As Rio sat next to Luke on the bed, it seemed absolute bonkers fricking insane that she was having trouble holding it together. Considering everything that had gone down in the last—how long had it been? Five years? Twenty-five? A century? And now, after getting hit by a car, kidnapped, assaulted, and taken in by the drug dealers she was trying to bust, now she was losing it?
But something had happened when Luke had woken up and really looked at her properly. And then held his own can of soda. And then asked for another. The humanity of his suffering and recovery had made her forget all about the cop/criminal thing. They were just two people in a shitstorm, trying to survive, and she was so glad he had not—
“I thought you were going to die,” she blurted.
When she slapped her palm over her mouth, it was a relief when he laughed. “So did I.”
Nodding, she relowered her arm and looked at his . . . rather extraordinary . . . naked chest. And his shoulders. And his . . .
Okay, those abs were sculptured.
“Let me in, Rio,” he whispered. Then he shrugged. “And listen, if you’re worried about your privacy, where’s it going to go, right? I’m just a fucking drug dealer, trapped in this life, going nowhere fast. I have no one, no family, no friends, so I don’t talk to anybody about anything. I don’t count. I’m a black hole that doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t say that.” She wiped eyes that were going blurry again. “How can you say that—”
“It’s the truth, and there’s nothing wrong with admitting the truth. It’ll set you free even when you’re in Hell.” He held up a forefinger. “Trust me on this.”
“What is your truth?” she asked.
“I just told you it.”
Rio shook her head. “You’re not a black hole. And I can prove it.”
He chuckled a little. “If it’s a long math equation, you’re going to lose me. Numbers are not my bag.”
“Me, too. I suck at math.”
In the silence that followed, she studied him closely—and knew she was trying to memorize what he looked like. She wanted to keep all the details of him with her for however long she was alive, from the way his blond-and-brown hair curled over his forehead, to how his lips were parted right now and the fact that with his eyes at half-mast, their color seemed more intense.
There were so many reasons to remember that she was a cop and he was part of a criminal enterprise and never the twain shall meet.
Much less make love.
Or, worse, catch feelings.
Still, she extended her hand across the space that separated them—and her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they made contact with the place right over his heart. His skin was warm, but not like it had been when she’d touched him to rouse him as she’d been checking to make sure he was still alive. He’d been running a fever, but now that was gone.
“I can feel you,” she whispered. “Therefore you exist—and you are not nothing.”
Luke looked down at her palm on his sternum, as if he couldn’t understand why it was there—or maybe couldn’t believe it. And in the pause that followed, she supposed that there were a lot of things he could do right now: He could kiss her. He could pull away. He could make a joke to try to lower the sudden intensity that was gripping her, and seemed to be gripping him.
Instead, he closed his eyes. And put his hand over hers.
“What are you thinking about,” she said, “with your eyes so closed.”
“That it’s been a long, long time since I didn’t hurt in the center of my chest.”
When Lucan eventually reopened his eyes, he found that Rio’s whole body was curved in toward him and her face was lifted to his. With their hands linked over his heart and the soft silence between them, he took a deep breath and wondered how he could explain how significant this moment was.
Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know the importance of it all.
But as a wolven who had been abandoned by his clan, he had been an orphan in the world for a very long time. With her now? He felt . . . claimed as family.
“I wish . . .” she whispered.
“What? What do you want.”
Rio eased back a little, and unfortunately, took her palm with her. As her eyes shifted away from him, he knew she was somewhere else in her mind—and he missed the contact of her flesh against his.
“I hate the idea of you hurting.” She shook her head. “I hate anyone in pain, actually. I’m a wuss.”
“You’ve got a good heart. Like that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Who left you,” she blurted. “Who was the person who made you feel like you were so unworthy.”
What did he say. What could he say? “It was a whole group of people. My family, actually.”
Her head tilted to one side. “What did they do to you?”
“They put me in here.” When she looked confused, he wanted to kick his own ass for forgetting all she didn’t know, couldn’t know. “I mean, I’m in this line of work because of them. It’s a long fucking story. Just know . . . I wouldn’t choose to be doing what I am if there were any other way for me. I would not be in this life except for everything that went down years ago.”
As she opened her mouth, he put his palm up. “And there’s no disrespect intended toward you. I don’t judge you or anybody else for the way they make their living. I am in no position to be critical.”
Her smile was tight. “Funny. You wouldn’t choose this life, and I . . . wouldn’t either in so many ways.”
“Tell me.”
“It wouldn’t make any sense.” Rio fell back on the bed and locked her eyes on the ceiling. Then her words came out in a rush. “My brother, Luis, died of an overdose at the age of sixteen. I was the one who found him. I was two years older.”