Page 153 of Ruin Me Gently

Was I fan-girling over my stalker?

I was. I was fan-girling over my fucking stalker.

Oh my God, Lilith. Stop.

He hesitated before taking a slow, careful step forward, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt if he moved too fast.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice low and careful.

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh, blinking hard as I gestured toward him. “Are you serious?” I raised my brows, waving my hand at him like he was some kind of hallucination.

His chest rose and fell like he was trying to hold himself back. In a rough voice, he said, “Oh, Dio santo, Lilith. Can I touch you?”

My brain stuttered. “Uh—yes?”

He closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around me so tightly against him I lost my breath.

For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself melt into his warmth, the solid weight of him. But my body had other ideas, and a sharp shock rippled through my ribs, my stitched-up skull throbbing in protest. I winced, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Oh, shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said, hands flying off me like he’d burned me, voice frantic, eyes darting over my whole body like he was searching for more damage.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said quickly, shaking my head as I reached out, catching his hands before he could fully retreat. I squeezed gently. “I promise, it’s fine.”

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking.

Then slowly, I loosened my grip. He didn’t pull back. He did the opposite. His fingers shifted, turning under mine, tracing lightly along my wrists before sliding up my arms. A slow, careful movement until his hands were on my face.

He just stared. His beautiful, dark brown eyes rimmed with tears.

And Christ, if that didn’t make mine sting too.

I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t know why he was looking at me like that, why it felt like I’d been ripped out of some nightmare and thrown straight into his arms. All I knew was that Mr. Stalker was here. And now he had hold of my face and was peppering soft kisses all over it. His lips pressed to my forehead, my cheek, the bridge of my nose, my jaw—

The room tilted a little, and I swayed, knees threatening to buckle, but before I could embarrass myself completely, his hands were there, steadying my waist.

“Do you want coffee?” he asked. “Food?”

“Coffee would be good,” I said, licking my dry lips.

“Come on.” His fingers threaded through mine, warm and firm as he led me to the kitchen. My brain short-circuited. Our hands. Laced together. It had happened plenty of times before. This just felt… different. And I wasn’t sure if I liked it.

That was a lie. I definitely liked it.

He pulled out a stool for me, watching as I sank onto it with a heavy exhale, propping my elbows onto the marble. “I don’t really know what to say,” I admitted, rubbing my temples, suddenly feeling woozy.

He glanced over his shoulder. “That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.”

I let outa slow breath, closing my eyes for a second. Yeah. That sounded easier. But I couldn’t leave it alone, could I?

“What happened?” I asked, pressing my palms against the counter.

“How’s your memory doing?”

I cracked one eye open. “Evidently? Shit.”

He placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, and I wrapped my fingers around it, letting the warmth heat my palms, even as my brain struggled to catch up.

My eyes flicked back up to him as I took a slow sip. “How long have I been here?”

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