Page 21 of Reckless Love

Tears blurred my vision, and I knew I was losing the battle to hold them back.

Saul hesitated. “Alessia?”

I swallowed audibly. “I’m fine, Saul. I promise.”

He swore softly, then shrugged out of his suit jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

Nine

The mouthwatering scents of fresh garlic bread and spaghetti bolognese hit me in the face as I stepped off the private elevator that led to Wick’s penthouse.

My heels clacked across the floors as I came around the corner of the hallway that opened up into a shared entertaining space with the living room and kitchen.

I expected to see Wick behind the large center island, seamlessly transitioning between the oven and stovetop as he worked in the global hot guy uniform of a tight white t-shirt that clung to his biceps and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. He’d be barefoot, as usual, and I swear I’d never had a thing for a guy’s feet until I saw Wick wandering around without shoes and socks.

But Wick wasn’t in the kitchen. The lights were on, and the penthouse smelled divine, but the man responsible wasn’t there.

It was just as well.

Sniffling, I headed for my bedroom to change out of my pencil skirt and top. I’d left Saul’s jacket in the back of the SUV, and I was craving comfy, cozy things to curl up with. But first I needed a shower. Something hot and steamy to wash away the feel of unwanted hands on me.

My nerves were raw and exposed, my chest aching from the sobs I’d swallowed back. Not that I really had a reason to cry. It wasn’t like Mr. Covington had really tried anything.

I was being an overdramatic baby.

Keeping my eyes down as my thoughts whirled in my head, I didn’t see Wick until it was too late. I crashed into his chest—yes, the one covered by white cotton that looked ready to burst at the seams—and bounced backward. Only Wick’s hands on my shoulders kept me from falling.

“Alessia.” Wick’s voice was so soft, so tender, that it shattered my fragile facade.

My face crumpled as I leaned into his chest. The first sob took me by surprise, but Wick didn’t flinch away.

No, Wick picked me up like a toddler as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist, burying my face against his neck.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, starting to move.

I tried to swallow down my cries, but the dam had been cracked wide open, and there was no stopping the torrent of emotions now. I was drowning, and Wick was the only thing that could keep me afloat.

Wick stopped and sat down while keeping me on his lap. One strong arm banded around my back, his hand splayed against my spine. His other hand tangled in my hair, cupping the back of my head as he held me to his chest.

Time fell away, ceasing to exist as I unleashed feelings I’d been swallowing down and holding back for years. I hated that someone like Kirkland Covington was my tipping point. No man, especially not one with a name that stupid, should’ve had that much control over me.

Wick’s hand rubbed up and down my back as he let me fall apart all over him. He never spoke or tried to get me to talk, he just let me know he was there—a steady, reassuring presence that didn’t waver.

And I’d forgotten what it felt like to just have someone be there. Even if Wick was just doing it because I was his wife and he felt obligated, having someone to hold me together when I was on the verge of falling apart was exactly what my soul needed.

Then again, Wick didn’t strike me as the type of guy to do something just because, even if it was expected.

My husband really wasn’t the man I thought I’d married, and, at some point, I was going to have to figure out what that meant. But tonight, I was tired and overwhelmed, and I just really needed a hug.

With a shaky breath, I lifted my head from the very obvious wet spot on his shirt. My makeup had transferred onto the stark white cotton, streaks of orange, pink, and black creating a weird portrait as the medium of my tears melted them together.

“I ruined your shirt,” I whispered, wiping at it with my thumb. It only made the smears worse, and I felt more tears welling up.

Couldn’t I do anything right?

“It’s a shirt, sweetheart. I can buy another,” he reminded me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs catching the last of my tears. “You’re worth a million shirts.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out, feeling the familiar burn of shame tighten around my chest.

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