Page 57 of Vengeance

"About me."

She rolled her eyes. "Your ego is enormous."

"So that's a yes." She nudged him gently with her shoulder, and he pretended to stumble dramatically. "My bullet wound!" he teased, grabbing his side.

"Oh, stop,” she said.

"You've assaulted an injured man."

"You deserved it,” she teased.

His grin widened. “Does that mean that you’ll finally stop treating me like I might bite." Flashes of him biting her naked body crossed her mind, and she knew that she was blushing. She looked at him. She knew that his scar was healing and that his bruises were gone, but she still worried about him. The hard lines around his eyes had softened, and he smiled more now. It wasn’t often, but it was enough that she'd started looking forward to it.

"I was wrong about you." The words came quietly.

His smile faded. "I know."

"No." She shook her head. "I don't think you do." He waited her out. "I believed that Dante created another version of himself." She reached out without thinking and brushed a loose strand of dark hair away from his forehead. "But he didn't."His breath caught. "He created someone who chose to become everything he wasn't."

Emotion flickered across his face. "You really believe that?"

"I do,” she whispered.

He looked away. "I don't deserve that."

"Maybe not." She smiled. "But Savage believed it, too."

He laughed softly. "You really know how to win an argument."

"I learned from Bowie,” she said.

"I noticed." They both laughed, and the sound echoed across the clearing before fading into the trees. When the laughter disappeared, neither of them moved. Her hand was still resting lightly against his cheek, and his eyes searched hers. Slowly, carefully, like he was giving her every opportunity to step away, he leaned into her. She didn’t take a step back. Instead, she took one small step closer.

"I've been thinking about something,” she whispered.

He swallowed. "That’s dangerous."

"It usually is."

"What have you been thinking about?” he asked,

"The first day we met—” She smiled. "I hated you."

"I remember."

She shook her head. “That’s the thing. I don't remember that anymore."

His heartbeat seemed loud enough for her to hear. "You should remember that, Chloe.”

"I know, but I don't." She rose onto her toes and kissed him. It was tentative and gentle—nothing like the desperate kisses she'd imagined in romance novels. This one felt safe.

When she pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

She smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"I also spent two months convincing myself it was a terrible idea,” he said.

"Probably is,” she said.