Page 64 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
Cristiano shrugs off his jacket and maintains eye contact as he hooks it over the back of his chair. Then he rolls up his shirtsleeves, rests his forearms on the table, and leans toward me.
“No fruit cup for you?” I force a thread of innocence into my voice in the hope of disguising the avalanche of lust crashing over me at the sight of his thick, inked, and corded forearms.
The waiter returns quickly and pours us each a glass of water. I barely wait for him to finish before I gulp mine down in one. A trickle slips down my chin, and I finally avert my eyes to dab at it with a napkin.
“I’m not as hungry as you, it seems,” Cristiano says.
I arch a brow. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you growing men need to eat?”
“I kind of hope I’ve stopped growing.” He tips back his own water, and unlike me, he doesn’t spill it down his chin. “It would be a pain to have to go up yet another shoe size. Sixteens are already hard to come by.”
I gulp and lean backward, only to silently curse the tablecloth for concealing everything south of his waist.
I lift the drinks menu and fan myself. I was shivering a minute ago—why has it suddenly become so damn hot in here?The last thing I want is to coat my body in a sheen of sweat before I change into my bridal gown.
“How did you sleep?”
His abrupt change of topic startles me.
“Um, I slept well, thank you ... Relative to how I normally sleep.”
“And how do you normally sleep?”
“Fine.” I force a smile onto my face.
“Fine?” There’s a note of impatience in his voice, and somehow I know I’m not going to get away with confessing anything but the truth.
My breath shortens. I’ve lived with erratic sleep patterns, insomnia, and night terrors ever since Mama’s murder, but I’ve never talked to anyone about it. Living in the apartment helps. If no one can hear my screams, no one will ask any questions.
Oh.
My cheeks heat under his determined scrutiny.
“You won’t lock your door tonight.”
It isn’t a request; it’s an instruction. And it sets my pulse racing.
Shame creeps across my skin, making me shudder. What did he hear? I don’t know what I sound like when I have nightmares—all I know is I wake up drenched with sweat, my throat hoarse, and my limbs shaking. I don’t want to bring that part of my life into this one—although, admittedly, that ship might have sailed.
I don’t want to bother anyone with my problems—least of all Cristiano. They’re my problems, not his. And I’m not his responsibility. Nor am I his charity case.
“Whatever you heard ...” I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He watches me steadily, but he looks pissed. “Yes. So you’ve said.” His nostrils flare as he breathes in a ragged breath. “You still won’t lock the door.”
I stare back at him. “I thought I had to for mysafety.”
He swallows and wipes the pad of a thumb across his mouth. “Let me be the one to worry about that.”
Not wanting to draw attention to my now quivering hands, I wring them together beneath the tablecloth.
The food arrives mercifully quickly, simmering the tension that’s settled over the table, and I feel full just looking at it.
Cristiano rests his chin on his hands and watches me, his brows raised in a challenge.
I push back my shoulders and swallow the turmeric shot. A flame erupts in my throat.
Fuck, it’s spicy.
