Page 102 of Broken Vows

Of course he hadn’t noticed. And strangely, that makes something deep inside me soften.

Maverick noticed everything—every new gray hair, every softening line, every tiny change in my body that could be fixed, monitored, or improved. He’d looked at me like a quality inspector always hunting for defects, and I’d spent years trying to stay one step ahead of his disappointment.

I like that Levi hadn’t even noticed the inch of grays. It feels strangely freeing—like I don’t have to perform perfection anymore.

He washes his hands, dries them, and turns back to me. The look in his eyes now makes my stomach flip—dark, intent, and very focused on me.

“Bedtime,” he says.

The wine makes me bolder than usual. I bite my lip and look up at him. “Want to come with me?”

Levi goes very still.

Then he closes the distance in two strides, backing me gently against the archway until I’m trapped between the frame and the solid heat of his body. His hand settles on my hip.

“Oh, I want to,” he says. “You have no idea how much.”

A shiver runs through me. He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “But not when you’ve been drinking.”

“I only had few glasses.”

“I want you clear-headed.” His fingers trace the curve of my waist, then he stills, as if even that small touch is testing his control. “I want you knowing exactly what you’re doing.”

Something inside me melts.

He wants me. It is written in how tense his body is, in the roughness of his breathing, in the way his eyes keep dropping to my mouth before dragging back up again.

And still, he is holding back.

Then I frown.

“You didn’t seem to mind that I’d been drinking that night at the wine bar.”

“You nursed one glass the entire time.”

“Watching closely, were you?”

His gaze holds mine. “Very.”

Heat slips through me.

“It’s weird how you moved next door days later,” I say.

“It is weird,” he says.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does. A flicker of something I can’t quite read before he slides his arm around me and squeezes my behind.

“Go shower. I’ll lock up and leave water by your bed.”

I nod, a little dazed, and start to slip past him.

Before I make it two steps, his hand closes gently around my wrist and pulls me back against his chest.

“And answer your fucking phone next time,” he says, voice low against my ear. “I didn’t like not knowing where you were.”

His hand lingers at my waist for one last possessive second before he releases me.

The alcohol makes me honest. Otherwise, I would have swallowed the words, smiled politely, and pretended I hadn’t spent half the day anxiously checking my phone for any sign of him.