Page 74 of Tabitha

“I’ll stay right here,” I promise. She hesitates a moment longer, but I know accepting her invitation would be a mistake. We have too many secrets between us yet.

It’s time to change that.

I take a seat on the closed toilet lid right next to the shower, where she can see me. Reassured, she closes the shower stall, and I allow myself the luxury of looking my fill—payback for the many times she watched me in the mornings. Being here with her doesn’t feel like an intrusion on her privacy, we are too familiar with each other for that.

The intimate moment just emphasizes how far we’ve come since we first met. That she trusts me so much is like a boulder being lifted from my chest. So I answer the silent questions she would never ask for fear that I would demand answers in return.

I blow out a heavy breath and decide to start my story from the beginning. “I was a foster kid, my parents long gone before I could remember them. Nothing tragic happened to me. I stayed in group homes for the most part, too rebellious to be adopted out, but I was smart enough not to let myself fall deeper into the system.

“I wanted to fix the broken system, so I worked hard for scholarships. I joined the force right out of college. I was convinced that I could help people and change the world. It didn’t take me long to learn that most people don’t want to be helped.”

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and gaze down at my feet. “I lasted about ten years before all that determination burned out. I went out on a routine call with my partner. A kid pulled a gun—he couldn’t have been more than ten years old—and I hesitated.”

I glance up at her through the foggy glass door separating us. “The kid shot and killed my partner. Gang initiation. He did it on a dare. Called the cops, lured us out, then just shot him.”

It’s not until the shower shuts off that I realize I’ve fallen silent. I move to get her a towel but stop dead when she walks out of the shower, completely naked, seemingly oblivious to my utter fascination. She grabs a towel, bends and wraps her hair up in a turban, then pins me under her gaze when she straightens. She’s so close that I have to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

From the first moment we met, she’s been a prickly pain in my ass. I have no doubt that she tried to kill me more than once.

And I am utterly fascinated by her.

She brought new life into my world, one that was drowning in darkness, and I would slay anyone who thought to take away the only good thing left in my world.

“So you weren’t sent to spy on the Belladonnas?” Tabitha casts me a dubious look, and my lips twitch.

Most people would’ve asked if I shot the kid, but not Tabitha. She doesn’t care either way. All she cares about is her family.

It’s one of the things I love most about her.

She would give her life for those she considers family, and I would do anything for her to claim me as one of them. “I was placed with the Belladonnas for that exact purpose, but I informed Man of it during the interview. He hired me on the spot, and the investigation was killed the same day.”

I thought she would be pleased to finally know the truth.

Wrong.

Her eyes narrow dangerously, and she saunters toward me in a way that kicks up my heartbeat. I wish I could say it’s fear, but I would take any excuse just to have her hands on me.

When she straddles my lap, I nearly swallow my tongue at the way it puts every inch of her body on display. I allow myself to look my fill, taking my time, because one does not rush when studying a piece of art.

When I look up, I meet her gaze and swallow hard. The combination of lust and danger has my cock leaking, and I grab the lid beneath me to keep from taking what I want. If I touch her without permission, I fear I’ll fail some sort of test.

She reaches up, her fingers sinking into my shaggy hair, and drags my head back. I swallow hard, my cock actually throbbing with the need to be inside her, and the plastic lid creaks when I tighten my grip.

“You knew I was watching you the whole time.” It isn’t a question.

Her voice is deceptively soft, but I don’t miss the way her hand tightens in my hair.

“Yes.”

Her eyes lift, as if she’s surprised I would admit it, and I just shrug. “I would never lie to you.”

Doubt swirls in her gorgeous silver eyes, vulnerability flashing, and she purses her lips. I wait for her to challenge me—I have nothing to hide—but she surprises me again by asking something else. “You pleasured yourself almost every day, knowing I was watching, knowing I couldn’t touch.”

My breath stops in my lungs when her other hand skims over her stomach, and I watch avidly as her fingers sweep across the undersides of her breasts. It’s the best kind of torture.

And I obediently remain still, taking my punishment, suspended between heaven and hell.

Chapter Twenty-two

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