Chapter 23
chapter twenty-three
LEO
I nuzzle into the pocket of warmth in my bed beside me, groaning as awareness blooms in my mind and a fragment of sunlight brightens my bedroom. I feel the inhale and exhale of steady breath, but it’s not mine.
I crack my eye open and see dark chocolate hair flowing over my arm and across my mattress. The arm that is holding Marisol to my side. Her leg is slung over my waist, and an arm drapes across my torso.
I’ve always wanted Marisol in my bed, but I always thought I’d recall how she got there.
My heartbeat must pick up under her ear, because she groans and blinks herself awake, and in an instant, she’s flying off of me. “Shit, sorry.” She pushes her messy hair off her face as she crosses her legs. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s okay,” I say, because it’s more than okay.
But at her words, I’m thrown back to the moment I woke up in the middle of the night, Marisol’s face the first thing I saw.
She woke me from my nightmare. Meaning she heard my nightmare.
I’m filled with humiliation once again. I thought I’d gotten a hold on them.
I hadn’t had one in months, not until I came back here.
“I’m sorry about last night.” I shake my head.
Her brows pull in concern as she tilts her head. “No, don’t be sorry, Leo.”
“Did I wake you?” I ask.
A small smile, and then she’s shaking her head. “I was still awake. I actually slept the best I have in ages when I…fell asleep in here.” Humiliation melts into contentment.
“Glad I could be of assistance.” I smile.
She picks up the pillow next to mine and sends it into my chest with a smile.
It’s now that I realize I’m not wearing a shirt.
I look down, and relief floods me as I see the sheet is crumpled around my lower abdomen.
But did she see it last night? If she did, I’m sure she’d be asking questions by now.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about last night,” she says, and she’s right. Yet some part of me aches to tell her, the vulnerability in her gaze leaving me wanting to share some of my own. “It’s fine, Leo. I get it.” I doubt she does, but I appreciate the sentiment.
“I’ll go,” she says, scrambling off the bed. “Leave you in some peace.” Except that I think holding her is the most at peace I’ve ever felt. “I’ve got to get ready anyway.”
My memory ignites. “Your photoshoot is today?” She nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’m all sorted. Thank you, though.”
“Sure.” I nod, and then she’s disappearing out the door and leaving me to fall back on my pillow with a sigh.
* * *
I sit with my head in my hand as I go through file after file on my laptop, organizing all of the paperwork I have for Romano Security.
Emilio has a buyer ready to make the purchase, but that means I need all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed.
I need to have everything ready to hand over, so that’s today’s job.
It’s also a perfect excuse to keep myself occupied as Marisol spends the day at her photoshoot.
If I wasn’t boring myself into existence, organizing my files, I’d be sitting here staring at the wall, analyzing everything that happened last night.
One second, I was sliding my hand up her leg and having to force myself to walk away instead of picking her up and ripping that robe right off of her, and the next, she was cradling my head in her hands and calming me down after a nightmare.
Who knows what the fuck we’re doing here, but all I know is that I liked waking up with her in my arms far more than waking up by myself.
I haven’t even kissed her.
My phone rings on the table, and I thank the universe for the interruption. Eva’s name flashes on my screen. “Ciao, Eva.”
“Ciao,” she replies. “How’s everything going?”
“Good,” I say, frowning. “What can I do for you?”
I hear her sigh on the other side of the line. “I wanted to check if you are at the shoot today?”
My frown draws tighter. “No. Why would I be?”
“Jack is there.”
Three simple words, and I’m standing, slamming my laptop shut, and letting my chair fall to the floor, ignoring the clatter. “Why the fuck is he there?”
“One of his models is working the shoot with Marisol.”
“Which one?” I grit out, searching my entire apartment for my car keys.
“The one from the Rome runway show.” I feel my jaw tense as I rip my comforter off my bed.
“And where the fuck are you, Eva?” I catch a glint of silver on the top of my cabinet, and I probably scratch the wood when I drag the keys off the top.
“Marisol has never needed me to hold her hand. I only just found out that he’d be there,” she snaps.
I shake my head as I slam my apartment door shut. “Does she know?” I shove the key in the lock.
“I’ve tried her seven times. She won’t answer her phone, which means she’s already there,” Eva says.
“Fuck,” I say, pushing open the weighted door to the stairwell and skipping steps on my way down. I’m not waiting for the damn elevator.
“I’ll send you the pin now.”
“Thank you, Eva,” I say. Even though I’m pissed off, it’s not her fault, and I’m glad she called me.
“You got it. Hope that Impala has a bit of pickup.”
I scoff out a laugh as I hit the bottom floor. “You fucking bet it does.”