Page 47 of Velvet Chains
And just like that, my resolve wavered.
Well…not just like that. It took a second. The second included me flashing back to his body over mine, the weight of him pinning me down, the heat of his skin and the way he made me feel like nothing else in the world mattered except how close we could get.
But a second was all it took.
I stepped back and let him in.
He moved past me in a blur of battered leather and uncertainty, scanning the room like he thought it might disappear on him. “Is this a bad time?”
“There’s never a good time where you’re involved,” I said.
“You could’ve called the police,” he said, starting to take off his coat, his layers. “You could’ve not answered the door.”
“Maybe I wanted to yell at you in person.”
“You don’t want to yell at me,” he said, taking a step toward me. In all the years we had been apart, he had never changed his cologne, and it was wild and masculine and heady. “I’ve never heard your voice this quiet.”
“Youdeservefor me to yell at you.”
“Really?” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “Not even a thank you for getting you out of hot water with the feds?”
“The reason I’m in trouble with the feds is because of you,” I replied, but it felt…silly. Like nothing could possibly be more important than getting this man back in my bed.
I was such an idiot.
Letting him in had been a huge mistake.
He took a step closer, curling a finger under my chin, tilting my face to his. That touch, maddeningly soft, made me feel…cherished, treasured, fragile when everyone else wanted to me to be strong. His eyes locked on mine, and the real world melted away.
“Hi,” he breathed. “God, I missed you.”
I trembled.
Couldn’t let him feel that.
I took a step back, putting space between us, trying to protect myself from more than just his heat.
“You got me in trouble with the law. I need to protect myself.”
“Okay, let’s say that’s halfway true,” he said. “But who scrubbed the scene, Ruby? Who cleaned the blood off the floor and out of your hair? Who made Mickey Russell disappear so you could go to bed and wake up the next morning with your daughter safe?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I replied.
He offered a small, infuriating shrug. “I saved your life.”
“I know you did. ButI didn’t ask you to.”
“I’d save it again. And again. And again. You’d never have to ask.” His voice dropped lower. “And when it came to cleaningup the mess…you didn’t stop me. You didn’t want to. You don’t want me to stop now.”
“No,” I whispered, turning from him again—but the word betrayed me. The ache behind it. The need.
“It might be better if—”
“If I actually disappeared?” he finished. “You don’t want that. Not really.”
He was right. And it was unbearable.
“You’re the same mistake,” I said quietly. “The one I can’t stop making.”
