Page 101 of Beautiful Broken Love

We stayed like that for a while, kissing hotly, gasping for breath, sticky from ice cream, tasting like vanilla, chocolate, and a hint ofpeanuts. He was such a good kisser, his lips the perfect mixture of firm and soft. His hands roamed my body, squeezing, claiming.

“I want more nights like this with you, D,” he breathed when our swollen lips parted. “Tell me you want the same.”

My breaths came out ragged as I clasped his face in my hands. “I think I do.”

“But?”

“But ... it makes me nervous. Feels too soon.”

He thought about that as he studied my face, drinking in every feature, every detail, with mellow eyes. When he leaned back, he reached for my head to smooth down the unruly curl at my temple.

“I’m willing to wait for as long as you need me to,” he murmured.

Then he kissed me again.

FIFTY-FOUR

DAVINA

“Now I want to askyousomething.” I pushed my plate of pasta away and folded my fingers beneath my chin.

While steeringThe Saintback to the cottage, Deke had suggested we go to a restaurant to eat, but after what’d happened with Manhattan Rose and the pictures of us at the hotel floating around, the last thing I wanted was more private photos of us taken just to be sold to some tabloid.

Instead, we had ordered the food for pickup so we could eat in the cottage. For the first time, I’d ridden in his leather-scented Ferrari, watching as he drove past thick-trunked trees and coasted along black pavement peppered with leaves.

Deke sat up in his chair and picked up a napkin from the glass table to wipe his mouth. “What’s up?”

“Well, it’s a personal question, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed, and his features hardened just a little as he said, “Okay ...”

“So, when we first started emailing, you said something about how grief never goes away.”

He stared at me blankly before lowering his head, like he knew where this was headed.

“I only say that because I, um ... I saw a picture your mom posted about your brother from several years ago. I guess I’m wondering why you never talk about him like how you talk about your sisters.”

Deke’s nostrils flared as he stood up and grabbed my plate. “You done with this?” he asked, already carrying it to the kitchen.

“Deke, you know what? It’s fine. I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

His back was to me as he set the plates on the island counter. He planted his fists on the quartz countertop, his shoulders tense. Then his shoulders relaxed, and he threw his head back, pointing his face to the ceiling.

“Is this why you sent her to me?” he mumbled. He said the words lowly, a quiet whisper to God, but I heard every single one.

Deke turned and rested his lower back against the counter edge, his biceps bulging beneath his shirt. “I don’t talk about him for the same reasons you don’t talk much about your husband.”

It was my turn to look away. I focused on the leftover garlic knots on the table.

“You asked about him earlier, and I told you,” I reminded him. A silence fell down on us, thick and tense. I heard him release a belly-deep sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Deke whispered. He maneuvered his way back to me and lowered to a squat next to my chair. He took my hand and held it tight, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Davina,I’m sorry,” he repeated. “That wasn’t fair. That’s just a sensitive topic for me. I don’t like thinking about it.” I turned my head a fraction to find his eyes, only to realize my vision was blurry.

Damn it. No.I wasnotabout to cry in front of him. I pulled my hand out of his and left the table to sit on one of the couches. As I sank into the plush material, I closed my eyes and let out a trembling breath.

Deke circled the couch and sat next to me.

“You’re right,” I muttered. “If you hadn’t brought him up, I wouldn’t have told you about him, so I get it. Forget I even asked anything.”

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