Page 139 of Love Bleeds Red
“Can you blame me?” He grins and trains his eyes on me, they’re more green than gray today, and I squirm after a few seconds of his undivided attention. “It’s like finding out the one thing you’ve had on your Christmas list is sitting under the tree. Priorities, Bailey.”
“I can’t with you.” I shake my head, but keep our eye contact.
He rests the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and moves to stand in front of me, my legs on either side of his torso. My pulse picks up as he leans in, murmuring, “I think you can, Firefly.”
Those hands, so big and calloused, come up to cradle my cheeks. I suck in a shaky breath, wanting to close my eyes, to hide how much this small gesture affects me, but I force myself to keep them open. If today proved anything, it’s that I can do hard things.
He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips, can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. He waits there, perfectly still, giving me the choice. Always giving me the choice. The tension between us stretches, warming me all the way to my core, until I can’t stand it anymore.
I surrender, allowing myself exactly what I want, what I need, and press my lips to his. Softly at first, letting myself feel everything—the pulsing in my sex, the pounding of my heart. But then Leon makes a rasped sound in the back of his throat, and I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue against his lip ring, until he pulls me closer. His hands on my waist feel like safety. His lips against mine taste like home. I lose myself in our kiss, not pulling back until I realize I’ve scooted so close to his body that I can feel the tight bulge in his jeans pressing into me.
I pull back, remembering where we are. Leon closes his eyes for a moment, his hands still gripping my waist, his breathingragged. When he opens them again, there’s heat there, but also obvious restraint.
He takes a second, visibly collecting himself before he speaks. “So,” he says in a husky tone. “Boyfriend it is then?”
I smirk at his ability to diffuse tension always. “Yeah. Boyfriend.”
He clears his throat and goes back to the potatoes on the stove, unable to hide his grin. “Back to our original conversation, I think you’ve got this. Remember all the times you had to tell white lies during our first summer. All those library trips Damon pestered you about.”
“I was at the library…Sometimes. For like ten minutes before meeting you.” I bump his shoulder with my foot as he smirks. “And you can’t say anything… you were a willing accomplice in my deception.”
“Guilty as charged.” He tastes the potatoes and adds some pepper. “What else are they asking about?”
My smile fades. “Everyone I was with. They want names, descriptions, anything that might help identify other victims.” I take a shaky breath. “I keep thinking about Cat and the others. Wondering if they’re still out there somewhere.”
Leon’s hand stills on the spoon. “Tell me about them.”
“Cat was like my anchor in that place. She was so much stronger than me… a fighter. Around my age, maybe a little older, tan skin, dark curly hair, big brown eyes.” I close my eyes and picture Cat’s face the last time I saw her. How broken she was… how that fight was barely there. “There were others too… Jasmine, Lydia, Katie, Elise. I don’t know last names… I guess we never thought we’d need to know them.”
“We’ll find them,” Leon says.
I look at him, trying to judge if he’s serious. I should know he’d never say something like that in jest. “But how?”
“Don’t worry about that part. You have enough on your plate with the trial. Let me do this for you. All those women, they’re someone’s daughters, someone’s sisters, someone’s friends. They deserve to come home too.”
My throat gets tight. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course I would. I told you months ago. They matter to you, which makes them matter to me.” He turns from the stove to face me fully. “And before you argue, yes, I have time on my hands.”
“But what about school or a job or the renovation back in?—”
He steps between my legs again, effectively silencing me. “Don’t need school right now… and I can do my freelance work from anywhere.”
I know he wants to put me and my needs before his own, that’s his nature. I can’t tell who’s more of a caregiver—me or him—but I can’t just ask him to pause his life to help me figure out mine. He’s spent enough time looking for me already.
“I see those wheels turning in your head,” he says, gliding his hands over my thighs in a comforting way.
“You spent so much time already. I don’t want to keep you from living your life,” I admit.
He brings his forehead to mine. “You are my life.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. What can I say that would show him how much his patience and support and care mean to me? How I feel undeserving of his love? Before I can come up with something, the oven timer beeps, breaking the tension of the moment.
Leon reluctantly steps back to turn off the timer and check on the chicken, while I pull air into my lungs, still processing what he just said.
Could I let him spend more of his time searching for Cat and the others? And if he finds them, how would that make me feel?
I finish off the last sip of wine in my glass, letting those questions roll around my mind.
