“Fold it,” I kept my eyes steady on hers. “Then put it in your pocket. That’s it. We don’t talk about the money again, and don’t even think about paying me back since. . .we’re family.”
Her eyes watered.
She looked at the numbers again, then at me, then back to the check.
A sigh shivered through her.
She folded the check and slid it into her pocket. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” If she knew the size of my accounts, she might pass out.
I could have been living in some sterile mansion with a staff and a gate code. But money couldn’t buy this—the warmth in this basement, the trace of her perfume, the sense that home existed beneath the floorboards of her life.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Don’t cry.” The sight began to unraveled me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just. . .” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I was so overwhelmed this week and it seemed like every day was getting worse, and then tonight I stepped into. . .the house and it just all. . .worked out.”
More tears came.
Fuck.
Against all logic, I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms.
She came easily. Soft, warm, solid—every line of her fitting against me like my body had been designed with this moment in mind.
Her cheek pressed to my chest. Her scent seeped into my soul.
My hands moved over her back of their own accord, memorizing the slope of her shoulders, the strength in her midline, the curve of her waist.
Beauty.
Touch.
“Thank you,” She lifted her view to meet mine. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” My voice came out rough.
The moment stretched.
Thin.
Bright.
Dangerous.
“But um. . .we should also talk about. . .what happened in the backyard.” She began to pull back.
I didn’t let her leave my hold.
“We should talk about it. In fact. . .this is the explanation.” I lowered my mouth to hers and kissed her so deep she moaned.
Chapter eight
The Prescription and Poison
Dominic
