Page 210 of Rosetti Family New York
He kisses me hard, pulling me deeper, tighter. And it’s perfect, every bit of it. Years of not being believed, of holding back, of never having what I need. All of it explodes in the heat of this moment, and I think I might lose myself to it. I want to.
Then it’s over. He pulls away, slow and deliberate. His eyes stay on me, holding me in place, and I see a flicker of something in them.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Carter.”
I feel undone. Raw. Unsteady.
He’s right, though. For the first time, someone sees it all. And the weight of that is incredible.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he says again, voice softer, pulling me in like gravity, and this time, I know I’ll stay.
18
Rafaele
Kissing her is a fucking revelation. I didn't expect the softness. The sweetness. I didn't expect to want more. The feel of Sloane lingers on my lips, more dangerous than anything I've ever tasted. I should pull away. But I sink deeper, drowning in her, knowing it's the last place I should be.
She's still on the couch, and I'm kneeling before her. Her body melts against mine. I drink in her scent, her heat. Nothing I've ever done prepares me for the way she makes my head spin. It's electric, explosive. Better than sex. Better than anything I've felt in years, maybe ever. And here I am, an addict needing another fix, already too hooked for my own good.
I am no fucking good for her. She doesn't know what she's getting into. She thinks killing a dog is the worst crime a person can commit, for Christ's sake. If she ever finds out the truth about me, about the bodies I've buried—hell, I'll be the one bleeding out in the gutter. The smart move is to end it before it begins. But smart isn't how I feel. Dumb is how I feel. Reckless and selfish. Desperate to make her mine.
Alisa's face flashes in my mind, sudden and uninvited. The last woman who thought she could handle me. The one who looked at me with the same bright eyes until she saw what I really am. The disgust on her face that night still haunts me. The night she watched me put a man in the hospital for disrespecting my sister. I still remember her backing away, those wide eyes narrowing, that mouth that used to smile at me twisting in horror.
"You're a monster," she'd whispered.
And she was right.
Her taste stays with me, even when I try to focus on why this is a bad idea. She'll see me for what I am. A killer, not a lover. A man with too much blood on his hands. And her? She is light and soft. Bright. I'll snuff it out. But even thinking that, all I want is another kiss. She burns into me. And it scares the hell out of me. The woman is lethal.
I have to get a grip. She'll never forgive the shit I've done. But fuck me if she isn't the only thing I want. I should end it. Put a stop to whatever this is before it sinks its claws into me.
But I don't. I kiss her again, rougher this time, like maybe I can crush the wanting with sheer force. It only makes me want her more. I taste her shock, her desire, all of it undercut by the curiosity that drives her, that should make me pull away and run like hell.
She isn't running.
But I need to, don't I? I try to remember that, but the feel of her, the scent of her, makes everything fucking hazy.
So, I do the hardest thing I've ever done. I pull away.
My head is swimming. My pulse hammers so loud it hurts. The second my lips leave hers, I know I did the right thing. It's the only way to keep from being sucked in by her again.
I get to my feet. Step back. Run a hand through my hair.
"This is a mistake," I say.
I see the look in her eyes. It hits me like a punch to the gut. But I need this to end. Need to let her go. And she needs to let me go, even if she doesn't realize it yet.
"We can't do this, Sloane."
Her lips part, but I don't let her get a word in.
"I can't do this," I clarify.
She stands too, so I'm not towering over her, though she's still nowhere near eye-level. Her eyes are sharp, like she's trying to dissect me right here on the spot.
"Is this because of the dog?"
"No. Don't be stupid."
