Page 60 of Be With Me
He wouldn’t tell me. But I wanted to know. He’d been a black box before, and now the lid had been lifted just enough for me to glimpse inside. There were layers to him. Dimensions.
He wasn’t just the manipulative asshole he pretended to be.
The shower started.
A shirt. Right.
One by one, I checked the bedrooms the girls and I had taken. Besides our stuff, there were only a few bathrobes in the closets.
Finally, I found two neatly folded T-shirts in the master suite’s walk-in closet. They were roughly his size.
I grabbed the one that didn’t say The Hamptons, Long Island—since he said he hated this place—and knocked on the bathroom door. “Found you something.”
The water had stopped. “Come in,” his deep voice rumbled.
Steam spilled into the hallway as I opened the door and stepped inside. Romolo stood by the vanity raking his fingers through his damp hair, a towel slung low around his hips.
My mouth went dry.
Broad shoulders. Defined abs. Water still glistening over his skin. Tattoos wrapped around his torso and across his back—intricate images and patterns that must have taken hours upon hours to create.
It wasn’t fair.
Our eyes met in the mirror. His brows lifted slightly like he was amused. “What did you find?”
His voice coasted over my skin like a warm summer wind. I flushed, thrusting the shirt toward him. “Just a black T-shirt.”
He took it, his fingers grazing mine for the briefest moment. The room felt too small, the air charged and heavy.
“Why do I have a feeling this is Messero’s?” he mused, holding up the shirt.
The disdain in his voice made it clear how he felt about Fabi’s brother.
“No love lost between you and your future brother-in-law, huh?” I said, forcing my focus on anything other than the smooth planes of his chest.
“For the love of God, don’t remind me he’ll be family soon.”
“Well, just pretend it’s someone else’s. Maybe Fabi’s mom has a boyfriend.”
He shook his head, his expression unreadable. A few beats passed before his gaze slid back to me. “You’re staring, Mia. See something you like?”
Iwasstaring.
Ididlike what I saw.
Too much.
Heat crept up my neck.Leave. Why are you still here?
He turned, giving me his back.
The towel dropped.
I made a strangled sound and spun toward the wall, my eyes snapping shut. “What are you doing?!”
“Getting dressed.” The fabric rustled as he pulled on the clothes.
I didn’t know why I wasstillstanding there, but I couldn’t move. My feet were glued in place. My brain was short-circuiting.
