Should I tell him the truth? Confess?
I don’t want to. It’ll be agony to see the hurt inside his eyes when he realizes how cruel I’d planned on being.
I just want to move on from all this and start fresh with him. But can I do that without coming clean?
My feet carry me to the kitchen, where I find Nero staring down at the ingredients spread out in front of him on the marble counter.
My heart stills. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers and an apron tied around his waist, and he looks so damn sexy that I have to take a moment to just appreciate him.
Heat stirs between my thighs. I’m sore as hell, but I still want him.
His eyes lift to mine, his lips curving into a tantalizing smile. “Morning.”
My feet carry me right to his side. He puts the knife in his hand down on the wooden board and turns to face me.
Something vulnerable passes through his eyes.
I didn’t tell him that I love him last night, and even now that I know I do, the words get stuck inside my throat. Why can’t I say it?
I take a step forward and press my cheek against his chest.
His ribs expand on a deep breath. I can hear the steady beating of his heart as he brushes his hand back and forth over the small of my back.
I tip my head back. “What are you making?”
He bends down and places a quick peck against my lips. “Breakfast. French toast and scrambled eggs. I didn’t think you’d be up so early. I was going to bring it to you in bed to help you recover from last night.”
“How thoughtful,” I say with a soft laugh. “Is that your peace offering for what you did to my insides?”
Concern flashes over his expression. “How bad is it? Should I call Doc just in case? If you’re in pain, maybe he can prescribe something.”
I swat at his arm. “You are not going to call Doc and tell him about how you destroyed my vagina last night. I’ll be fine.”
“Wait right here.” Nero walks around me, pulls open the thoroughly stocked medicine drawer, and plucks out a small bottle of pills. “Take this.”
I’m about to protest that he’s being ridiculous before I realize it’s ibuprofen.
Eh. That can’t hurt.
He hands me a glass of water to chase down the pill and starts cracking eggs into a bowl.
I sit on a stool across from him. “Have you talked to Gino?”
“Not yet.”
I search his tone for a hint of regret—maybe now in the morning light he’s realized what he’s losing by giving up his one chance at a promotion—but I don’t find it.
He splashes some milk into the bowl and picks up a whisk. “Listen, I want us to get away from here for a few days.”
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking about what you said last night before I, as you said, ‘destroyed your vagina.’“
I groan, feeling my cheeks heat.
He throws me a mischievous look. “Your words, not mine.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I grumble. “Your ego is big enough as it is.”
