Page 77 of Craving Danger

Samantha doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I know she’s talking about before the attack and finding out I’m one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra.

Wanting to help her deal with her demons, I say, “I think we should continue working through your list. You never know what might help.”

She nods then gestures at the bed. “I can always try lying down with you.”

I look at the light green covers with a leaf pattern printed on them. “How do you want to do this?”

“I’ll lie down first and close my eyes, then you can lie beside me. Don’t say anything. I just want to listen to you moving.”

“Okay.”

She kicks off her shoes, and I watch as she climbs onto the bed. She fixes her dress before she lies down, and taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes.

I give her a minute before moving closer and placing my knee on the bed.

My eyes stay locked on her face, looking for any sign that she’s panicking as I move into a lying position.

Samantha takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She keeps her eyes shut for a bit longer, then opens them and turns her head to look at me.

“I think this is a waste of time. I’m comfortable with you, so I don’t think anything you do will make me panic.”

Turning onto my side, I prop my head on my hand and say, “Maybe it will help if you talk about what happened.”

She thinks about it for a moment, then admits, “It’s difficult. Every time I try, it’s as if I get transported back to it.”

“You were okay while Dante tattooed you because I was there. Give it a try.”

She turns onto her side and locks eyes with me. “Okay, but don’t get your hopes up.”

With my other hand, I take hold of hers and brush my thumb over her skin. Her gaze lowers to our joined hands, and she remains quiet.

My eyes drink in the sight of her beautiful face, and I’m so fucking happy she’s back. It’s been a long ten days without her.

I missed my wildcat at the office and my vulnerable kitten at night.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips again, then she says, “The domestic abuse isn’t what destroyed me. It’s what happened after I broke up with him.”

I know the fucker carved his name into her, so I’m bracing for the worst.

She’s quiet for a long while before she says, “I used to wake up in the mornings feeling like I had a hangover, even though I didn’t drink any alcohol. It happened for a couple of weeks.”

A frown forms on my forehead as I listen to her.

“I felt weird…as if I couldn’t connect with my body.”

Her eyebrows draw together, and her voice trembles as she says, “Turns out he was drugging me.”

Jesus Christ.

“I only found out because, for some reason, I came to after he drugged me.” She pauses, and I watch as she struggles to get the words out. “I couldn't move or open my eyes. I couldn’t speak.”

Indescribable anger rushes through me until my heart races in my chest.

Fuck, I can’t even imagine how she must’ve felt being a prisoner in her own body.

“I was so scared,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. Her eyes dart to mine, and I see the horror and trauma she’s been forced to live with, trembling in her green irises.

It’s a blow to my heart, but what she tells me next grinds my soul to dust.

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