Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Last night,” he says, voice low, and rough, “you kissed me.”
My pulse spikes, and I swallow hard. He watches my throat move like he’s cataloging it.
“Do you regret it?” he asks, quietly.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my teeth. I lift my chin, defiance instinctive. “I don’t know.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Honest?”
My breath shakes. “No. I don’t regret it.” I look out at the water again, then back at him.
“You’re . . . not who you were,” I whisper.
“Neither are you.”
Silence stretches.
Wind whips around us as his hands touch my shoulder and then turn me to face him. Then he brushes a strand of hair off my cheek.
My skin tingles where he touches.
“Come here,” he orders.
I don’t move. Because if I move, I might fall. He steps closer anyway, closing the distance.
Lorenzo wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
I whisper, “This is insane.”
“Yes,” he agrees, and then he kisses me.
Not devouring.
Not punishing.
Not taking.
This kiss is slow.
Careful.
Almost timid, like he’s afraid the wrong pressure will shatter whatever fragile truce exists between us.
My hands lift, trembling. They rest against his chest, and I feel his heart beneath my touch. Steady. Strong.
He deepens the kiss gradually, mouth warm, breath steady, and I respond.
And for a second, it feels like we’re back in the summer when everything still felt possible. When we were stupid enough to believe we could outrun our families.
He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against mine, breath mingling with mine.
“It was always you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Always.”
56
Lorenzo
Victoria’s hand is in mine, and the surprising part . . .
Is this an accident? No, this is deliberate. She’s already decided where this is going.
Thank fuck.
Because I don’t know what I’d do if it doesn’t.
I need this fucking woman so much I can barely breathe.
Her thumb brushes the inside of my palm, an unconscious motion that hits me harder than it should. Muscle memory. Or maybe it’s proof that some things never change.
We walk back toward the house together in silence.
The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath our feet. My large estate looms ahead, almost taunting me with the distance.
“I used to think,” she says, voice low and measured, “that loving you was something I could outgrow.”
I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead.
“And now?” I ask.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “You can’t outgrow something engraved in your soul.”
That lands deep, the kind of deep men like me pretend doesn’t exist because it would make us weak.
“I never stopped loving you,” I admit, because there’s no point lying now. Not when she’s still here. Not when she hasn’t let me go either. “I just got better at pretending I had.”
She looks at me then, her eyes shining in the low light with the look she used to give me all those years ago.
“You were everywhere,” she whispers. “Every version of my life still had you in it. I just . . . hated myself for that.”
I stop walking. She does too, turning toward me automatically.
“You don’t get to hate yourself for loving me,” I say quietly. “That’s my job.”
Her lips tremble, but it’s not a smile. Something softer. “I don’t want to fight it anymore, Lorenzo.”
“Me either,” I say, lifting her hand and pressing my mouth to her knuckles.
She leans into me, her body molding to mine.
“I never got over you,” I tell her, lips resting against her forehead. “I just learned how to survive without you.”
She lets out a broken laugh. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Well, it was awful if it makes you feel any better.”
We both grow silent, and for a long moment, we stand there. Then she squeezes my hand once.
“Take me inside,” she says.
I don’t hesitate. I do.
We barely make it to the bedroom before all restraint is out the window.
The moment we are alone in my bedroom, the air around us shifts.
“Hi,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. It’s almost like she is suddenly nervous.
I step closer to her. “Hi.”
“You’re staring.”
“Of course, I am. You’re gorgeous, and I need you.”
Victoria’s mouth opens, and I know she’s going to say something, but I don’t let her.
Instead, I close the distance between us, lean in, and seal my mouth to hers.
The kiss is soft at first.
I don’t want to go too fast.
It’s been years since we were last together like this.
I’m in no rush . . .
But soon she presses closer, and then when her hands reach for me, tangling in my shirt, I lose my shit, and cup her face in my hands.
“Need you,” I groan against her mouth.
Her fingers curl into my chest at my words. “Need you too.”
At her words, I pull her tighter. The kiss grows more frantic and desperate.
I’ve waited too long for this moment.
She tugs at my shirt, pulling the material up until her nails scratch my skin.