Page 216 of Rosetti Family New York
“So, you’re forcing me to stay, huh?”
He shrugs, leans back like he’s already won.
“Only way to keep you safe,” he says.
I shake my head, half amused, half furious.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
“I know.”
And just like that, the heat flares again. Only now, it’s not from anger or fear or the usual uncertainty. It’s from the part of him that’s starting to unravel, starting to show itself even when he doesn’t mean to let it.
“You want more food?”
He pushes the plate towards me.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yeah, you are.”
He gets up, moves around the counter with the stealth and confidence of a man who’s always in control.
“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” I say, following him with my eyes. “Think you know everything.”
“I know enough.”
He’s back at the fridge. More food. More things I don’t recognize. But it’s not what he’s doing that matters. It’s the way he’s watching me, like maybe this time, he won’t pull away. Like maybe this time, he’ll let me in just enough for me to show him he can trust me with whatever secrets he’s hiding.
“Don’t I get a say?”
He takes off his gloves, tosses them on the counter.
“Go ahead.”
The air feels charged now, the distance between us smaller, hotter. I walk around the island, stand close enough to see the tension in his shoulders. Close enough to see him soften as I step closer still.
“You’re going to regret this,” I say, my voice low, teasing, ready to dare him to admit the truth.
“You sure about that?”
His eyes are on me, burning through every doubt I have.
I smile, almost touching him, almost not. “I like bad ideas, remember?”
I feel him crack again. Feel him see me in the way that makes everything around us disappear. Makes the rest of the worlddrop away so it’s just him and me and nothing but space and heat and the things he doesn’t say. He moves, like he’s going to grab me, pull me in, and kiss me senseless, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Instead, he reaches behind him and picks up a jar, hands it to me with the slightest hint of a grin.
My heart skips. Spicy mustard. My favorite.
“How did you know?” I ask, breathless, already knowing the answer.
“I know everything about you.”
It’s not the words. It’s the way he says them. It’s the fact that he remembers something so small, just for me. It’s the fact that, as hard as he tries, he can’t keep me out. He’s letting me in more than he wants to, and I can see it in every inch of his body. I see it when he looks at me with frustration and longing and need. I see it in the way he starts to reach for me again, stops, then reaches again. He pulls me in, wraps an arm around my waist, and my heart does more than a somersault.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he says, but it’s filled with something like wonder.
I tilt my head back and smile up at him, and I know I’ve got him.
