killing me in my sleep.”

“I think you’re safe for now,” she said.

I set it on the nightstand and pulled her tighter against me. We’d been in each other’s company every day since we’d gotten home from Greece, but not like this. I’d missed holding her, just being with her. I’d never felt this way about any woman, had never mooned over someone when we weren’t together, had never catalogued all the things I Ioved about them.

“I like you,” I said.

She laughed a little. “I like you too.”

I pulled back so I could see her face. “No, I mean I reallylikeyou. I like everything about you, as a person. I like the way you treat other people. I like the way you live your life. I just reallylikeyou.”

The words didn’t seem like enough to express the feeling in my chest, a feeling so big I was afraid it would leak out, scare the shit out of Lilah, who had only really started to trust us — I hoped — after Greece.

I realized I’d never thought much about whether I’d liked women I’d dated in the past. I mean, I liked them. Obviously. I liked them enough to take them out, spend a little time with them, get them into bed.

But I hadn’t known them like I was beginning to know Lilah. Hadn’t ever had that epiphany when looking at them or hearing them laugh: I actuallylikeyou.

And I was willing to own some of that. Had I ever slowed down enough to know someone? To like them? Had I ever been around a woman long enough to miss her when she was gone?

Lilah was special, there was no doubt about that, but part of what made her special was that she’d forced me to know her. And one thing I was starting to realize? To know Lilah was to love — and to like — her.

Her expression softened. “That’s a really nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.” I squeezed her tight and was relieved when she lay her head back on my chest because the conversation had made me realize something: Lilah had let me in and I hadn’t done the same.

Rafe and Jude were right: she’d want to know about my diabetes. But it didn’t feel right to tell her, not after everything she’d been through, not with everything she went through on a daily basis because of her AVS.

There was no world in which Lilah should spend a single second worrying about me. It was fucked-up to think about her fussing over me after what I’d done. I wanted to take care ofher, to worry abouther.

It wouldn’t make up for the past — that might take a lifetime — but it was something.

She ran her fingers absently along my chest and stomach and my dick stood at attention because even when I was feeling all sappy about Lilah I still wanted to fuck her.

Come to think of it, I pretty much wanted to fuck her all the time.

I took her hand and lifted it to my mouth, planted a kiss in the palm of her hand, then stretched her arm over her head and rolled on top of her.

My dick got harder as I sank into the solid softness of her body, felt her tits press against my chest.

I looked down at her, smoothed the hair back from her forehead. I wanted to memorize the angle of her cheekbones, the way her nose turned up just a tiny bit at the end, the sweet little gap between her teeth, the green of her eyes that made me think of the trees on the mountain during the warmest, lushest days of summer.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. I don’t think you know it, but it’s true.”

She reached up to hold my face in her hands. “You’re beautiful too.”

I lowered my mouth to hers and sank into her pillowy lips, felt her fingers in my hair as she opened her mouth to meet my tongue with her own.

She hooked an ankle around my thigh and my hard cock nestled into the heat between her thighs, turning my lust up to a hundred.

I took the kiss deeper, sweeping her mouth with my tongue, and traced her body with my hands, letting my palms run over the fullness of her tits, the taper of her waist, the softness of her stomach and hips.

I slipped my hand under the hem of her hoodie, but instead of her skin, my fingertips found the ribbed fabric of a tank top.

“You have too many clothes on,” I murmured against her mouth.

---