Page 64 of Worth the Trouble

Lili glides her fingers over my throat, and it makes me swallow thickly. “It watches me.”

“You’re worth watching.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, and I’m lost in the darkness of her eyes. How she stares directly at what should scare her. How she makes me want to believe there’s still the resemblance of a person inside me.

“I like it.” She lets her hand drop to the bed, and my skin instantly misses her touch.

“I know.”

I smirk when my comment forces an eyeroll out of her.

“Your ego knows no bounds, Rome Moreno.” She shakes her head.

“Yeah?” I grin. “Well, I’ll take an ego over a bleeding heart any day.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of the heart.” Lili tips her chin up proudly.

But I smirk. “I don’t believe in following your heart.”

“Why not?”

“It’s blind and reckless. You can’t trust it.”

“So, you’re logical then?”

“Nah, can’t trust your brain either, you’ll rationalize every decision to death.” Not that I’m one to be rational. Perks of having money and fame. It’s acceptable to be a total self-centered dick.

“So, what then?” Lili asks. “If you can’t trust your heart or your head, what do you follow?”

“Your gut.” I drift my hand down her stomach and plant my palm flat on the center of it. “Good or bad, your gut always knows.”

Lili runs her fingers along my arm, her gaze following the path she’s making on my skin before her eyelashes flick and her stare focuses back on mine. “And what is your gut telling you right now, Rome?”

“That I’m fucked,” I say way too honestly.

But it doesn’t scare her or make her pull away. Instead, she sits up and leans over, kissing a bare patch on my stomach. One of the few spots of skin I’ve still yet to get tatted. And I feel her lips imprint on my skin like ink.

Even when she pulls away, I see it—Ifeelit on me.

“Technically…” She kisses a path up my chest. “I’m the one who’s thoroughly fucked at the moment.”

Something about a bad word coming from her sweet little mouth makes me laugh, and I can’t help but grab the sides of her face. “Not thoroughly enough.”

But just as I’m about to catch her lips in a kiss, her phone buzzes from the nightstand. I let go of her, and she rolls over to grab it, frowning at whatever is on the screen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, but I don’t buy it.

It buzzes again.

“Are you going to answer it?”

“You don’t mind?”

I can’t help but laugh. “So polite, sweetheart. I like it. But answer the phone.”

She rolls her eyes and lays back, answering, and even though it’s mumbled, I distinctly hear a man’s voice on the other end. I shouldn’t care. Jealousy is for whipped punks.

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