Page 55 of Fastest Kill

"That's a terrible thing to say to someone at dinner," Frederica grumbled.

"You're right. I apologize. Be a good girl and eat your pasta."

Her mouth twitched at one corner. "It's good pasta."

"Cooking is the only thing I can do when I'm stressed that's not destructive." Dario didn't add that he cooked to make her feel better because she needed to eat. "There isn't much that pasta and cheese can't fix."

"True," she said with a soft laugh.

As she ate, her shoulders came down a few degrees from where they had been when she walked out of the bathroom. He watched her across the table with the low-grade ache of wanting to cross the three feet of space between them and do something he hadn't been invited to do.

"Who do you think she was if you had to guess?" Frederica asked. It wasn't directed at him, really. "The gifted woman. He said they had 'lost touch.'"

"Then whoever she was, he probably put her in the ground," Dario replied.

Frederica nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

Dario collected the dishes without being asked and stood at the sink. Frederica pulled her knees up on the chair and folded her arms across them, hugging herself.

"I keep waiting for it to come back," she said quietly. "The fear. I know the salt bath worked, but I keep expecting it to just be swamped with it again."

Dario stopped washing the bowl in his hand. "Does it feel like it's going to?"

"No. I just don't trust that it won't. I don't like not trusting my own body," she admitted.

Dario finished washing the bowl and turned around, leaning back against the counter. She looked exhausted and coiled, like she had been running on adrenaline for too long, and the fuel was finally running out, but the nervous system hadn't gotten the message yet.

"Come here," Dario said in a low voice.

Frederica looked at him for a long moment before getting up from the chair. She crossed the kitchen and stopped just in front of him. He held her gaze and kept his hands where they were. It was her call to take what he offered.

Frederica's face crumpled, and she took the last half-step and pressed her face against his chest. "I fucking hate this."

"I know." Dario wrapped his arms around her. She exhaled against his sternum, long and controlled.

Dario pressed his mouth to the top of her head and held her there. Neither of them said anything. She didn't need him to give her words. She needed him to ground her, and he wasn't going to let go until she asked him to.

Frederica was the one who moved first. Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, and she tilted her chin up. Her eyes were clear and direct. No fear in them anymore.

"Don't make this into something," she warned him, and his heart rate picked up.

Dario smiled. "I wouldn't dare."

Frederica rolled her eyes, pulled him down by the collar, and kissed him. It wasn't rough and desperate, like Ephesus. It was deep and soft, and it made the blood rush to his dick with lightning speed.

He brushed his tongue against her lips, one hand at the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. Frederica made a low sound against his mouth that she probably hadn't intended to make, and his chest tightened at the sound of it.

She pulled back just far enough to look at him. "Bedroom."

"Yeah, good idea," he said, a little dazed. It wasn't where he thought the night would go. That was one thing he loved about her. Frederica never stopped surprising him.

She took his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He didn't dare smirk or make any cheeky comment for fear of ruining the moment.

24

The bedroom was dark, except for the moon and streetlights coming in through the windows. Dario pulled her close and kissed Frederica again, making her hum. She stood in the dim light with her damp hair and her oversized shirt and her bare feet, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever stood in front of.

"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.