Page 55 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
Nico set my duffel on the glossy black dresser across from the bed, then turned to me. His smile faded. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but I was pretty sure his eyes narrowed. I swallowed the bile in my throat and tried to maintain my dignity instead of exploding into the fit of screaming shrew threatening to come on.
Silent as a panther, he stalked toward me. “What’s up, Kat?”
Damn Eagle Eyes! Can’t you see I’m trying not to have a meltdown here?
I decided to lie rather than admit how angry I was at him, and how angry I was at myself for letting that picture get to me. He’d already explained she was important to him. He’d already asked for my trust. And I had—allegedly—given it. I knew Avery was a big part of his life, or at least she used to be, and I wanted, so badly, to be mature enough, secure enough, to be the kind of woman who would smile and say, “Oh, isn’t that sweet,” and actually mean it.
Clearly, I was not that woman.
But screw that if I was going to admit it to him.
“I’m feeling a little sick from last night, and all the excitement this morning. I think I might need to lie down. Or maybe take a shower and then lie down. Would that be okay?”
“Of course.” He was concerned. “Do you need anything?”
A hammer. A flamethrower. A gun. I really wanted to destroy that stupid picture. Maybe even taser the fucking thing, and then destroy it.
“No. Just a couple hours’ rest. I’m sure I’ll feel better later. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said softly, taking my hand. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then led me into the gleaming marble bathroom and showed me how to work the shower, and where the fresh towels were. Then he kissed me again, on the lips this time, gently and so sweetly it shaved an edge off my anger.
“Need someone to help you wash your hair?” he murmured, nudging his nose against mine.
In return, I could only offer a weak smile. “I’m good. Rain check?”
The pause before he spoke was longer than I was comfortable with. I glanced at his eyes, regretting it instantly when I did. The darkness from downstairs had crept back into them, shadowing the normally crystalline blue with a deep, ominous ultramarine, the color of the sea before a storm.
“Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”
His voice was shadowed, too, but with what emotion, I couldn’t tell. His gaze drifted to the necklace around my throat. He picked up the trust charm between his thumb and forefinger, and stroked it contemplatively. Then his lashes lifted, and he pierced me with his stare.
Without another word, without a smile, Nico turned and walked slowly from the room.
I sank to the edge of the enormous Jacuzzi tub, dropped my throbbing head into my hands, and sighed. I hated jealousy. It was such a petty, spiteful, insecure emotion. Unfortunately, being with a man like Nico—a man who women literally threw their panties at—practically guaranteed the green-eyed monster would become a permanent resident in my brain. If I wanted to explore this thing between us, if I didn’t want to ruin it before it had even really begun, I’d have to find a way to manage it.
But how?
That question bothered me the entire time I was in the shower. I soaped my body, shampooed my hair, shaved everything that needed shaving, letting the hot water coax the tension from my muscles, half expecting Nico to walk in any minute and join me. Half hoping he would, and also half dreading it.
He never did.
When I finally finished showering, dried off, and padded barefoot into his bedroom to get the clothes from my duffel, the picture of Avery was gone.
When I awoke, the sun had shifted low on the horizon, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.
It was late afternoon, or early evening. I blinked, squinting against the light. I remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, worrying about the picture of Avery, and then . . .
Oh. Right. I’d lain down, thinking it would be only for a moment and then I’d get up and change. Apparently the moment had turned into hours. For the second time today, I was waking up on top of the covers on a bed.
Also for the second time today, someone was beside me.
I turned my head to find Nico staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. He’d changed into a pair of loose black sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He was barefoot, and bare chested. When he turned his head and looked at me, he was so breathtaking I longed for a camera. That jaw of his could cut glass.
“Hey.”
