Page 29 of The Counterfeit Lover

I cling to him, absorbing his body heat and that tantalizing scent that is simply him.

Finally, I am home.

Yet my optimism doesn't last long as we strap in for a long ride home, the same awkward silence enveloping us.

Raf is driving, focusing solely on the road, his entire body stiff and closed-off.

I'm trying to get a read on him but I can't, and so I end up worrying about the worst.

He'd chosen me over Lucero when all along he'd thought ofheras his love. Is he mourning her? Is he regretting his choice? Or is he disappointed about my deal with Michele?

The options are endless, and the more I try to rationalize this maddening silence, I can't.

Ican'thave him upset with me.

Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I bite my nails in anxiety, all the while sneaking glances at his profile.

He's so handsome, I want to cry tears of joy just for being next to him again—for having him in my life.

Alive. Well. Mine.

His sharp jaw, straight nose and plump lips fill my field of view. And as I drag my eyes lower, to those muscles he worked so hard to attain, I feel an even deeper admiration for him. Now that I know everything he's been through, I can't help the way my heart swells in my chest for him.

I'd never thought my love for him could be more. Yet it is, and growing still.

He came for me. Hesavedme.

My lips tremble in a hesitant smile.

He's always saving me, isn't he? Whether it's from others or from myself, he's always there to save me.

My lips pull into a smile, my feelings for him overwhelming me.

He turns his head right at that moment, catching my wistful look and the way I'm eating him up with my eyes. My cheeks heat up, but I don't look away.

Raf's eyes pin me to the spot, the intensity of his gaze so perilous I find myself floundering again.

What is he thinking?

The entire ride is silent. Only when he parks the car a few streets down my brother's house does he finally turn to me, a weary sigh escaping him as he brings his hands to scrub his face.

"Raf?" I ask tentatively.

He brings his hand to the necklace nestled against his chest, his fingers tracing the contours of the stone reverently.

"I need to tell you something," he starts, his voice ominous—so far away I immediately think of the worst.

"What is it?"

"You asked me about Lucero before," he swallows hard. "And I told you I only met her a couple of times in person. That isn't necessarily true."

"I… I don't understand." I frown.

"The few times I met with her was in the darkness of my cell, or when my eyes had been too swollen to be able to see properly. I only worked out what she looked out when I heard other people calling her name while I was working outside. And it wasthatLucero that responded to that name—the one I killed."

There's so much anguish in his voice that I worry for his next words.

"What do you mean?" I inquire softly, slowly angling my body towards him, instinctively seeking the heat of his body—the perpetual proof that he's next to me.

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