Page 31 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Luca

T he house is dark, except for the dim light spilling from the hallway. My footsteps echo quietly against the marble floor, and I barely resist the urge to yank off the tie strangling my throat.

It’s past midnight—late, even for me. Business ran long, I tell myself. But deep down, I know the truth. I stayed away because I didn't know how to face her. Not yet. Not when I can’t figure out how to tell her what I feel… or what I really want.

I head down the corridor toward my study, fully intending to crash on the leather couch. I don’t trust myself tonight, not when I’ve had just enough to drink to blur the lines between restraint and need.

I shrug off my suit jacket and fling it over the back of the couch. The tie follows. I’m about to throw myself on the couch when I notice it—A sliver of light. Faint, almost imperceptible light seeps from beneath the crack of the double doors leading to the library.

My instincts snap to life. No one should be awake at this hour. Could it be an intruder? Could it be Romano's men? Vito? Another cartel testing my defenses?

My mind instantly flashes to my wife. My child. Griselda. The guards protecting this house are trained professionals no one should be able to get past them. Still, I’m not taking any chances.

I cross to my desk and quietly punch in the code to the safe. It clicks open, and the cold grip of the gun meets my hand like an old friend. I haven’t carried it on me since Noah arrived. I didn't want his first memory of me to be of a man with a weapon.

Silently, I move toward the library doors. I don’t know how many I might be dealing with, but surprise is my best advantage. I inch the door open, ready to act—And I freeze.

She’s there. Curled up on the chaise, legs folded beneath her, a book resting lightly on her chest. Her head has tilted to the side; lips parted slightly in sleep. She’s wearing a loose pink T-shirt, the hem riding up just enough to reveal matching shorts.

Her legs are bare, lit gently by the warm glow of the reading lamp overhead. She shifts in her sleep, stretching out slowly, one leg sliding free and my gaze follows it, stopping at her feet—small, delicate, her toes painted in soft pink. I swallow. Hard.

What the hell. I never thought I had a thing for feet. But staring at hers, all I can think about is kissing each one.

Maybe sucking on her big toe just to see if it makes her gasp. Fuck. I blink hard and drag a hand down my face, trying to shake the spiral.

I can’t just stand here drooling over my sleeping wife like a creep. She’s clearly not comfortable lying like that. I move to the chaise and place the gun quietly on the side table. Gently, I lift the book from her chest and set it aside.

Then I slip one arm under her knees and the other beneath her back, lifting her into my arms. She mumbles something inaudible as I carry her to our bedroom.

Once there, I lay her down softly, pulling the covers over her. She settles in with a sleepy sigh, oblivious. I linger. Just a few seconds. Watching her. I want to slide in next to her, curl around her warmth. But if I do, sleep won’t be what’s on my mind.

With a low sigh, I turn away and walk back out, not sparing her a backward glance. I head to the study and crash on the couch for the night. I need to be in my right mind when we take their shipment tomorrow.