Page 12 of Disarming Caine

He swiveled his head quickly, and I narrowly avoided the headbutt. “You’re the best, Sam.”

His house was a light gray two-story in an exclusive neighborhood. Double garage, wrap-around porch, and lots of windows. We’d had game nights here, and I’d been over for movies and dinners, so I knew the place well. A beautiful house, but too big. He and his wife had planned for a few kids, but their separation eight months ago put an end to that. Three empty bedrooms were a waste.

Mind you, I lived in a hotel.

After six years of living in an RV.

He fumbled for his keys, which I snagged before he dropped them. As soon as we were in, the security alarm began whining.

“What’s your code?”

He narrowed his eyes at the alarm panel.

“Nathan!” I smacked his cheek a couple of times and his eyes popped open. His hand lurched toward the panel. Three tries before he hit the right combination, which I committed to memory for the next time this happened. The divorce had been harder on him than he’d admit.

“My room’s upstairs.”

“Not a chance. You’re sleeping down here.” Where I could drag his sorry ass to a couch and not risk him falling more than a few feet.

We made our way past the stairs and his office to the family room. It was dominated by a propane fireplace with brick facing and a seating area with a structured gray couch, two stuffed chairs, and a glass table.

I navigated him to the couch, where he collapsed like a doll. He sat there, slouched, trying to lock his eyes on me. I grabbed the remote for the fireplace and turned it on for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and snatched my hand. He tugged on it so suddenly and with enough strength that I lost my balance and narrowly missed falling on him. I landed next to him, and he chuckled, throwing an arm around me. “What happened, Sam?”

“You mean when you had way too much to drink, when I drove you home, or when you hauled me down on the couch?”

He looked in my general direction, unable to focus properly. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you, too, Nathan. Now, you need some sleep.” I patted him on the thigh and pushed him over. He didn’t fight it and his legs came up onto my lap so I removed his shoes.

“What do you see in him?” His speech slowed and his eyelids fluttered.

I picked up his legs and squeezed out from under them. “Who?”

“Ferraro. I mean, I know what youseein him. He’s so fucking handsome and rich and that stupid accent. But you need someone who’s better for you.”

“Thanks for your concern.” Stooping, I dug in his pocket and removed his phone, placing it safely on the table in front of him. I pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover him.

He grabbed my hand again, pulling me down.

I knelt, putting our faces close to each other.

“He’s dangerous, Sam, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

My jaw tightened. Why stop at one drunk conversation tonight?Let’s make it two.Both with stubborn men who didn’t like each other. “Antonio’s not dangerous, Nathan. And even if he was, I’m a big girl.”

“If I told you half the things I know, you’d run as fast as you could.” He let go of my hand and cupped my cheek. “I couldn’t live with myself if you got caught in the middle of his shit and got hurt.”

That sounded specific, more than a vague warning of danger that could mean anything from having my heart broken to being killed. “Is this more crap about that random family outside of Rome? The one that shares a last name with forty thousand other Ferraros in Italy?”

My voice rose as I spoke, too tired to control myself or push my doubts aside. It wasn’t just a random family, but I wouldn’t tell Nathan that. When I’d been in Naples with Antonio, there’d been clues about him being involved with the wrong sorts of people. Secrets, implications from a police officer, and a burner phone leading to someone who had information I didn’t get to hear.

Antonio and I promised to spend our time apart getting to know each other, but there was a lot to learn. And so much I couldn’t ask until he was here with me.

Nathan stared, his breath shallow and tentative, his hand still resting on my cheek. “Can’t you just trust me?”

“Nathan, you’re drunk.”