Page 58 of Her Hidden Smile

“But my scars⁠—”

“Don’t matter. I told you, you’re beautiful to me.”

“But I can’t be.”

I pulled her closer. Now that I wasn’t scared out of my mind that Millie was being attacked, my body had come to attention. I found everything about Millie intensely desirable, and my dick was leading the charge. I decided it was time to show her just how irresistible I found her.

I stretched out my legs and pulled Millie closer, careful to keep my hand on her pretty panties. I knew a part of her was uncomfortable with this, since she had scarring on her hip, but fuck it. My hand loved where it was, and I intended to keep my hand happy.

“Renzo?”

I moved her closer.

I heard her swift intake of air. “Renzo?” she asked again.

I pulled her even closer until her butt was firmly nestled against my erection.

“What are you doing?” she asked after a long moment.

“Proving to you just how beautiful and desirable I find you.”

I let my words sink in, not minding her silence. Then, my little minx did a soft shimmy and my dick got even harder. Thank God I wasn’t wearing jeans, otherwise there would be train tracks running up and down my penis.

I spread the fingers of my hand so that it covered not only the side of her panties, but so that it was touching her scarred flesh. Millie jumped. Just a little. I kissed her temple.

“Have you figured out I enjoy touching you?”

“I’m thinking you have a thing for lace panties.”

I choked out a laugh and squeezed her tight.

“My girl is feeling feisty.”

Her body didn’t relax against mine. It wilted.

“I think that’s all the teasing you’re going to get out of me tonight.”

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

“You know what it was.”

I moved my mouth to the shell of her ear. “Tell me about it.”

I hated even thinking about that night, and I hadn’t discussed what happened in almost ten years. I didn’t know if it was even possible.

“Cariña, you’re safe with me. Maybe if you talk about it, your nightmares will go away.”

I arched my neck and looked up into his midnight eyes. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“It’s worth a try, baby.”

Thinking about that night killed. It just killed. I’d tried to stuff it down into the littlest compartment in my brain, but sometimes it crawled out like some kind of spider. A spider with claws and a poisonous bite.

“Dad had cooked that night,” I started. “He almost always cooked dinner, unless it was spaghetti or grilled cheese sandwiches. Mom could cook those.”

I must have paused too long because Renzo asked me a question. “What did your dad cook that night?”

“Chicken stir-fry with snow peas. It was great. He knew just the right amount of spices to add to make it taste great. Dad could always get mom and I to eat our vegetables.”