Page 60 of Take Me Under

“That’s a dangerous answer,” she teased.

“Dangerous is relative,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

The simple fact was that my answer was as raw as it was true. I liked sex. Plain and simple. Emotional strings were never part of the equation, yet Serena took up more headspace than I cared to admit. She was all I thought about—even if I hadn’t yet solved the mysteries surrounding her.

I trusted my instincts, and my gut told me she was exactly who she claimed to be. Yet the woman I was coming to know was at complete odds with the violence I’d seen in her ravaged hotel room. That alone made me pause. As annoyed as I was to have these thoughts invade my mind at a moment like this, I couldn’t ignore them. They gnawed at me like a piece of a puzzle that didn’t fit.

Someone had been searching for something, but what? And why her?

I should just ask her, but instinct made me hesitate. If I wanted answers, she might be able to provide them. But if she couldn’t, finding out what happened would only upset her. I didn’t want that.

I slid my fingers along the curve of her shoulder, my thoughts scattered. Between the perfection of the moment and the inability to find the truth, I wasn’t sure where to settle. I wondered if she had any idea what she did to me—how her presence was a constant test of my carefully constructed control.

She propped herself up on one elbow, the sheet sliding slightly to reveal more of her olive skin. My gaze flicked down to her bare breasts.

God help me, the woman is breathtaking, and she isn’t even trying.

I forced myself to bring my gaze back to her face.

“Tell me something,” I said, my voice low but steady. “Something about you I don’t already know.”

“Like what?”

I thought about the leatherbound journal full of notes and drawings. It was old and well worn, the writing style far too masculine to belong to Serena. I suspected it had once belonged to her father. Perhaps if I could understand more about her dynamic with him, I’d find the answers I was looking for.

“Your father,” I said, stating the words before I could rethink them. “How did he die?”

Her expression shifted, the lightness in her features fading into something more guarded. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she sighed softly.

“Not my idea of pillow talk,” she began, her voice tinged with a distant sadness. “His death wasn’t sudden. He was sick for months. It started with him feeling weak all the time, then came nausea and weight loss. His skin became red and swollen, and he complained about his fingers and toes feeling like pins and needles. There was chest pain, too. He just kept getting worse from a whole slew of symptoms that didn’t make any sense.”

“What did the doctors say it was?” I asked, sitting up slightly.

“They couldn’t figure it out,” she said with a small shake of her head. Her fingers absently plucked the edge of the sheet. “They tried tests, various treatments, but nothing worked. Nobody knew why he was sick. Hospitals in Lucca are limited. I wanted to bring him back to the States, but he was too weak to travel. By the time he passed, they still didn’t have answers. Heart disease was listed on the death certificate, but I know that wasn’t it.”

She paused, her brow furrowing as though she was reliving it.

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he in pain?” I asked.

“He said he wasn’t, but I know he only said that so my mother didn’t worry. She never left his side. It was awful to watch. She and I did everything we could to make him comfortable, but...” She looked down, her expression tightening. “It wasn’t enough.”

Her voice was calm, but I could feel the undercurrent of frustration and sadness in her words. I reached out again, brushing another strand of hair from her face.

“You were close to him,” I said.

She nodded, and her eyes took on a faraway look. “He was everything to me. Losing him was like losing a piece of myself.”

For the first time, I began to see why she was so desperate to push aside her own wants and desires to fulfill her father’s dream. It was a selfless act that I couldn’t fully understand. It went against everything I knew about humanity.

“Cade couldn’t handle my reaction to my father’s death,” she continued. Her expression shifted, a spark of anger flaring in her eyes.

I frowned. “Cade?”

“My ex-fiancé.”

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