Page 26 of And Everything In Between

She was too drunk, too full of him to resist. She didn’t even want to.

Giovanni scooped her off the pool table like she weighed nothing, carrying her through the lounge in silence. He pushed into the apartment connected to the shop, carried her straight to the bathroom, and set her gently on the counter.

One hand reached for the shower knob, turning it until steam filled the air.

When the water was hot enough, he stepped out of his boxers, got in the shower and pulled her under the spray with him.

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. Her staying quiet, pliant, wrapped around him, said everything. The water beat down over them, washing away the sweat, the liquor, the mess they made of each other.

Giovanni rested his forehead to hers, the loofah tracing a slow path down her hips, her thighs, her ass. He was still mesmerized. Paige leaned into him, her body soft and trusting. She hadn’t expected this. Not from him.

She’d read him wrong. Completely.

He took his time, lathering her up with calm tender hands.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he helped her out of the shower.

“You’re welcome. Oil or lotion?”

“Uhm, oil.”

He grabbed the body oil from the cabinet and started working it in, palms gliding down her back, over her legs. She let out a soft moan when he hit her calf just right. He stopped and gave her a warning look.

“Be cool,” he said, feeling himself get excited. He could go for another round. Another taste. Easy.

She let him do whatever he wanted, too tired to keep pretending she didn’t need this. It wasn’t sex, it was something much softer. And she’d forgotten what that felt like.

Her voice cracked, almost disbelieving. “I thought you were just trying to fuck me outta my head.”

Giovanni met her gaze as he worked oil into her thigh. “I was,” he said, smirking. Then quieter, more serious, “But I’m tryna bend right with you too.”

That stopped her breath. That line. That truth. She didn’t expect that from him, not like this, not now. He barely knew her. But somehow, it still felt like they’d known each other intimately.

Later, he slipped a dry shop t-shirt over her head, the hem brushing her thighs. When they hit the bed, she tucked herself into his side, her palm resting lightly against his chest.

Paige was never quiet. Never still. She was a live wire on any normal day. And yet, here she was. Soft. Still. Safe. And shocked by how much she didn’t hate it. She had built her entire identity around not needing anybody.

Giovanni had done what no man before him had the patience or presence to do—put her right where she was supposed to be. At ease.

He wrapped his arm around her, dropped his chin to the top of her head, and let sleep take them both.

Chapter 8

Giovanni crouched beside the bed, his hand lingering against the warmth of her thigh, debating if he should even wake her yet. She looked so peaceful and completely unbothered. The stresses of her life had melted into the sheets in the night. There was no tension in her face, no tight jaw or furrowed brow. Just quiet. And he wanted to keep her there, untouched by the world, for as long as he could.

“Paige,” he whispered.

She was curled toward the space he’d left in bed, one arm tucked between her legs, the other stretched across where he’d been lying. His T-shirt had twisted around her during the night, hanging off one shoulder, riding high enough to expose the dips and curves he wanted to touch every night.

He dragged his thumb lightly over the curve of her leg, assuming he had every right. Maybe he did now. Maybe last night had given him that.

Paige stirred, a soft noise rumbling in her throat. She shifted toward him, brushing her foot against his arm like she was searching for him even in sleep.

Giovanni exhaled through his nose, a low, quiet breath. She didn’t even know. She had no fuckin’ idea what kind of spell she had dropped on him. This wasn’t just a night or a nut. He didn’t just crave her skin. He wantedeverything. The attitude. The softness. The secrets. The fight. She smelled like heaven, sun-kissed, sweet, enveloping, he’d never forget it. He could seeher, read her. She was stubborn, reckless, and beautiful. And he wanted that headache.

“Wake up, baby,” he said again, voice rougher now, luring. “I made breakfast.”

Paige’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting with a soft exhale. For a second, she blinked up at him, dazed and adorable, looking like she had forgotten where she was. Then recognition flooded back and with it came panic.

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