Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(94)

“Then I drove you away.”

“I drove myself. I hated myself for taking what I took from you. Just stole what I wanted and didn’t give you anything in return.”

“But you—”

He stopped her words with a kiss, then pulled away and shook his head. “I didn’t deserve an easy out. I didn’t deserve you. Knew you were better off without me. I became what I deserved.”

Gentle fingers stroked his jaw as honest green eyes flashed over his face. Adjusting them on the couch, he held her close, kissed her long and slow.

When her eyes cleared of their lusty haze, he said, “Ready for some more truth?”

“Hit me.”

“Would never hit you.”

Her finger trailed along his bottom lip. “You know what I mean.”

“Every ounce of love you poured into our first night together… I felt that. I’ve been hit a lot, I’ve had bones broken, had needles punctured into my skin to cover the scars. But I swear to you, I’ve never felt more afraid than the moment I figured out what you were giving me—how you felt about me.” He took a deep breath. Straight through. “I’ve never been so unworthy of a gift before or since.”

“Not true.” Tears flooded her eyes.

“Don’t you dare cry for me, sweetheart.”

“I think”—her voice broke, and the break echoed in his heart, splitting him in two—“I still love you.”

He held her face between his palms.

“Fuck, Scampi.”

“I know. It’s foolish.” She blinked several times, forcing back the tears perched on her lashes. He watched her eyes fill again. “More foolish to admit it.” Those swimming eyes found his. “I can’t help it.”

Gently, he lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, drinking her in, savoring that love on her tongue. It had a flavor: sweetness, pure and simple.

She shifted beneath him, pressing her hips up to his. He was growing hard for her. Already. Before he thought better of it, he angled himself between her legs and slid in to the hilt. He moved inside her, continuing to kiss her—making love to her mouth as well as her body.

“I’ve never loved anyone,” he said against her lips, knowing he was about to make an epic mistake but, like this moment, was incapable of stopping. He pumped into her, watching her mouth fall open, her eyes sink to half-mast.

“Fuck, Sofie,” he whispered, his vocal chords tight with emotion. “I love you.” The tears she’d been damming spilled over. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs and thrust into her again. “I love you so goddamned much.”

She smiled through her tears, holding him tightly as he continued pumping into her.

He shouldn’t have said it.

After, she would ask questions he couldn’t answer. Questions about what would become of them now.

He loved her. He hadn’t lied about that. He also hadn’t lied about the fact that she was better off without him seven years ago.

But what caved his chest in, even as another orgasm shook his bones, was the fact that she was better off without him now, too.





Sofie had no idea what time it was.

After the library, Donovan brought her upstairs and laid her in his bed. He made love to her again, showing no signs of running out of steam. And the entire time all she could think of was his admission downstairs. She’d confessed her deepest, darkest feelings for him, and he’d shattered her in the best way.

He loved her. He loved her.

They’d left the bed to shower. He soaped her and dried her and kissed her sweetly. Back in bed, he’d tucked her into his chest, enclosed his arms around her, and complained her hair was wet and cold.

She’d laughed, told him to “wait and see what it looks like in the morning,” and closed her eyes.

She was on the fringes of sleep when a shrill ring pierced the air.

Donovan stirred next to her, jostling the bed as he moved to answer his cell.

Sofie blinked her eyes open as he murmured “Alessandre” into the phone. Conversational words followed. Yeah. Not too late. No. Good.

His next four words jolted her awake.

“The sooner the better.”

Rolling onto her back, she pulled the sheets over her naked body. Donovan, sitting on the side of the bed, ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said. “Ready to get back.”

Her stomach tossed. This wasn’t happening.

The sooner the better?

He ended the call and dropped the phone on the nightstand with a clatter. Swinging his legs into bed, he settled against the mattress and let out a long, low breath.

She sat up on one elbow, her damp hair causing gooseflesh to pop up on her bare skin.

“Ready to get back… to New York?” Part of her hoped he’d fervently deny it.

He didn’t.

He looked her dead in the eyes in the moonlit room and said, “Ready to get back to work, yeah.”

God. Was she hallucinating? Surely this wasn’t the same man who was in the library with her earlier. When he said her name—her real name—followed by I love you.

“So that’s it? You’re just… leaving?”

“Scampi.” A frown bisected his brows.

“Leaving Evergreen Cove.” She threw the covers off, unable to quell the anger—the hurt—stinging her skin like hundreds of needles.