Page 25 of My Instant Karma

Dante’s warm hands slide up to clasp each side of my neck, cradling my jawline. If it wasn’t for the dull ache, I might mistake the gesture as a prelude to a kiss. However, with the memory of Billy strangling me and recollections from my past surge to the forefront of my mind, I begin to hyperventilate.

Dante pulls his hands away. “Are you okay?”

I calm my breathing. “I just panicked.”

He nudges my chin up so I make eye contact. “Try to remember that I would never hurt you.”

“Yeah, heard that before,” I say without thinking.

He jerks back at my comment. “Should I go?” he asks, pity in his voice.

“I don’t need your pity,” I scoff and look away.

He bends his head down to catch my attention. “My dad used to beat me. I don’t know who hurt you, but that was empathy, not pity.”

“Oh.” I think about what Dante’s life might have been like. I hadn’t tried to read his past, I just assumed he was a spoiled playboy. I shake my shoulders to lose the tension I’m holding. “Try again.”

“Maybe it would help if you kept your eyes on me, reminding you it’s me and not someotherjerk touching you.”

“Got it. You are a totally different kind of jerk.” I smirk, and he returns it.

Staring into his sky blue eyes is harder than I expected. I hardly know him, but I have been more open with him than I’ve been with anyone in years. We don’t even know each other’s stories, although now I suppose we have a good sense of our hurdles.

His fingers slowly crawl into place.

I suck in a breath, but it’s more because of the pleasing sensation than PTSD.

He pauses and gently strokes my neck, and I give a quick, subtle nod for him to keep going. His palms are now flat on my skin.

To keep myself grounded, I study his eyes. There are subtle variations of blues. His deep complexion and dark hair set them off with a stunning effect, and his thick lashes don’t hurt. He’s almost too pretty to look at.

“You’re an asshole,” I say with a frown.

He grins and pours the healing energy into my bruises. “Why now?”

“Those lashes. It isn’t fair.”

“Gift and a curse,” he says flippantly, but there’s truth behind his joke.

“How so?” I ask, and his eyes widen in surprise that I picked up on his meaning.

“One of the reasons my dad hit me. I looked like a girl. Well, before I hit puberty.”

“He sounds like a fucking sweetheart.”

“Then I suppose when girls started appreciating my appearance, I went overboard to compensate.” He sighs. “I’m not proud of what I did.”

I bite my tongue, remembering his advances have been part of my hazing.

He glances down, and his thumb brushes my throat. “The outer bruising is gone. How does it feel?”

I swallow and clear my throat. “Better. Thanks.”

When he pulls away, I mourn the loss of his hands. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me with such compassion and tenderness. Maybe never.

“Your suitcase is by the door,” Dante says. “If you want to take a shower, I can make sure no one bothers you, not even me.”

“Thanks?” I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly being so nice?”

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