Page 191 of Never Fall for an Angel

God, how is he real?

Without opening his eyes, he reaches for me, taking my hand and pulling it under his chest, bringing my knuckles to his lips.

“This tattoo?” I start, placing my hand over the raised edges ofMRCon his chest. “It’s our wedding date, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Am I allowed to ask a question?” I ask softly, lying perfectly still.

Finally, his eyes open and find mine, their deep blue depths stealing my breath away and stalling my heart.

“If you answer mine.”

Fuck.

My stomach bottoms out, but even I know it’s time. I’ve been hiding behind lies for so long I’m starting to forget the truth.

“Okay.”

“What’s your question?” he asks, neither of us moving.

“What happened while you were gone? Why are you covered in bruises?”

His jaw clenches, his eyes hardening. I expect him to tell me not to worry about it.

“We went to LA, first, to find answers regarding that night,” he answers simply. “Found the house where you were held.”

My stomach bottoms out, a sickness roiling through me. “You . . . found the house?”

“I did . . . I also torched it.”

I suck in a deep, shaky breath, my heart ricocheting around my chest.

“And did you find anything?”

His gaze darkens, and he rolls onto his back, his shoulders stiff. I don’t miss the way his tattoos ripple over the thick muscles despite spending the last hour drowning in him.

“Nothing that would answer any questions.”

The blood rushes to my head, and the room spins around me. This is all too confusing.

“So, after the house was gone, we used the remaining time we had to hunt down anyone who would have any leads on who was behind that night.”

“I have a feeling torturing then is more like it. Judging by your bruises and new scars.”

“So you do notice?” he chuckles dryly.

“I . . . I’ve always noticed,” I whisper, and his gaze finds mine.

He’s silent for a moment, staring at me. His gaze slides over me, and even in the near darkness, my cheeks heat under his gaze.

It’s ridiculous. The man just had his tongue buried inside me only an hour ago. I’ve got the wordMINEwritten all over my torso, yet when he looks at me like that—like he’s reading into my mind and reading my thoughts like the open pages of a book—it’s impossible not to feel a rush of awareness.

“The first opportunity I had, I came back to you, Mila.”

The air hums with electricity between us, the silence deafening. Somehow, I already knew that.

“And I had every intention of coming back for you a year ago.”

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