Page 92 of The Re-Proposal

“All your moving around is distracting me from the movie.”

“Sorry. I’ll try to stay still.”

She does… for a second.

My self-restraint is shot, and I need to hold her or I don’t think I can keep my temper in check. Getting up, I walk over to her side of the couch.

Clarissa curls back.

Ignoring that ‘don’t you dare’ look, I scoop her into my arms, reclaim my side of the couch and drag her against my chest.

“Cody!”

“Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.” I choke down a lump of frustration in my throat. “Now stop squirming before I change my mind and put you where I really want you.”

“And where is that?” she asks sassily.

I lean down, so close to her that I can smell a hint of her natural hair products. “In my lap.”

Anticipation whips through her gaze for a moment, as if she wouldn’t mind. And then she blinks and seems to get in control of herself.

Her head turns away from me. “We’re missing the movie.”

I face the television screen, but I don’t see a single thing.

Clarissa’s in my arms.

For ten years, I’ve been imagining a moment like this. Clarissa beside me. Her head on my chest. Her hand on my leg. Her curly hair pressing against the underside of my chin.

But I can’t sink into this moment. Can’t appreciate the fact that she asked me to stay, that she’s letting herself be close to me.

Because someone hurt her.

And that’s the reason she’s letting me in.

Not because she trusts me again.

Not because she truly forgives me.

Because the bastard who put those bruises on her beautiful body makes me look like the lesser evil in comparison.

On the television screen, two action stars are punching each other in the face. I hear light snoring and glance down.

Clarissa’s knocked out like a light.

It takes me a minute to catch my breath. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Even without all the makeup, she’s a natural stunner. It’s the kind of beauty that turns heads. That affects you even when she’s gone.

The look on her face is equal parts sensual and innocent.

The sweet flutter of her long lashes.

Those lush, kissable lips.

Her head nuzzles against my chest and stirs a deep ache there. What’s she dreaming about? Is she reliving the moment someone put those bruises on her face?

Fury edges against my mind.

I press a kiss to her forehead and disentangle myself from her. Carefully, I take her to bed.

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