Page 69 of And Everything In Between

Giovanni broke every traffic law known to man, getting Paige back to the house.

He barely cut the engine before they were inside, doors locked, shoes kicked off, mouths pressed to skin, fearful the world might end in the next hour. She’d been his since the moment she stepped into his life with those smart-ass jokes, guarded heart, and eyes that saiddon’t play with me unless you mean it.

Clothes dropped like breadcrumbs down the hallway. Her back hit the wall, his lips found the curve of her neck, and everything else was lost to moans, gasps, breathless yeses, and unspoken needs. She gave herself to him completely, matching every kiss, every thrust. Paige loved this man. And he loved her. He made damn sure she felt that every time he slid in her walls.

Afterward, they bathed each other in silence, soft music playing low, his fingers gently detangling her curls while her legs rested over his lap. They didn’t need to talk about what it was; theyfeltit.

Tomorrow, it was back to work. Back to emails, clients, and contracts. But neither thought about that. They vowed to stay in the moment until they couldn’t anymore.

Giovanni kissed her behind her ear once they slid beneath the covers.

“You already know,” he murmured.

Paige nodded, curled into his chest with a steady heartbeat and sank into the mattress. “I know.”

It came out soft, like a secret she was finally ready to admit.

And with the moon high and their skin still warm, they fell asleep, full, fed, and all in.

Chapter 17

Two Weeks Later

Giovanni slammed the shop door behind him, jaw clenched so tight it popped. He’d been on the phone for three hours straight with the network, listening to them ramble off ideas that they wanted to change. Which was damn near everything about the show, his vision, his approach, even the damn name. Now that the check cleared, they wanted him to act like he was some reality TV character. And Sienna was still inserting herself into production meetings, suggesting “improvements” to his builds that would turn authentic craftsmanship into reality TV bullshit.

He tossed his keys onto the counter hard enough to make them skid across the granite and fall onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he muttered, not bothering to pick them up.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Again. He ignored it. Again. He needed five minutes without someone demanding a piece of him, asking for decisions, needing his approval, trying to shape him into whatever would get the most views. It had never been about that, and he was about to resort to different measures if his words weren’t getting through. He was wondering if he’d gone soft. Why was he having to repeat himself?

The tension had been building for days now. Too many plates spinning, too many people pulling him in different directions. Spirit had noticed it and told him to go home beforehe snapped at somebody who didn’t deserve it. He left his home office and drove aimlessly until he ended up at his sanctuary, the shop.

The show was his vision. It wasn’t some damn circus. And he damn sure didn’t want to become the clown. Giovanni grabbed a beer from the fridge. and slammed the door. He rolled his shoulders and took a swig.

He didn’t hear the door at first. But he felt the shift in the air, her presence was unmistakable. He turned to find Paige standing in the doorway of his apartment above the shop, still in her work clothes, a simple black dress, and heels that made his mouth salivate even though he was mad at the world.

“Bad day?” she asked, her voice so calm it almost made him angrier. Because now he was going to have to take from her instead of give. “Don’t go there. Answer me.”

He needed her and she wasn’t counting how many times. She was showing up because that’s what you do when your person’s peace is under attack. Paige had gotten a text from Spirit twenty minutes ago that simply said:He’s not good. If you can pull up, do it.She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

Giovanni wasn’t a man who cracked easily. He didn’t throw tantrums or sulk. He carried things quietly, stoically, until the weight started showing up in the way he moved, the way he shut down.

“You could say that,” he replied, sharper than he meant to. He turned away, not wanting her to see the frown on his face. Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. She closed the distance between them, set her purse on the counter.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked, sitting beside him, looping her arm around his. Her chin rested on his bicep.

“Nah, not really.” He shook his head. “All I’ve been doing is talking. I’m sick of my own voice at this point.”

She nodded, understanding without pressing. “You eat yet?”

He hadn’t. Hadn’t even thought about it. Giovanni looked over at her. His tired eyes told her all she needed to know.

“I figured. Can I feed you?” she asked, kicking off her heels and moving to the fridge. She began to pull out ingredients. He didn’t have much in here, but she worked with what she had and decided on club sandwiches and French fries.

Giovanni watched her move; thankful she didn’t try to fill the silence with false reassurances or solutions. Because he wasn’t trying to hear it. And if she were in his shoes, she wouldn’t want too either. They understood the solace-seeking parts of each other. Silence was never personal.

“The network wants to change everything.” The words spilled out despite himself. “They want to make it flashy. Gimmicky. Like every other bullshit car show on TV. All the shit I specifically said I wouldn’t do.”

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