Page 46 of Love, Untangled

His face contorted and anguish seeped from his every pore. “I thought…”

Her own emotions cooled under his obvious distress. “What?”

He cleared his throat. His gaze dropped to her body in the clear water before he managed to return his attention to her face. “You’re okay?”

Pen sighed. “Yes. You startled me, and I’m embarrassed that you’ve seen me naked, but I’m fine physically.”

He gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel. He closed the door with a soft click. Pen began to lean back, shutting her eyes once more. But her breath caught as she remembered the look on his face when he entered the room. It held such fear, such anguish.

“Oh, no,” Pen whispered.

She pulled the plug, draining the tub, and grabbed one of the towels from the rack. She pondered whether she should go to Carlo, to offer comfort.

But in the end she decided against that course of action. She had a sneaking suspicion—one that explained why Carlo chose to give up firefighting, something he clearly loved. And why he’d been so worried about Pen’s continued safety.

What Pen hadn’t sussed out before now was that Carlo blamed himself for his wife’s death.

He’d been too late to rescue the woman he loved. The weight on Pen’s chest grew exponentially as she tried to imagine how she’d feel in that situation. To traverse the same rooms he’d often walked, to find his wife, dead, possibly burned.

She closed her eyes against the hot scald of tears that pushed against her lids.

There was no other reason Pen could fathom for his look of abject fear when he barged into her bath.

Carlo had thought Pen was injured…or dead.

Chapter 22

Carlo

Carlo hurried back to his house, leaving his sleeping bag on Pen’s porch. Once he entered his bedroom, up the stairs, he leaned his head against the wall, shaking all over.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

He squeezed his eyes shut but no amount of pressure removed the image of Pen, naked and wet, from his mind. She was gorgeous—even more so than he’d expected her to be.

His long-neglected libido flared, hot and needy. He gritted his teeth, scrunched his face tighter, but eventually had to release a breath of defeat.

He opened his eyes and stared out into the darkened room.

“I want Penelope Davis,” he whispered. He turned to face the picture on his dresser. He sought out Cora’s beatific image. “I’m attracted to her,” he said, his voice low as he padded across the room. “I enjoy her company. I…I really like her. And…” He licked his lips. “And that’s okay. Because you’re gone. It’s okay for me to live again.”

He placed both palms onto the dresser, his muscles shivering a little.

“I want Pen, and I really, really hope she wants me too.”

He stood so quickly, blood drained from his head and he had to blink against the black spots that formed. Then he flipped the picture frame down so that he could no longer see it.

He met his gaze in the mirror, his eyes dark and a bit wild.

“She didn’t love me the way I loved her,” he said, his voice low. The pain of that statement rumbled through his chest. “I won’t settle for anything less than a true partnership, real love.”

He nodded once, satisfied with the pact he’d just made to himself, and then strode toward his closet.

Tonight, he’d let Cora go. He’d set free his false belief in what they’d had. It hurt and he was raw, aching with the emotions. But he felt good. If not whole, then closer to it than he’d been in years.

Carlo left his door cracked open and finished getting ready for bed. Once under the covers, he stacked his palms behind his head and stared up at the white coved ceiling.

He blew out a long, slow breath.

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