Page 33 of His to Destroy

But I was definitely surprised that he took off his shirt and got into play mode with Luca and some of the other children my son made fast friends with in the thirty minutes we were there before Gaspare arrived.

He raises an eyebrow when he sees me.

“You’re still awake.”

“So are you,” I point out. “You don’t have to do that now, you know? The kid’s got other balls.”

He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Might as well put my awake self to good use.”

I grab a glass of water and lean against the counter across from him. The silence stretches, thick and warm.

“What’s really going on?” I ask.

He studies me. That quiet, calculating stare.

“I came to see you today at the park. Not just to play with Luca.”

The words land heavier than I expect.

“You don’t have to keep checking on us, you know. We’re safe here.”

His jaw ticks. “It’s not just about safety.”

Of course it isn’t.

He moves closer. Not a lot. Just a step.

“I think about you,” he says, voice low. “More than I should.”

I swallow hard. “Don’t.”

But I don’t move away.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues. “And I’ll never be able to erase that. But if I could change it—if I could go back—”

“You can’t.”

“I know.”

The quiet between us vibrates like a plucked string.

His eyes flicker to my lips.

I can’t breathe.

“I want you to want me,” he murmurs, “not because you have to—but because you feel it.”

My heart is pounding. I can hear it in my ears.

“Gaspare—”

And then his mouth is on mine.

His lips part mine gently, coaxing, asking. I let him in.

My hands slide up his chest, curling into his shirt. He groans softly against my mouth, pulling me closer. The heat between us sparks into flame.

When he lifts me onto the counter, I gasp.

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