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She sensed weight behind his casual tone, but her curiosity was overshadowed by the possibility that Primo would do such a thing. That he would risk hurting innocent women and children as part of his war against Damian Cavallo.
“You think Primo did this to send a message?”
It was a question she almost didn’t want him to answer. Because what was she supposed to do with it once she had it? Her entire life depended on a certain level of oblivion. She hated to admit it to herself, but she had no choice in the face of Damian’s accusation. She didn’t want to know the details of her brother’s business.
Had never wanted to know.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He hesitated, then added quietly. “The fire department has already determined it was arson.”
There was something gentle in the last sentence, and she understood that his hesitation had been for her. That he had been trying to find a way to break the news without being needlessly harsh.
Something like affection flooded her chest and she had to force herself not to go to him.
Not to reach up and hold his face in her hands.
Because there was no room for tenderness for Damian Cavallo. He wasn’t her family. Primo was, and she owed him her loyalty until Damian’s accusations had been proven.
“Primo wouldn’t do that,” she said.
He drew in a breath, and she sensed that he was losing patience. She almost held her breath through tension, felt the weight of Damian’s potential anger hovering over them like a storm cloud.
She was still waiting for him to speak when he crossed the room slowly toward her. She was backed up against the workbench she’d been using to clean the tools, but she felt no desire to escape when he stepped close enough to box her in.
He was right there, his body close enough that she could feel the heat of it. That she could smell him— warm bourbon and cedar and smoke. It was intoxicating, and she reached a hand behind her, bracing herself against the workbench both to keep herself from touching him and to ground herself in the here and now. To remind herself that she lived in the real world.
And the real world would never, ever let her touch him.
He stood over her, his eyes unreadable. There was a moment when she thought he might kiss her. When his gaze skimmed her face, landed on her lips, lingered there.
Then he spoke.
“Someday soon your desire to remain ignorant won’t absolve you of wrongdoing. I would prefer to keep you out of my war with Primo, but you’re running out of time.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew something, and she held her breath as he leaned toward her. His body was nearly covering hers, close enough that she felt the brush of his shirt against hers, his breath near her shoulder.
Close enough to make her want him.
She heard him set something down on the workbench behind her. He hesitated as he straightened, lingering near her collarbone. She was paralyzed, and not with fear.
Fear would have made sense. Fear would have been explainable.
But this… this lust storming her senses, her body, was anything but explainable.
He stepped back, putting a few more inches between them, and she sucked in air like she’d been underwater too long, hoping he couldn’t see the rise and fall of her chest, the flush she felt expanding across her face, the desire that had clouded her need for anything but him in the few seconds he’d been suspended over her body.
“That’s my card,” he said. “My personal number is on the back. Call me if you change your mind.”
She watched as he stepped through the doorway of the shed, disappearing into the twilight.
