Page 59 of Be With Me
“Can you keep a secret?”
He didn’t want anyone to know about what had happened back there. That he’d cracked open, even for a moment. “Yeah.”
His gaze lingered on my face, warming my cheek. “Thanks.”
The jacket carried his scent, and for the rest of the drive, my blood hummed, too aware of it.
Too aware of him.
* * *
Fabi, Nina, and Zo weren’t back yet when we arrived at the house. I punched in the code to the front door that Fabi had given to all of us and wiped my muddy feet on the welcome mat before stepping inside Fabi’s mom’s pristine home. Romolo followed me.
The house was dark and eerily quiet. I reached for the light switch and blinked against the harsh glare as the overhead lights flickered on.
We caught our reflections in the entryway mirror at the same time.
Oh God.
We were a mess. Mud-streaked. Soaked. Completely wrecked.
Romolo exhaled through his nose. “Straight to the shower.”
It wasn’t meant suggestively, but an image of us under steaming water together flashed through my mind before I could stop it. Heat bloomed across my face. When I caught his pensive gaze in the mirror, I wondered if his mind had gone in a similar direction.
We were alone in an empty house. Light rain still bounced against the windows, and just beyond the glass in the living room, waves crashed over the shore. The sound of them filled the air.
It was intimate.
Dangerously intimate.
I felt myself drawn to him in a way I shouldn’t be.
Don’t forget what you thought of him before the car swerved.
Right.
He’d been awful. He wanted information on my dad, and he’d been ruthless in trying to get it.
No matter what happened tonight, I couldn’t risk further associating myself with him. I needed to get him out of my life.
And that picture… God. Was it worth trying to get him to delete it now that I had something on him, too?
The idea felt icky, but I had to use the little leverage I had to protect myself and the campaign.
I’d let him clean up first. Then I’d bring it up.
I nodded toward the stairs. “There’s a bathroom upstairs. Third door on the right.”
He rummaged through the gym bag he'd fished out of the trunk. “I only have a spare pair of sweatpants in here. Think you can find a T-shirt my size?”
“I can check.”
We climbed the stairs, careful not to touch the walls or railing with our filthy clothes. At the bathroom door, I stopped. “Go ahead. I’ll find you something to wear.”
His gray eyes lingered on me for a moment before he nodded and disappeared inside.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The near drowning must have been horrific to traumatize him. How had he survived? Did someone pull him out, or did he fight his way to the surface?
