Page 86 of Entangled

I smirk in amusement, dipping my head and dropping a quick kiss on his lips.

“He’s fucking Italian?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I cock a brow, laughing openly at his growl of frustration.

His hands launch out and snag me around the waist, pulling me to him while I desperately try to save the carton in my lap. “Not the ice cream!”

He snags the ice cream from my grip and sets it on the bedside table before rolling me underneath him, pinning my arms above my head in a tight grip as I chortle. I can’t help it, it’s just way too fun to get under his skin. He dips his head and drags the skin on my thoroughly marked neck through his teeth in reprimand and I try to quell my hysterics with only slight success.

“Yes. He’s Italian. Moved here in elementary school.” I fight hard against the laughter pulling at my lips before adding the next part. “He calls me cara.”

He presses his hips into mine, eyes dangerous as his voice grinds out. “Princess.”

“What does that mean again? Dear, in Italian?”

“You’re about two seconds away from having my handprint permanently embedded in your ass.”

“And that’s supposed to be a deterrent?”

“Eleanor.”

The sound of my real name from his lips, the use of it with that demanding tone of his softens some of the need in me to tease him further. I love the sound of it.

“Stef and I have never had anything more than a brother-sister kind of relationship. He is my best friend, my family, but nothing more. Same with Mac and Kai.” I quirk my head at him playfully. “I actually think you’d like him. You remind me a bit of him.”

His eyes flick over my face, reluctant amusement in his gaze. “You really are going to be the death of me.”

I lift my head, pressing my lips to his as laughter starts to escape me again. “Oh, but what a death it’ll be.”

His lips twitch as he shakes his head. “You’re something else today.”

He releases my wrists and I wrap my arms around his shoulders instantly.

“What can I say? Love looks good on me.”

“Hmm.” He murmurs, eyes bright with satisfaction as he drops his lips down to skim up my neck, breathing me in as I run my hands along his back, fingers brushing against the raised skin of his tattoo.

“Why this tattoo?”

“You mean the poem?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, rolling onto his side and propping his head up in his hand. Reaching down, he slides his hand underneath my T-shirt and rests it against my skin, eyes shuttering as he stares at the spot. His thoughts indecipherable to me.

“I lost my dad when I was eight. Car accident.”

I reach down, winding my fingers through his and squeezing tightly. Heart hurting for his familiar pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still.”

He’s silent in response and his eyes are lost in the past, looking without really seeing and I think of the time he told me I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be like my parents.

“So the poem’s for him?”

“No.” Conflict plays across his face. “I don’t know.” He brings his eyes back to mine and they roam over my face before he speaks again. “My dad was a writer, among other things and he… he kept a lot of secrets. And I guess, in a way, when he died, they became my secrets to bear.”

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