Page 50 of Stolen Seconds

I didn’t think I’d ever been described that way before.

My lips lifted into a smile, recalling the way her face fell when she realized I’d heard her.

Okay, maybe I didn’t mind drunk Irina if only to hear her unfiltered thoughts aloud.

At least then I would actually know what she truly thought of me.

I stared at her, the rise and fall of her chest steady. Her hair fell like a halo cascading around her angelic face.

If she thought I was beautiful, I wondered how she perceived herself.

My fingertips vibrated with an urgency to feel her skin against mine.

Whatever power she held over me consumed me entirely. Every nerve ending in my body came to life when she was near, and I was addicted.

Light sniffles drew me from my thoughts, causing me to stand and move toward Irina.

Her face was pinched in anguish, her body thrashing beneath the covers as if she were trying to free herself from something.

I put one knee on the bed and leaned over her, placing my hand against her chest, her heart beating wildly against my palm. “Irina.”

A broken whimper slipped from her lips as she continued trembling.

Damnit. “Irina!”

The more she fell into the abyss of her nightmare, the harder it was to reach her.

Wrapping my hand around her throat, I squeezed, hoping to reach her.

Every second that passed, my blood ran colder, and I felt helpless.

That same helplessness I experienced when I saw my mother die.

“Irina, wake up, sweetheart.” I shook her, urgency running through my veins. “Wake up!”

A loud gasp escaped her as her eyes shot open, wide with panic.

“Fuck.” I slumped forward, finally being able to breathe.

“Luca?”

I wrapped my hands around her, bringing her up until I crushed her to my chest as if I needed more reassurance that she was with me.

What are you doing to me, piccola ribelle?

Her hands rested against my back, hesitant. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember you carrying me. . . ”

I pulled back, searching her face. “You passed out, and I brought you home.”

“And you didn’t leave,” she whispered, a furrow creasing her forehead.

The air became charged with thick tension as her words hung in the silent air.

“Do you want me to leave?”

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