Page 91 of Filthy and the Beast

When I wake, it takes me a second to remember where I am. Enzo’s gone, and I sit up, confused. A second later, though, I hear him in the garden, playing with the dogs.

I find a glass of water and a cup of coffee waiting for me on the nightstand.

Warmth fills me. I want to wake up in his bed every morning.

Slowly, I make my way around the room, studying the photographs of birds as I smile. Enzo is sharing his last secrets with me. I let myself believe that this is real in a way I haven’t before.

I think I love him, and he might love me, too.

Some of his clothes lie on the ground. I lift his hooded sweatshirt, hold it to my face and inhale his scent, lingering in the pleasure and intimacy I haven’t had these past months together. When I squeeze the fabric in my hands, a crumpled piece of paper falls out of the pocket.

I bend to pick it up, meaning to shove it back in without looking. But I catch the words on top and a flash of Enzo’s face. Before I can think better, I unfold an advertisement for an upcoming fight.

The Sledgehammer! A Fighter with No Honor! Back from the Dead, One Night Only!

My heart kicking hard, my eyes dance over the page. Enzo has a fight coming up.

A fight he hasn’t told me about. It shakes my confidence, but worse than that are the words they use to describe him. The advertisement makes him out to be a monster, and the old, bloody picture of his face sends a chill down my spine.

Awareness hits me. I’m totally invading his privacy. With a bolt of panic, I crumple the paper back up and shove it in his sweatshirt. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my spiraling thoughts, but the fear only grows.

What does this mean? Why didn’t he tell me? The paper was crumpled like he might throw it away, but he obviously chose to keep it.

He doesn’t have to tell me anything. But it hurts that he didn’t.

I thought I knew him. I thought he was opening up to me.

Maybe I was wrong.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

ENZO

As soon asthe sun is up, I wake, my body still tired and warm from last night. Damian gave me a climax unlike any I’ve ever had before. It started in a place I didn’t even know was there, scorched my nerves like wildfire, and wrung every ounce of pleasure out of me.

Damian curls up against my side. Still snoozing, he lays his arm across my chest.

I don’t move for two hours. Just listen to him breathe.

When the girls finally get me out of bed, I extract myself carefully, drop off some coffee and water in case he stirs, and step into the chilly February morning. It’s gray and drizzly, but the garden has never looked better to me than now.

My god, having him in bed all night felt good. Satisfying to know he’s still sleeping there now.

Doubt creeps back in. The mess I’ve made of my finances, the big talk about launching my career again. I know Damian doesn’t crave riches. He’d accept me if I were some poor schmuck he met on a bench at the lake. But he doesn’t think I’m a poor schmuck. He thinks I’m rich because I let him. And his accepting nature doesn’t stop me from judging myself.

Shame waits for me whenever I want it, but I shake that aside. Instead, I go to the kitchen and start frying up some eggs and veggies and that weird not-bacon that Damian keeps in the fridge.

“I thought I heard you banging around in here.”

When I turn, he stands in the doorway in his t-shirt and underwear, sleepy and cute as hell.

“Worked up an appetite.” I flip a couple eggs.

Smiling softly, Damian goes to the counter and takes a seat without giving me a kiss, but that’s okay.

Maybe we’re in work hours again. My brain grinds to reconcile the way I feel and the agreements we’ve made.

Shake my head. “More coffee?”

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