Page 171 of Salvatore

He glares, and I hate it. I hate that my mistakes have ruined his playful side.

I lower my attention to the buttons of his shirt, the crisp white material, the outline of pure man beneath. “And in the rec room, you could’ve handed me a stale cracker instead of ninety thousand dollars’ worth of clothes and I still would’ve let you corrupt me against the pool table.”

“It’s the pregnancy,” he growls. “One in three women have a heightened libido.”

I press my lips tight, fighting a smile. “That’s awfully factual. How deep have you gone down the pregnancy rabbit hole, Mr. Costa?”

“Enough to be fucking petrified on your behalf.”

His tone is serious.Deadserious.And it’s so goddamn cute I can’t stop the laugh that escapes. I pay for it instantly, pain shredding through my abdomen, doubling me over for the stitches in my flank to stretch and pull as if made of barbed wire.

“Fuck.” He grabs my arms, stabilizing me. “Are you okay?”

I nod through the subsiding discomfort, my cheek rubbing the deliciously rough stubble of his. I take a moment to breathe him in—to bask in the subtle scent of his aftershave, the heat of his proximity—just in case this retreat of his is planned as a permanent fixture.

“You’re still wrong.” I swallow against the harsh grit of vulnerability clogging my throat. “The pregnancy wasn’t part of the equation the first night we met at Smoke & Mirrors. And I’d still been mindlessly attracted to you.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t loosen his hold. He remains an island. Closed off. Shut down. Impenetrable.

“I understand what you’re doing.” I drag in a slow breath. “And I appreciate it. I adore the way you protect me. But I don’t need to be protectedfromyou.”

“Yes, you do.”

I pull back, mindful of my injuries as I meet his eyes. “I don’t, Salvatore… unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You need to reevaluate the faith you have in your judgment skills.”

“I don’t have faith in my judgment.” Not really. Not after Adena. “My faith is inyou.”

His chin raises, my admission seeming to catch him off-guard. “That faith is misplaced.”

“Why?”

“Because my intention to do right by you is slipping.”

I frown. “I don’t under?—”

“Let me make this clear,” he growls. “Every choice I make when it comes to you is getting clouded. That noble, self-sacrificing bullshit I’ve been clinging to is growing old, and I can’t tell if I’m protecting you anymore or simply keeping you where I can’t lose you.”

My pulse accelerates.

He’s not just waving a red flag. He’s leading a damn parade. And here I am, front row, popcorn in hand, like he’s the world’s greatest showman.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grabs my chin. “Don’t you understand? I want tokeepyou.Claimyou. That isn’t something those fucking eyes should be softening for.”

He’s right.

He’s undeniably, one hundred percent spitting facts.

But my body? It doesn’t give a damn. It’s all tingling nerve-endings and fluttering arrhythmia as if he’s Jack Dawson,holding me to the bow of the Titanic, making me come alive for the first time.

“Say something,” he demands.

Even that—the aggressive insistence—feels like he’s pushed me off a ledge, plunging me into a blessed free fall.

“You could be right.” My voice is a pitiful rasp. “Hormones might be the answer, because this—” this vibrancy, this urgency, “—it’s an unfamiliar rush.”

His fingers tighten on my chin, his eyes narrowing not with malice, but something darker—something that wars inside him. “Go back to your room, Ivy.”

---