Page 57 of Mafioso's Muse

She moved to stand. ‘I’ll get a cloth.’

Vaughn caught her hand and gently pulled her back down. ‘I think we’re beyond a cloth. I’ll go to the bathroom. It’s your turn to sit and relax.’

She gave him an apologetic look as he rose.

Once inside the bathroom/laundry/toilet, he inspected the stain in the mirror, then unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. He rubbed some hand soap into it, then carefully rinsed it under the tap. As he was dabbing it dry with the hand towel, Willow appeared in the doorway. He looked up and saw that she was holding a T-shirt. Her eyes went to the purple-and-yellow bruising that ran from his ribcage to his hip, visible through gaps in his ink.

Shit.

He went to put his shirt back on, but Willow entered the bathroom and stilled his hands. ‘Let me see,’ she said, eyes moving down his torso.

She placed the T-shirt she was holding on the sink, then moved his arm out of the way to get a better look at the marks. For some illogical reason, he let her, watching her expression change from shock to sadness as she lightly traced the edge of the bruise with her fingertips. When she reached his hip, she looked up, eyes shiny.

‘I hate this.’ She shook her head as though trying to expel the visual. ‘I’m imagining all the possible ways it could have happened.’

He turned to her on an exhale, taking hold of her face with one hand. ‘It’ll always be ten times worse in your imagination.’ He delivered the lie with unflinching confidence, because it’s what she needed to hear.

Willow’s hand went to his bare chest. ‘I always wondered how much ink covered the rest of you.’ She eyed the large phoenix that spanned the left side of his ribcage. ‘Now I know.’

Her hand on his bare skin was a pleasure he had never known. He really needed her to stop.

Gently guiding her hand away, he picked up the T-shirt. ‘Is this for me?’

She nodded. ‘It’s the biggest one I own.’

He held it up to see what was printed on the front. ‘Two Blues. You follow rugby?’

‘Of course.’ She cleared her throat and looked nervously around the room. ‘Now that I’ve seen your ink… would you like to see mine?’

He lowered the T-shirt and stared at her. ‘What?’

‘I only have one.’

He set the T-shirt back on the sink, giving her his full attention. ‘All right. Let’s see it.’

Slowly, Willow slid the hem of her top up to her bra line, revealing a small pair of pink ballet slippers. He instinctively reached up to touch it, following the swirls of ribbon until his finger met with the blue nylon of her bra. He could see her heart pounding.

‘It’s perfect,’ he whispered.

You are perfect.

His fingers slid around her ribcage, coming to rest on her back. She looked up at him and released her top. It fell over his hand. Seeing his own desire reflected back at him was too much.

‘Please don’t push me away again.’ Her words came out like a plea.

There was no way he could have pushed her away in that moment—even if his phonehadrung.

Willow backed up to the washing machine, pulling him with her by magnetic force. Taking hold of her waist, he lifted her and placed her gently atop the appliance. It was the worst possible location for their second kiss, but he didn’t have the restraint or clarity of mind required to implement a better plan. She opened her legs, and he stepped between them, his lips crashing down on hers as he did so. A savage sort of hunger tore through his body as Willow’s legs tightened around him, drawing him closer. The strength in her grip left him with no escape.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

She held on to his neck while he savoured the taste and temperature of her. He was so hungry for more that he was relieved when her elbow knocked a detergent bottle and she broke the kiss.

‘Should we go somewhere with more room?’ she asked.

‘Like the walk-in robe?’

She laughed, then touched one of the bruises. ‘Does the person who did this know how funny you are?’