Page 56 of Joey

“I’ll wear it until I can give it back to you. Maybe it will protect me the way it protects you.”

“You don’t believe in St. Christopher,” I remind him.

“No, but I believe in you.”

“Max…” I practically sob his name. This is too hard.

“I’m sorry, Joey,” he whispers.

“What for?”

“For not doing this right. I shouldn’t have taken you to my cabin.”

Oh my god, my heart is going to split in two. “Are you saying you regret what we did?”

“No, baby girl. Not a single fucking second of it. But I do regret causing trouble for you.”

“I can handle Dante and Lorenzo.”

He laughs softly. “Better than anyone I know.”

“I’m sorry for what they said to you. What they did.” I choke back another sob as the events of this morning play through my head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew what would happen if I took you there.”

“But you took me anyway?”

“Yeah. I’m a selfish prick.”

“No, Max,” I insist. The fact that he knew what would happen and risked it anyway makes my poor aching heart feel like it’s going to burst. “But what do we do now?”

There’s a deep sigh followed by a silence that seems to last an eternity. “I have something I need to take care of. It’s going to take me a few days.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, I promise. I just need to focus on this and give your brothers time to cool off.”

“And then?”

“I told you, you’re mine, baby girl. I’ll find a way to fix this, okay? You just hang tight and let me handle it.”

“But how long, Max?” I breathe. “I miss you already.”

He groans loudly. “I miss you too, Joey. I can’t stop thinking about how good you feel. How good you taste.”

Holy fuck. My pussy throbs painfully, reminding me of everything we did last night in delicious detail. “Max?” I moan his name.

“Just a few days, baby. I promise. I can’t live without you any longer than that.”

“Don’t leave me here alone, Max,” I plead, feeling lonelier than I have since my brothers shipped me off to Italy four years ago.

“You’re not alone, baby girl. You’re fucking mine.”

I swallow my emotions, determined not to cry.

“Whose are you?” he asks, and the deep timbre of his voice makes goosebumps prickle along my forearms.

“Yours,” I whisper with a smile.