Page 57 of Mafia and Scars

I don’t want to be the reason her smile slips from her face. I don’t want to see it melt away into something else. It’s genuine and beautiful. And I want to keep it that way.For as long as I can.

I move closer to her, gritting my teeth as I catch the zigzag lines and overlap of the seeds she’s pushed into the holes.

“Thanks,” she says, her smile softening around the edges again, andmy heart thumps harder. She looks at ease.Happy. And I can’t ruin that by imposing my need for orderly lines on her. That’s what an asshole would do. And a part of me doesn’t want to sour her opinion of me yet.

Dusting her hands off, Avelina moves to stand.

A startled cry leaves her as her foot gets caught in the edge of her skirt.

She stumbles, her bare hand grabbing my forearm and using it to balance herself before she falls right over.

My eyes jerk to her hand.

I stare at it, eyes wide.

My arm tenses beneath her fingers.

I count in my head. One, two, three, four, five—any second now it’s going to happen.

And then…

Nothing.

I suck in a sharp breath and blink.The sharp stinging sensation that usually follows touch, the need to pull away, doesn’t come.Not even when her hand tightens as she untangles her foot from her skirt.

Instead, it’s like electricity running through my arm. A zap that races from where her hand touches me, making my heart hammer into my ribs.

This is an anomaly.

A fluke.

A one-off. My head tumbles to find a logical explanation for it. My mind works overtime. And those thoughts that never seem to stop speeding fire even faster.

Frowning fiercely, I study her for a second, then the hand on my arm. Why doesn’t her touch bother me?

Then it clicks like a missing puzzle piece.She needed it. Like Queenie sometimes needs me to stroke her and give her comfort. Avelina needed to grab me to keep herself from falling. From hurting herself. And for some reason, allowing myself to be touched when it comes in the form of helping or providing comfort…doesn’t seem to trigger me.

Avelina’s cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. “Sorry,” she giggles in embarrassment.

I nod. And as she removes her hand, I find myself missing the heat of her skin…

“I didn’t realize my foot was caught in my skirt. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I rasp, hoping it doesn’t sound as breathless to her as it does to me.

She smiles and starts off toward the bench once more, leaving me there, gaping slightly at what just happened. It was just a brief moment.But it’s rocked everything I’ve ever known in a matter of mere seconds.

I watch as her skirt swishes with her hips before she grabs her large sun hat from the bench. Placing it on her head, she spins and looks at me. But my mind drifts to the flash of pale skin of her legs beneath her skirt.

Would her legs be soft like her hands?

And how would her hands feel touching more than just my forearm…?

“Viktor?”

I blink, shaking those thoughts from my head.

“Are you coming?”