Page 95 of Summer Heat
“I’ll see you soon enough and explain in person. Night.”
Nicola clicked off the phone and slid it behind her, not wanting to make eye contact with Cash. He ambled from the wall, one heavy footstep slowly following the next. The noise wrapped around her. She dropped her eyes. Her hands went clammy. The thump, thump, thump of her heart could’ve vibrated the safe house.
Cash’s boots stopped, and she fought the need to look up.
A finger wiped away her resolve. It touched the bottom of her chin and lifted until he held her gaze. Have mercy. Sapphire eyes and a sad smile made her bleed on the inside.
“It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was hurt and husky.
“You hate me?”
“I might.” He smiled again, taking the bite out of their reality.
“I had reasons.” But with him standing in front of her and Roman upstairs ready for a riot, they didn’t seem worth a shit.
“Seems like a lot has changed.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Nice dress.” His eyes wandered slowly down her neck, down the dress.
For the length of the look, she held her breath, unsure why or how his gaze made her skin blaze. She stammered to fill the silence. “I thought the only upside of this day was I could keep the dress.”
He chuckled, breaking the heated glance. “How are we gonna do this, Nic? You want to just explain, or should I start an interrogation?”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“But I won’t.” She stared at the comforter, smoothing a wrinkle. “You and Roman. You look different. You… I guess we all grew up.”
“A lot of time has passed.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“So you did.”
“I know it doesn’t—”
“Enough with the apologies.” The harsh change of tone surprised her. He pushed on. “You want to talk now? To me? Roman? Hell, to Rocco?”
“I already said—”
“And I don’t care. The way I see it, you’re having a bad day because boyfriend-dearest finally got what he deserved.”
“What?” She recoiled. The words felt like a slap across the face. He couldn’t possibly think she and Antilla were a thing. Then again, seducing the blood-hungry prick was part of her cover.
“Don’t play me for stupid, Nic. You and Antilla Smooth.”
“Cash, you—”
“I have no idea what you’ve been up to for ten years, so start talking, or you may need to classify me as something other than a friendly.”
“He wasn’t my lover.”
“I don’t care.”
His face said otherwise, and the panging in her head shouted that he needed to know.
