Page 79 of Twisted Vows

Hair.

A silken wave of chestnut strands, tangled like ivy across my sternum.

My lips spread into a smile as Sophia’s warm breath brushes against my bare skin. A freckle I didn’t notice last night rests just beneath her collarbone.

As she shifts, her eyelashes fluttering, I wonder where her mind has taken her.

This feels so unreal. Cuddling Sophia on my chest, all sweet and soft after making love all night, seems like a dream.

My muscles ache to move, but instincts insist I stay still. Like a soldier who’s stepped on a mine. One twitch, and the world explodes.

I take a minute to breathe.

In.

Her wildflower scent assaults my senses.

Out.

Fear.

This feels dangerous.

Too peaceful. Too…domestic. The kind of quiet that makes a man forget he was built for war. The kind of morning written in books I never had patience for, except the ones we used to smuggle contraband inside. Dante used to laugh at me for reading them cover to cover before we carved out the pages and made the drop. I had a weakness for the ones where stubborn characters eventually found their way to each other.

Sophia’s fingers curl slightly against my abdomen, like she’s claiming me.

Hell.

This is not part of the plan.

Last night was a mistake. A glorious, bone-melting, sanity-shattering mistake. One I can’t bring myself to regret. She deserves better than a stone-cold killer.

She wakes up, blinking lazily, her smile crooked and sleepy.

“Good morning.” She greets, as if finding herself in my bed is the most natural thing in the world.

I brush my thumb across her cheek. When her grin widens, something inside me softens.

I need to get up…before that softness strangles me.

Before I can finish murmuring some excuse about needing coffee, she’s already pushing off the sheets, tugging on my shirt, and humming like a storm hasn’t just passed between us.

I follow her to the kitchen, where she burns toast and swears like a dockworker.

After making the coffee, I lean against the cold slab, scowling over the steam. She laughs and smears jam on my knuckle. I retaliate by dragging her into my lap. She yelps, then giggles. With sticky lips and crumbs in our hair, the kiss is messy. As her laugh vibrates against my mouth, I can’t help but smile back.

I should stop.

I don’t.

She pulls back slightly. “Not now. Not like this.”

I release her, my self-control akin to a noose she’s tugging on.

“You want to step out with me?”

She nods.