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His calloused fingertips brushed my wrist, and a scowl distorted his features. I followed the direction of his fiery gaze and noted the bruise where Gavin had grabbed me. I’d covered it with a gold cuff bracelet to hide it at the office, but now the mottled purple ring was clearly visible.
“I’m okay,” I said softly, even as my stomach turned at the memory of his cruel grip. “My skin just marks up easily.”
His black eyes snapped to mine, his white teeth flashing on a growl. “It’s not okay. I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”
I reached out and traced the sharp line of his tight jaw, my fingers tingling at the rough scrape of his stubble. His eyes closed for a moment, and his face relaxed. He leaned into the tender contact.
My heart squeezed. How long had he been denied this simple human touch?
A question about his accident was on the tip of my tongue, but one glance at the brief, serene expression on his face gave me pause. His hair was pushed back, his scar on full display. He seemed to have forgotten to hide it when our bodies were entwined. On some innate level, he was starting to believe he didn’t have to hide from me. He was starting to trust me.
I couldn’t bear to lose that.
“You did more than enough.” I reassured him instead of asking about his scar. “You should’ve seen Gavin today. He has two black eyes, and his arm is in a cast. He’s hurting for what he did to me.”
Max’s head canted to the side, and his dark gaze picked apart every nuance of my ferocious expression, noting the slightly cruel twist to my lips. “You seem happy that he’s in pain.”
I shrugged, but my shoulders tensed defensively, and I fiddled with my locket to alleviate the burst of anxiety. Vindictiveness was an ugly quality, but I couldn’t bring myself to suppress it. “Am I supposed to feel bad about it?” I challenged.
His features split in a breathtaking, wolfish grin. “No. I like it. He deserved far worse.”
I nodded, but I rubbed the smooth back of my locket for comfort. I wasn’t sure if I needed soothing because of the implication that I was a vindictive bitch or because I was still rattled by what Gavin had done.
Max’s eyes fixed on the necklace. “You don’t have to be anxious.” He nodded toward where my fingers worried at the warm gold. “I’ve noticed that you touch it when you’re stressed. I’ve never seen you without it,” he explained.
I blinked at him. His perceptiveness should’ve been slightly unnerving, but his intense focus on my every move made my stomach flip in a decidedly feminine response. Max made me nervous in all the right ways.
“It’s all I have left of my mother,” I admitted, sharing the information without thought. Max would never use it to hurt me. He’d protected me so many times. I could trust him.
“We lost everything in the fire,” I murmured. “I was wearing this when my dad carried me out of the burning house. It was my grandmother’s—her name was Alexandra, too. My mom was very close with her, and she wanted me to know that we shared the same tight bond. She gave it to me when I turned ten.” The picture of my mother and me that I kept safely locked inside was the only physical photo that existed from the time before the fire. Before we’d lost her.
For a moment, the flames filled my vision. My throat burned from my screams, and my father’s arms were iron bands around my chest.
“I didn’t go back for her,” I whispered. “I wanted to save her, but I didn’t.” The smoke seemed to choke my lungs, and my eyes stung.
Max curled two fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face to his so he could lock me in his intense black stare. I fell into the bottomless pools of his eyes, desperate to drown in them, to lose myself in him.
“There was nothing you could’ve done.” His voice was roughened by his own pain.
I sniffled and swiped at the tears on my cheeks. “Sorry.” I managed a watery apology. “I know you lost your mother too. It must have been hard for you.”
His jaw hardened to granite. I pressed my palm against his cheek. His teeth stopped grinding beneath my tender touch, and the angry mask fell away. His brow furrowed with the pain that he kept so deeply buried.
“You couldn’t have saved your mother,” he said. “You’re not responsible for her death.” What was meant to be a comforting statement came out in a gravelly rasp. “I can’t say the same. My mom died because I was too weak to save her.”
I brushed my thumb over his cheekbone, commanding his attention and grounding him to me. “I’m sure that’s not true,” I countered softly. “You would’ve been a child when she died, right? What could you have possibly done?”
