Page 61 of Salvatore

I stroke her face. “What’s wrong?”

She opens her mouth as if to deny that anything is, only to quickly close it and briefly glance away. “Can I ask you something?”

I already don’t like where this is headed, but she doesn’t give me a chance to respond, forcing the words out as if she’s afraid to speak them. “Why won’t you make love to me?”

I drop my hand away, returning to what remains of my lunch. “Salvatore,” she begins.

“You want to discuss this here?” I ask.

My excuse that we’re in a public place is a pathetic one at best. There’s no one near us. Those bustling around are gathered near the food and craft stands or hurrying toward the folk band taking stage at the center of the make-shift village.

“Maybe this isn’t the best place,” she admits. “But you don’t ever want to discuss this with me anywhere.”

I take a few pulls of my water and work on finishing my stew and bread. It’s a good meal. But I can’t enjoy it. Not with what Aedry wants to talk about. Every time we mess around, it takes all I have not to slide inside her and take her hard.

Hard. That’s exactly how I want to pound into her. That final claim I alone can perform to prove to myself, and to the world, that she’s mine. But I can’t do that to her. Someone like Aedry doesn’t deserve a good fuck. She’s entitled to the lovemaking she’s asking me for and that I’m incapable of.

I have sex with women in a way that would scare an inexperienced and sweet woman like Aedry, ramming my hips with the force of my anger and sin. I’ve never hurt a woman with the way I’ve taken her, nor have I ever forced one. But with Aedry, I’d be forcing my dark side into her, poisoning her and ruining her innocence.

I’ve tried to explain my reasons as best as I can. She doesn’t believe me or understand what I’m saying. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand why she’s asking. The last few times she’s begged me for it, I’ve flipped her onto her back, shoving my face between her legs and finishing myself off as she comes. It’s not that I don’t want her to touch me?hell, she drives me crazy when she does. But when she does . . . shit, I can’t do that to her.

“Is there someone else?” she questions.

Anyone else would freeze at my scowl. She doesn’t. “Someone else meeting your needs in a way I can’t?” she presses.

She’s using her counselor voice. The one that’s non-judgmental. Yet, I can sense the lingering hurt behind each syllable.

“Is that really what you think?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Don’t do that,” she tells me.

“Do what?”

“Answer by asking a question and turning it back on me,” she explains. Again, her voice stays gentle, confronting me in a way that doesn’t challenge, but expects the truth.

I don’t respond, returning to my water. “I don’t want to be your second choice,” she says. “Or the good girl you think you should hang onto if there’s something more you want.”

I crush my plastic bottle in my hand and return her stare. She thinks there’s someone else. I can’t deny she isn’t right. Vin’s world, the organized crime lifestyle I’m a part of, is my mistress?the one that spoils me for Aedry. I can’t tell her that, so again I put it back on her.

“Then what do you want to be?” I ask, alluding that maybe we shouldn’t be together if what I’m giving isn’t good enough.

I don’t know if it’s the force behind my voice, the severity of what I’m implying, or maybe it’s that Aedry isn’t as tough as she wants to be. Whatever it is has her glancing down and away. I want her to keep her gaze averted?and hope she’ll drop the subject so we can hang on to what we do have and make the most of the day. But she doesn’t. As tough as she’s finding it to be?especially with me acting like a total ass?like always, she digs deep for courage and meets my face. “I want to be your everything,” she whispers.

I’ve been stabbed, shot, and kicked in the liver. But nothing has ever caved my chest in like her words or her beautiful pleading face. She means what she says. She wants to be my lover and friend, and the mother to my boys?everything I never realized I needed or wanted until she walked into my life.

For what seems like too long we watch each other, trying to gauge what the other is thinking. When it becomes too much for me?and, hell, maybe for her, too?I give her an answer neither of us wants to hear. “No,” I say, rising.

Her lips part. I don’t miss the pain flashing across her delicate features. “No, to what?”

I toss my waste and hers into the garbage. “To all of it,” I answer.

I wait for her anger, for her to finally snap like all the crazy bitches I’ve fucked?to tell me off and walk away?something. Despite that I think I’m doing the right thing by her, that doesn’t make me less of a dick for how I do it.

She stands slowly, clutching her purse against her like it’s going to shield her from what I say or halt the tears welling her eyes.

“I love you, Salvatore,” she says, the words lodging my breath brutally in my chest. “I only wish you would let me.”

She walks away, wiping her eyes as she heads into a quilt store.

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