Page 92 of Hidden Memories

I slip out of bed and allow the cool wooden floor to ground me for a moment before grabbing a pair of boxer briefs in my walk-in closet. I step into the hallway.

Her door is open just enough to tease me. Just enough to tempt me to destroy everything I’ve spent the last thirteen years trying to bury. I should walk away. I should turn around, go back to my room, and remind myself of all the reasons I can’t have her. But my feet don’t listen. My fucking heart doesn’t listen. I knock, knowing I’ve already lost this fight.

After our kiss, I talked myself down and convinced myself I could be her friend. That I could do all of this without touching her again. That I could, with the help of GhostEye, get to the bottom of it before the foster agency comes knocking again.

I’m supposed to inform them of any household changes like relationships… certainly of another kid being in my home.

But I’m not going to because I have to have faith that this can be resolved soon.

It also means I cannot let myself fall deeper, because catching whoever is behind this is only half the problem if I submit to these feelings.

And yet, helpless as I was to resist thirteen years ago, here I am.

Her voice floats through the crack. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make me question myself…

“Come in.”

I push the door open. She’s perched on the edge of the bed, her hair falling in messy waves over one shoulder, her skin kissed by the soft glow of the lamp. Her eyes lift to mine, and fuck—fuck—she looks at me like she wants me to ruin her. Like she knows I will. Her gaze drags down my chest, slow and consuming, and my skin tightens under the weight of it. If she touched me, I’d probably come undone right there.

“Is everything all right?” she asks.

I close the door behind me, leaning back against it as I take her in. “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “I wanted to check on you.”

She studies me for a long moment, her lips pressing together as if deciding whether or not to say why she’s not sleeping either.

“I’m fine,” she says, not believing herself any more than I do.

I cross the room and sit next to her on the bed, both of us wear next to nothing. I’m vulnerable to even the slightest cock twitch in these boxer briefs, and her pajamas are wafer-thin. Why the fuck did I come in here? Seriously, why did I really come in here?

Because I’m not done with her. My mind, body, and soul have unfinished business… that’s why I can’t sleep. Why I’m creeping across floorboards.

I have to remember what’s at stake. If the social worker finds out I’m involved with someone—it couldslow down the entire process. Or halt it, especially given Kat’s situation.

Fuck, she’s not some ordinary single mom. She has the FBI and the ’Ndrangheta after her, for fuck’s sake.

What are you doing Santi?

That question is easy to answer with her looking the way she does, curves served up like temptation itself. I want to throw her down and have her, again and again until she’s mine again.

Kat lets out a defeated sigh, gripping the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. “I can’t sleep. I’m scared as hell right now if I’m honest.”

“You’re safe here.”

Her simple statement speaks volumes. “I’m all Theo has.”

I want to tell her he has me now, too, but it would sound wild. But it’s true. I’d take that kid under my wing in an instant if he needed it. If he wanted it. But why is it just her and Theo? Why and how did she end up staying all those years in a loveless, abusive relationship when she’s everything a decent man would want?

A lot has changed in Kat since we were younger. She wasn’t the cautious type back then. Even in the face of her father, an absolute tyrant, she was ready to ride or die with me. She wasn’t afraid of being poor, of having nobody but me… we were both reckless but we loved that about us.

Our wild sides have wilted in the wake of responsibility. I know her decision to stay probably had everything to do with Theo. Abusers are manipulative, but I still want to understand why Kat would have stayed with him.

I lean back against the headboard and prop my legs up. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, but why did you staywith Nicholas? You could have been married to a guy like me by now.”

I try to tease, to lighten the mood, but she cocks an eyebrow with pleasure or with warning, I can’t tell, but at least my humor isn’t misplaced.

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