Page 48 of Wicked Roses

I put away our leftovers we probably won’t be eating inside the fridge. “Sort of. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I think I’ll skip out on movies tonight if you don’t mind.”

“Busy day?”

“We’re working on the charges against Frausto. It could piss off the Belinis even more.”

The muscle in his jaw tightens, adding another chiseled dimension to his face. “Piss them off all you want, Phi. They come near you, they’re all dead.”

He means every word. But that’s the problem—Salvatore’s protectiveness only makes him feel more like a boyfriend and not an ex.

I inhale a breath, a swarm of butterflies attacking my stomach. From the moment he insisted I move in with him I knew things would be blurred and become increasingly complicated. As I lean against the kitchen island, drawing my long cardigan tighter around myself, I don’t even know what I want or expect.

I enjoy our time together, but it feels wrong. If we don’t stop on this trajectory, we’ll be in too deep. Someone will get hurt.

Probably me.

“What is it?” Salvatore asks, tossing the dish rag onto the towel rack. “I know that look. You’re overthinking.”

It takes effort to keep from smirking. “You know me too well.”

“That happens when you’ve been through a lot together.”

He stops opposite me on the other side of the counter, and though we have a slab of marble between us, he still feels dangerously close. It’d only take him a couple quick strides to reach me. My skin warms and I avoid his gaze, tracing a finger over one of the many veins on the marble countertop.

“You’re right,” I admit. “I’ve been thinking about... us.”

“Care to share?”

I can feel Salvatore’s lean-muscled body tense. He folds his arms over his chest and I try not to become distracted by the curvature of his biceps. I muster up enough bravery to look up again, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach and the heat on my cheeks and every other side effect he draws out of me on mere presence alone.

Just as I’m about to go there—tell him how real this feels and how I’m afraid where that could lead, I chicken out. I can’t do it.

So I come up with something else instead.

Something that’s been vaguely on my mind because of my recent interactions with Octavia Doukas.

“I need your help,” I say, thinking fast. “This Frausto case has me stressed. Seeing how afraid our star witness is has made me realize how I still don’t feel like myself.”

Salvatore’s brows pinch closer. “What are you saying, Phi?”

“I want to learn to defend myself. I want to learn to fight and shoot a gun. Things like that are your specialties. So... so will you teach me?”

A moment passes where Salvatore considers my request. His head tilts to the side and his swirl of blue and green eyes meet mine without any sign he’ll blink or look away anytime soon. Finally, he gives a nod.

“Alright. It might even be good for you.”

14. salvatore

There’sone thing I didn’t consider when I agreed to teach Delphine how to defend herself—the constant, close physical contact between us. I could’ve had one of my men teach her. Stitches, for example, would’ve been happy to help out, but I’m too selfish and greedy to allow anybody except me to wrap their arms around Delphine.

It shouldn’t be sexual. It shouldn’t be a moment where I’m turned on, almost enough to get hard as fuck. It’s supposed to be purely instructional. It’s for her peace of mind.

Yet as we begin another practice session, I’m unable to ignore how good she looks in the sporty ensemble she’s wearing. It’s tight and form-fitted—her tank top reveals the tantalizing bare skin of her neck, shoulders, and chest, while those sleek yoga pants highlight how phenomenal her ass is.

What can I say? You put Delphine dressed in tight clothing in front of me and I’mgoingto notice. No matter the occasion.

She’s got her many zigzag curls pulled up into a big puff at the back of her head to keep them out of the way.

But all I think about is how badly I want to press my lips to her nape and taste her skin.

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