Page 116 of Reckless Vow

“You want to know how I feel? Like I failed you.” She winces like I slapped her. “I’m drowning in guilt. And if last night proved anything, it’s that you’re not safe when you’re around me. You were fucking assaulted because of me, and yesterday you could have been…” I hit the counter with my fist, turning my back to her.

“Is that why you’re sending me away? For my safety?” Her voice is just a whisper.

She puts her hand on my back. Electricity zips through my body at the gentle contact.

What am I thinking? I missed her the past two days—almost ten years, if I’m honest—so why do I keep expecting it to get easier? It won’t.

“Yes,” I admit, knowing very well I’m exaggerating. Overreacting.

“So there is no other woman?”

I turn and pivot her, so her back is now toward the counter.

Brook gasps and I wrap my hand around her throat. Her pulse gallops against my fingers. “There has always been only you, Brook.”

“Then cancel the flight.”

Her breathing is labored, but so is mine. We stare at each other, like we can fill in the blanks we’re unable to say with our eyes.

It’s the worst idea to give into this lust. Because that’s what swarms through my veins. With a hefty dose of the obsession I’ve been nurturing for years.

“I’m scared too,” she says. “But I don’t plan to hide. I’m not going anywhere, Baldo. We owe each other a chance.”

“I don’t believe in second chances.”

If I did, I would have sought Brook out a long time ago. I would have visited my mom way before this month.

Fuck, Miguel Oliviera wouldn’t have been arrested for burning my club, and a few made-up charges I manufactured to ensure he stays away for a long time.

A tear rolls down her cheek. “Okay, I’ll believe enough for both of us for now.”

I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her so close that she might suffocate.

This wonderful, slightly crazy woman with the overflowing imagination is a hundred times braver than me.

I kiss the crown of her head and lift her up bridal style. “Let me take care of you.” It’s not a command like I usually issue. It’s a plea.

I don’t know how to let her know I’m in it—whatever theitis—with her, even though I’m scared shitless.

How to thank her for putting up with my indecision.

How to ask for forgiveness for everything that has happened to her. For what I caused, and what I never prevented.

She wraps her arms around my neck and hides her face in the crook of my neck. “I’m yours,” she says, granting me permission.

And I accept the sweet lie and take my wife to my bed.

* * *

“You’re obsessed with my hair.”

Brook lies in my arms, naked and sweaty. I play with a lock of her hair, circling it around my finger.

I’m obsessed withher, not just her hair.

As we lie there in a post-orgasmic coma, I catch myself smiling. I’m happy. It surprises me. And scares me a bit, but fuck, I enjoy basking in it.

Give it to Brook to crawl under my skin. Just like she did when we were just kids.

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