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“Don’t. I’m not sure what has just happened, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I’d rather not,” he says, but squeezes my hand tighter.
“Remember how we agreed on honesty?” My lips are so close to his skin, only the thin fabric of his shirt preventing me from tasting him. Aching need overwhelms me.
“I’ve been having panic attacks. I had them under control for a while, but ever since you’ve come back they’ve been sneaking up on me.”
“Massi.” I’m his trigger? I cause him to panic? My arms fall slack and I back away, but he turns around and cups my face.
“Honesty, we said, so don’t you retreat on me now, Blue.”
Tears burn my eyes. “But if I’m causing you to panic… how could we ever… I mean… I-I…” I trip over my words, unwilling, unable to articulate what that would mean.
I’m poison to him. I’ve always been the bane of his existence, and I can’t even contemplate our second chance because it would only be a second chance for more heartbreak, more suffering, more pain.
“Blue, baby, you got it all wrong. It’s the idea of you leaving again that spirals me into panic.”
His words flow into my bloodstream, finding every secret corner of any resistance I might have still harbored. My breath hitches and tears stream down my cheeks, but I laugh. And cry and laugh.
Our lips meet in a sloppy kiss that tastes salty and slimy, but I don’t care. Here and now in the arms of this man I’m complete for the first time in as long as I can remember.
We keep hugging and kissing, not a passionate, desire-driven make-out session, but a connection of pure relief. Of reclamation and rehabilitation.
My stomach growls and we both giggle.
“Okay, let me feed you now,” he says.
“Yes, please.”
We walk out of the bathroom, his arms around my shoulders, mine around his waist.
“I guess you got a sneak peek of the bedroom before dinner after all.” He kisses the top of my head.
“And what a bedroom. Seriously, this is too much.”
He laughs. “Baby, it’s not enough until you scream my name here.”
ChapterSeventeen
Gina
“If you tell anyone I fed you warmed-up food, I’ll deny it, fire you, and probably punish you.” Massi watches me with hooded eyes, sending tingles into parts of me that haven’t been this alive in years.
“I’ll keep your secret, master chef, but you may need to motivate me. What kind of punishment do you have in mind?” I bat my eyelashes. Before we were too young and awkward, but our flirting skills have matured and I’m enjoying the innuendo.
“Spanking, obviously,” he deadpans and my cheeks heat up, but my entire body pops open the celebratory champagne.
I lick my lips, trailing them with languid luxury. His eyes follow the move with dark promise sparkling in his irises as his tongue darts out and mimics mine, giving me a needed confidence boost. “It might be hard to keep that secret…”
He jumps from his seat and hauls me to standing, laughing at my squeals and half-hearted protests. Scooping me up, he carries me to the middle of the room and puts me down.
I wasn’t expecting this destination. We’re standing in the center of his foyer/living room, the park providing a perfect backdrop as the light outside has dimmed to emphasize the romance this city forges.
Massi pulls his phone from the back pocket and taps the screen. The lights in the room fade. He taps the screen a few more times and throws the phone on to the sofa.
Before I ask what’s going on, the mood is set and sensuous violins fill the room. I recognize the beat immediately and I smile at Massi, whose eyes are sparkling with joy and desire. He plants his hand firmly on my waist and pulls me closer.
We move in basic tango steps at first, more enthralled by our closeness and the anticipation than the milonga. But the music takes over quickly, and we glide around the room in a harmony so rare in our turbulent relationship.
