Page 83 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Tony turns to me, his face stony. “Once. A guy tried to get an eighteen year-old girl drunk and force a kiss—and much more—at a party. I stopped him, but not before he got to grope her. I should’ve broken every bone in his hand for that.” I have no doubt that if the man were here, Tony would do exactly that.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you saved her, right?” I say, trying to point out the good he did.
“I was too late. If I had been there earlier, he wouldn’t have gotten near her.” His voice is quiet.
“You can’t protect people twenty-four/seven, Tony. I’m sure she was grateful you helped her, just like I am that you helped me.” I reach out and pat his hand, wanting to cheer him up. It’s unfair that someone who tries so hard can feel so down about himself, while bad people go on blithely like they did nothing wrong.
He looks at my hand on his, then raises his eyes to meet mine. A current of awareness passes between us. It isn’t just attraction. It’s more…like we both understand how unjust and cruel the world can be regardless of what we do.
But oddly enough, he looks even more disappointed and sad. “Thank you,” he says softly.
“You’re welcome.”
The car stops in front of Byron’s penthouse building. “Thanks for saving me…and for the ride.” I open the door and get out of the car.
Tony climbs out as well and looks at me, his gaze expectant.
Oh. The jacket.I begin to shrug out of it, but he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t,” he says. “You should keep it.”
“But it’s your jacket.”
“You need it more than I do at the moment.” His gaze drops to where my strap broke.
I can feel my face heat, and I look away. I totally forgot.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.
“You don’t have to.” It occurs to me he must’ve been on business at the Peacher & Son event. He sure wasn’t there to hang out with Sam or Marty.
“I insist. I’ll sleep better knowing you made it home safely.”
From the resolute way he speaks, I know he isn’t budging. And honestly, I don’t want to argue. Maybe something terrible happened later on to that girl he saved, and he’s trying to make sure nothing happens to me. It’s sweet and considerate.
I let him escort me all the way to my place on the top floor.
“Thank you. As you can see, all safe and sound. You can sleep well tonight,” I say brightly, hoping the darkness in his eyes will ease and unsure what else to do. I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of thing. Maybe I was good at comforting people before, but I’ve forgotten how. The majority of people I’ve met since waking up from the coma are medical professionals. Sam. Marty. My two closest friends are Julie and Byron, and they’re pretty well adjusted. Basically, I’m the biggest mess in the picture.
Tony stares at my mouth, and my lips prickle. His eyes narrow. “You have a cut.”
I touch the left corner of my lower lip and wince at the slight sting. I hadn’t noticed.
He lifts a hand, and the backs of his long fingers almost brush my cheek. All the air rushes out of me, and I start to bite my lip until I remember the cut.
“It needs to be looked at,” he says. His expression is unnaturally calm, but that only tells me how furious he really is. “Can’t believe I missed that.”
“My hair was covering my face,” I say. “And it’s not that bad. I didn’t notice either.”
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Uh… I don’t know.” I’ve never asked Byron. “But I can check.” I enter the passcode and press my index finger to the biometric reader on the digital lock.
Tony puts a hand at the small of my back and ushers me inside. He leads me to a couch and exerts a gentle pressure on my shoulder to sit. Then, after rearranging the jacket around my shoulders to keep me completely covered, he goes to the kitchen, rummages around and brings back a small bag of ice wrapped in a clean towel.
“Here. This’ll help with the swelling.” Instead of handing me the ice, he crouches in front of me and presses it gently against my mouth, his eyebrows pulled together in intense concentration.
I try to take the ice away without touching him. But my hand brushes his, and I feel the connection as intimately as a kiss. I look at him, not understanding why my reaction is so extreme—tears the first time we met, and now this. My brain injury can’t be the cause. If it were, I would have responded like this to someone sooner. Not one of the men I’ve met made me feel the way I do with Tony.
