Page 17 of Malta with My Best Friend's Dad

The beast in me howls.

“Maybe you could sing for me one day.”

She reaches up, touching my hand as though she’s done it countless times before. “Maybe. If I’m not sick with nerves.”

“You never have to be nervous with me. Haven’t I made that clear? I’ve never felt this before, but I know it means I’ll always protect you. And that includes even from yourself. I won’t let you tear yourself apart with nerves, not when you’re expressing yourself, not when you have the courage inside to follow your passion.”

“You’ve really never felt like this before?” she murmurs.

I drop my hand and so does she. I wonder if she does it for the same reason – to stop her primal desires, to stop from crossing the line that would betray Lena.

She’s right. What we’re doing is wrong.

But it feels so, so right.

“Never. Why?”

“Not even with…” She trails off, her eyes flitting to the floor and then back to me. “Not even with Lena’s mother?”

I narrow my eyes. “You really want to talk about this?”

“I’ve only ever had one crush, Kane. You. But you have a history.”

“If you want the truth, I’ll tell it. But it might make you think less of me.”

She shakes her head, causing her hair to jostle alluringly around her shoulders.

I could spend hours running my fingers through her hair, listening to her soft songlike breath.

“I won’t. Unless you did something awful to her. And I know you’d never do that.”

“Of course not,” I snap. “That’s not what I mean. Unless you count staying with a woman you don’t love as awful.”

She gasps.

“Lena doesn’t know she was an accident… the best accident a man could’ve asked for. I’d die before I called her a mistake. Because she’s not. It kills me, Kelly, eats me up inside I’m not able to be with her.”

I see a question emerge in her eyes. She still doesn’t know why I had to disappear. But then she nods understandingly, deciding to table that concern for now.

“So you stayed with Lena’s mom because she got pregnant?”

I nod. “I was on leave and I’d just gotten back from a tour. We met in a bar and we got drunk and… God, this is fucked, but I didn’t even remember it. Next thing I know she’s pregnant. When a man gets a woman in a position like that – I don’t care how old fashioned it sounds – he has to do the right thing and support her. So that’s what I did. I stayed with her and I did my best to care, did my best to give her what she needed, and I think we became friends.

“But I never felt this, Kelly. I never felt like there was this force inside of me, compelling me to claim her, compelling me to be with her forever. I want to be with you long after we’ve left Malta. I want to put a baby in your belly and make you mine, truly make you mine, for the rest of our lives.”

She paws at her cheek, wiping away a tear.

I reach over and catch the next one for her, brushing it away with my thumb. “Are these happy tears or sad tears?”

“A mixture, I guess.” Her voice croaks. “I want everything you just said. But it doesn’t change the fact that Lena is going to freak if she finds out… both that you’re alive and what’s happening between us. And you haven’t even told me why you had to disappear. You haven’t told me why the Bratva is after you.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“Stop that.”

She giggles through her sob, slapping my hand playfully.

I laugh, stunned at how quickly she can draw us out of the pain of the conversation into brighter moments. “Stop what?”

“You always stroke your hand through your hair when you don’t know what to say. But you can’t not know what to say here. I need answers. Otherwise, we have no chance.”

“The Bratva take a very grim view of people discussing their business. If they ever found out you knew why I was exiled—”

“I’m hardly going to tell them, am I?” she says fiercely. “I promise I won’t.”

I study her, chest tight at the idea of some tattooed goon causing her harm.

“Okay.” I interlock my hands and squeeze tightly, feeling the tension move through me in waves as I try to figure out where to start. “When I retired from the Army, I started a series of gyms, both self-defense, and exercise.”

She nods, watching me closely. “Yes, I remember.”

“And then one of my childhood buddies told me about—”

I cut off when my cellphone blares from the table, letting out an angry sigh. It’s bad enough having to revisit these memories, but doubly difficult to have them interrupted, to be pulled so violently in and out of the past.

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