Page 81 of Never Fall for an Angel

I have to make it right.

Knocking on the window, I shoot Collin a look while the smile on Mila’s face fades.

Mila glowers up at me, all pretty yellow hair and smokey gray eyes, and thehatethat seems especially reserved for me.

Collin, on the other hand, gets the idea, running off to help Rudy fuck around with the old boat in the barn, his shoulders stiff.

I chuckle under my breath, raising my cigarette back to my lips.

“Not so fucking smiley now, are you, dickhead?”

Mila’s finishing the dishes from dinner while I carry in more firewood when she spots the book I’d left for her on the table. I’d had Paulina find me a copy to bring out to the island.

Rudy, Paulina, and Collin stayed for dinner, and it was the most normal this cottage has felt since the moment we arrived. Mila even laughed at something I said, which surprised the hell out of me.

Since, we’ve been operating under a fragile truce, neither of us bringing up what happened this morning.

I can’t lie and say it’s not at the forefront of my mind, though.

“What’s this?” she asks, holding it up for me to see.

I shrug. “Thought we could read it.”

“We?” she asks, puzzled. Her delicate brows knit together, her soft eyes shining in the warm glow of the cottage lighting.

“Yeah, we,” I murmur, dropping the fresh logs by the hearth. I actually wanted it for her, but the idea popped into my head after my conversation with Paulina today.

“How do we read a book together?”

“You read . . . and I listen.”

“We could take turns,” she offers, falling into a spot on the couch and tucking a blanket around her. Phantom jumps up beside her, laying his head in her lap, and bitterness slips through me.

Jealous of a fucking dog now.

I throw another log on the fire because the wind is howling outside tonight, and she’s always cold.

Clearing my throat, I don’t answer her, but I can feel her gaze on my back when I slip my flannel off.

When I pour myself a glass of whiskey and sit down beside her, Mila’s still watching me with those eyes that see right fucking through me.

“You don’t like to read.”

“I like to read, just fine,” I murmur, taking a drink. The whiskey coats the back of my throat, the burn chasing away the memory of her teeth sinking into my neck.

Fucking hell.

“It takes me a minute,” I admit through clenched teeth, my gaze trained on the fire in front of me. “Words and shit on the page get jumbled, and I have to reread it. Just easier to let you read it out loud.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this. I’ve never told a fucking soul.

“You’re dyslexic?” Mila asks softly.

“Something like that.”

Gently, like I’m made of sharp thorns and poisonous leaves, Mila places her hand on my chest and pushes me back into the couch.

I let her because this is the first time she’s touched me on her own.

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