Page 58

Her lips part, but whatever she was about to say dies when I flex my hand in warning.

I give her throat another deliberate squeeze before releasing it and catching her ankle instead. I pull her legs across my lap, settling my hand high on her thigh.

“You don’t want me to hold you? Fine. I’m not holding you.” My thumb strokes once over the inside of her knee. “But you’re staying right fucking here.”

She glares at me.

“Now,” I say, meeting her glare without blinking. “What do you want?”

She inhales shakily. “I want to make bad decisions since the good ones haven’t brought me anything.” Her voice cracks at the end. “And I want answers.”

Something about the defiance in her voice has my palm itching. Fuck, I want to bend her over my knee and spank some of that attitude out of her almost as badly as I want to encourage every fucking second of it.

This version of Kira is new, and apparently my cock approves with the way it jerks in my pants. I watch her pour a third drink. Her hands are steady, which is surprising given how much whiskey is already in her system.

Or maybe it’s not surprising. Maybe Kira has the kind of resilience that shows up in the worst moments, the kind that keeps functioning when everything else has stopped.

“Dr. Morgan will give us answers in the morning,” I remind her, keeping my tone level even though I’m annoyed she won’t let me hold her.

Kira shrugs as her beautiful hazel eyes lock on mine. “Have you talked to Paolo?” she asks.

I frown at the abrupt change of subject. “Why are you asking about him?”

“Because I want answers, Domenico.”

Taking a sip of my whiskey, I let it sit on my tongue before I answer. “He’s in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Why Chicago?”

“He’s staying with… relatives.”

“Who?”

I hesitate. “Someone he trusts.” It’s evasive, and we both know it. But I can’t tell her yet.

Her jaw tightens when I don’t elaborate. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“It’s all you need.”

Sighing, she turns fully to face me, her knees pressing against my thigh. Her eyes are bright from the whiskey, and there’s a flush across her cheeks that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Why am I not allowed to know anything? Why do you hold everything back like it’s some big secret I’m not cleared for?”

The sharpness in her tone should irritate me. Nobody questions me like this. Instead, I have to shift slightly because my cock grows even harder.

“Some things are complicated, Kira.”

“Everything is complicated. That’s not an answer.”

I drain my glass and set it on the table. The whiskey is warm in my chest, but it’s not doing anything to dull the edge of this conversation. Kira’s leaning forward now, her hands braced on her knees, and the look on her face is the same one she gave Dr. Morgan—stubborn, unwavering, refusing to be dismissed.

“You know what I realized tonight?” she says. “Everything is your rules. Your house, your money, your people watching my mom. Your doctor evaluating her.” She laughs bitterly. “It’s even your whiskey I’m drinking while sitting on your couch.”

I know every your she throws at me is meant to sound like an accusation. But to the possessive part of me, it sounds like fucking music to my ears. Because Kira. Is. Mine.

Then she lifts my bottle to her lips and drinks straight from it, glaring at me over the rim, and my palm damn near twitches.

Lowering the bottle, she continues her tirade. “People even refer to me as your wife, Domenico—”