“It was a long time ago, Della.”
“Jensen.”
“I did some bad shit. I was the one who hurt people,” I say. “Brothers might seem harmless, but he’s just like any other crime lord. Some of the things we did changed my fucking brain.”
Her throat bobs.
“Brothers said something to me once. He said, ‘guilt is a funny thing. It’ll make you mean if you let it’, and I never forgot that. He was right.”
A tear slips down her face.
“Jensen,” she whispers. “You don’t deserve the things that happened to you.”
“Who deserved them then?” The words come out before I can bite them back. “My grandmother? My best friend? That’s who took the bullet.”
She wipes her cheek and takes a shaky breath.
“I wish Leland thought like you,” she says. “He just hurts people and never stops to think about what he’s doing.”
“Maybe being self-aware is the only difference between him and I.”
She balks at that, shaking her head. “No, you’re nothing like him.”
I’m not sure if I believe that. She gets up, pushing my bowl aside and sitting on the edge of the table. Her hand touches my face. Soft, gentle. She strokes down my temple, along my jaw. Her thumb traces over my mouth.
“You should get some sleep,” she says. “You’re tired.”
I am tired.
We go up to the loft. It’s hot, the air thick with humidity. We both strip, and I sink to my back on the bed. She stands in nothing but the soft darkness of her hair. I don’t move. She leans in, touching the cross on my side. My lids flicker, and my body reacts.
Slowly, giving me the chance to say no, she straddles my body. My brain stays quiet. My body doesn’t revolt; it wants this. I want this, want her.
“Ride me,” I breathe.
She grips me in her hand, guiding me between her thighs. Her head falls back, exposing her throat, as she sinks down. We both gasp. There’s nothing in the world but this tiny loft and our bodies, naked from desire and summer heat. I can’t keep from touching her. She moans, hips working, when I put my hand on her stomach, grazing her scar, then up, to lay on her heart.
She rises, falling, lost in her pleasure, and all I can think about is who we could have been if we’d just been given the one thing denied us both—a choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DELLA
I can’t sleep after our conversation at the table. My heart is tender, thinking about Jensen, about Landis. Every day I can’t hold him, breathe in the baby shampoo scent of his fine hair, is pure torture.
He’s my baby. I need him within arm’s reach.
And yet, if I let myself think about it, I’ll break into a million pieces.
I’m getting damn good at not thinking.
The moon is so full, it’s as bright as early morning. Jensen lays on his back, sheet pulled to his waist. I toss and turn beside him and think a lot about what comes next. There’s a pull in me that tells me to trust him. But the other part, the rational side of my brain, doesn’t trust men, not after my experience with Leland. Then, there’s a third voice that tells me I don’t have a choice. Brothers got me this far. Now, it’s time for me to let Jensen take over.
I’ve gotten further with them than on my own.
He’s breathing evenly, deeply. I glance at him. His hand rests on his stomach, perfectly still.
I ease to my right side, laying my arm beneath my head. “Jensen.”
