Page 95 of Broken

“You took it as a sign?”

“Of course.” She grins at me over her shoulder, and I have no choice but to grin back.

I shake my head, though, murmuring, “I had a flashback.”

Her smile immediately dampens, making me mourn the loss. “A bad one?”

“No worse than usual.” I suck in a breath. “It was short.”

“I’m glad. Can I do anything?”

Rather than answer, I shift away from my desk to the set of shelves behind it. I retrieve a book and then return to my original position. Ignoring her frown, I hold out my hand for her. Instantly, she’s there. Her curious fingers reach for the book in my grasp.

A cheeky smile curves her lips. “You’ve read my work?” Her gaze takes in the state of the paperback. “A lot, it would seem.”

“This is my favorite,” I confess.

“Were you starstruck yesterday?” she teases. “Is that why you broke off your sermon?”

I tap her chin. “Don’t sound so happy about that.”

“Why not? Everything about you makes me happy, Savio. If my words have brought you any solace, then I’m glad I decided to put them down on paper.”

She’s so earnest with the bewildering things she says.

Sighing, I slip my arms around her waist. “I picked one up when I saw the news about you.”

“You enjoyed it?”

“I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read of yours, which is every title.” Sheepishly, I ask, “When are you finishingLondon’s Burning?”

A pleased laugh escapes her. “You’re genuinely a fan?”

“Truly.”

The joy in her eyes has me rubbing my nose against hers.

Swallowing down a sudden bout of nerves, I press my face into her throat and hear the sound of my book tumbling onto the desk as she tunnels into my embrace.

She smells of me. Of us.

“You took enough time to wash off the blood, hmm?” But nothing else. Just came straight to me.My little homing pigeon.

“Didn’t think you’d appreciate me walking around covered?—”

“No,” I concede, smiling, but my smile dies when I think of the man still in my church.

“Who was he?”

It’s eerie how she does that. How she sometimes knows what I’m thinking and where my thoughts have turned.

“Marco Corelli? He’s a two-bit drug dealer.”

“Seriously?” She gasps.

“Yes.” I break the seal of confession without a second thought. “He killed someone last night.”

“H-How are you feeling?” she queries warily.

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