Page 103 of Corrupted Deception

“You could have told me,” I said to the floor, feeling jarred as a decade of old anger changed directions. “Christ, Charlotte, you knew who my family was, what we could have done, how we could have protected you.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest—not crossed them, wrapped them, like she was holding herself together, though nothing else about her countenance had changed.

“You were the guy I ate lunch with, the guy who broke into teachers’ lounges with me, the guy who brought me books like they were nothing because they probably were in your world.” She shrugged. “How was I supposed to start that conversation?” she asked, her voice devoid of sarcasm. It felt like an honest question.

But before I could respond, she shook her head. “Don’t answer that. If I’d told you, you would have jumped in. You would have taken it on—taken me on—as your responsibility, and I wasn’t going to be that for you. I’m—” She closed her mouth and looked away. “It was an impulsive move, but I don’t regret it. It was the right move.”

“Every time I went back, she was better—happier—than the last. She was thriving, Cielo,”Aurelio had said.

Maybe it had been the right move.

I stood up and slid my hands along her hips. “Okay.”

Her brow furrowed. “Okay?”

“Puzzle solved,tempesta.But you have a problem.”

“I have about a thousand; I don’t think I need anymore, thank you very much.” She spoke nonchalantly, but she still had her arms wrapped around herself.

“Your problem is the puzzle is solved, and I’m still here. Kind of blows your theory out of the water.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe your brain’s just having a hard time catching up. Give it a few minutes.”

“All right.” I smiled. “But I get to choose how we occupy those minutes,” I said as I reached for the chains that laced up the sides of her shirt.

It turned out, those chains were no match for me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Charlotte Santoro

Well, this was familiar.

Standing at the bedroom door in boy-cut shorts and a tank top, wondering what the hell I’d done and who I was going to find in my house today. Good times—really.

No Ray today, though. He was suspiciously absent from where he generally slept at the foot of my bed. And given that there were no unfamiliar voices chattering away inmykitchen, I had a feeling he was hanging out with his new best friend.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and marched out of my bedroom like I was going to war. From the hallway, I could hear Ray sloppily lapping up whatever Cielo had put in his food bowl. I smiled—I couldn’t help it. Ray didn’t make friends easily.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, though, the smile fell away.

Cielo was standing in front of the open fridge in nothing but tight, black boxer briefs with a mug of coffee in one hand and the other hand rubbing lazily across the back of his neck.

Whoa.

Any coffee company that usedthisin their advertising would sink the rest of the market in a day.

Every cell in my body sparked up as arousal flooded my veins, but I barely noticed it because it was more than the jacked body that hit me like a freight train.

It was strange the way some things managed to do that, right out of the blue, dead center between the eyes.

It was the rightness of the scene that shifted the world on its axis, I thought, or maybe the blossom of warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with sexual arousal.

It was Cielo’s analytical mind and his dedication to those he loved. It was the thin line he walked between sex and violence with me and the way I felt at home in my own brain around him.

It was… love.

Shit.

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