Her words ripped into me. Reaching out, I gripped the edge of the shower’s floating glass.
Relenting, she came to me, wrapped herself around me. My head bowed as I soaked her in. The smell of her, the feel. My free arm slid around her hips, my hand cupping the full curve of her ass. I wasn’t the same man I’d been when we met. I was stronger in some ways and weaker in others. It was the weakness I struggled with. I used to feel nothing. And now— “He doesn’t see you as weak,” she murmured, reading me the way she always could. Her cheek lay over my heart. “No one could. After what you’ve been through … to be the man you are today. That’s strength, baby. And I’m impressed.”
My fingers flexed into her supple flesh. “You’re biased,” I muttered. “You’re in love with me.”
“Of course I am. How could I be anything else? You’re amazing and perfect—”
I grunted.
“Perfect for me,” she corrected. “And since you belong to me, that’s a good thing.”
I tugged her back and into the shower, leading her under the pounding jets of warm water. “I feel like this changed things,” I admitted, “but I don’t know how.”
“We figure it out together.” Her hands ran over my shoulders and down my arms. “Just don’t push me away. You have to stop trying to protect me, especially from yourself!”
“I can’t hurt you, angel. Can’t take any risks.”
“Whatever. I can take you down, ace, if you get out of hand.”
If that were true, it might have been a comfort.
I switched gears, hoping to avoid a fight that would send ripples through the rest of my day. “I’ve been thinking about the penthouse renovations.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“We exhausted the subject. It’s not closed,” I qualified, “just tabled until there are additional variables to address.”
She eyed me. “Why does it turn me on when you go all alpha mogul on me like that?”
“Don’t tell me there are times when I don’t turn you on.”
“God, I wish. I’d be a more productive human being.”
I brushed the wet hair back from her forehead. “Have you thought about what you want?”
“Whatever ends with your cock inside me.”
“Good to know. I was talking about the penthouse.”
She shrugged, her eyes lit with mischievous amusement. “Same goes either way.”
IT was the sort of local eatery that tourists never spared a glance. Small and lacking in aesthetics, it boasted a vinyl marquee that did nothing to brand it as unique or welcoming. It specialized in soup, with sandwich options for those with heartier appetites. A cooler by the door offered a limited selection of beverages, while an ancient register was only capable of taking cash.
No, travelers would never come to this place run by immigrants who’d decided to take a bite out of the Big Apple. They’d head to the spots made famous by movies or television shows, or those that dotted the garish spectacle of Times Square. The locals, however, knew the gem in their neighborhood and lined up outside the door.
I slid through that line to reach the back, where a tiny room held a handful of chipped enamel-topped tables. A lone man sat at one of them, reading the day’s paper while steam curled out of his cup of soup.
Pulling out the chair opposite him, I sat.
Benjamin Clancy didn’t look up when he spoke. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cross?”
“I believe I owe you thanks.”
He folded the paper leisurely and then set it aside, his gaze meeting mine. The man was solidly built, thick with muscle. His hair was dark blond, cut short in a military style. “Do you? Well, then, I accept. Although I didn’t do it for you.”
“I didn’t think you did.” I studied him. “You’re still keeping watch.”
Clancy nodded. “She’s been through enough. I’m going to see she doesn’t go through any more.”
“You don’t trust me to do that?”