Page 28 of Dance with the Devil

Not at me, though. I have no idea how I can tell that the anger is for someone else, but even before he says another word, I know he’s hurting and he’s upset, too, but his anger? He’s not directing it at me, even as his voice turns hard.

“You had your older brother to protect you as you were growing up. It was my job to protect my younger brother and sister.”

Oh.

Oh.

He’s not saying… but he is, isn’t he? To protect his younger siblings, his stepfather made him dothat?

I know I should drop it. His tone is all but begging me, too. Even the little voice in my head is chanting: Shut up, Gen. Shut up, shutup?—

“Are they okay now?” I ask.

“They’re dead.”

I should’ve listened to the little voice.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Cross, I’m so sorry?—”

“I was twelve. There was a fire.” His hands ghost up his throat. “My stepfather set it after I threatened to tell to get him to leave me the fuck alone, but he didn’t have the decency to die in the blaze himself. Just my family.”

Lowering his hands, he twists his arm, showing me the names inked on his skin. “Ana Lucia was nine. Rafe was eleven. My mother didn’t even make it to thirty.” Cross huffs out a breath. “She had three kids and I fucking outlived her.”

I lift my fingers to my lips. Look at that. I finally figured out how to shut up.

Cross slams the faucet handle down, cutting off the stream of water. He spins around, bracing the sink with his hands, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I know what bad men want, butterfly. Men like Chad. Men like Mickey. I wouldneverlet them get to you. I couldn’t save my family, but I promise you this: I will save you. But you have to finally understand something. I know what bad men want because Iamone.”

No.

He’snot.

I step closer to him, expecting him to shove off of the sink and storm away toward the glass door. When he doesn’t, I move until he’s within arm each before I tell him, “You protected me. I don’t care about anything else. That makes you a good man.”

He shudders out a breath. “I protect those I care a bout,” he rasps. “You? You are mymuse. My inspiration. You couldn’t be anything other than that because I couldn’t bring you into the darkness that is my life.”

His chest is heaving. I lay my hand between his pecs. “You sound like Damien,” I say, purposely putting a hint of a tease in my voice. “But you’re not. You’re Cross. And I care about you, too.”

He bows his head over mine, pressing our foreheads together. “You’re special, Genevieve. You deserve someone good.”

“I found him,” I murmur back. Slowly, carefully, giving him every chance to stop me… I slide my hand up his chest, moving my hand until I’m gently touching the side of his swollen face. “Cross?”

“Butterfly,” he breathes out.

He thinks that I could never be with a man like him. That I could never love him. Learning the truth of his past… my heart breaks for him. Adding that to what I just saw him do? I’m so fucking impressed by the strength of my artist.

Cross trembles under my touch, yet I can’t shake the feeling that he expects e to push him away.

Oh, babe. Don’t you know that I never do what anyone expects me to?

I part my lips. “You said you were trying to get that taste out of your mouth before,” I murmur.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows roughly. “Yeah.”

“Then let me.”

---