Page 21 of Scarred Angel

It would be annoying, but I like their protectiveness.

“You’re early,” she says, throwing an arm around my middle, her head resting against my chest. I return the hug, realizing I can’t remember the last time I let anyone this close who wasn’t my mother.

Effortless. That’s what it feels like, her against me. Her scent is sweet, familiar, and it pulls me in before I can stop myself.

“I didn’t want to be late on my first day. I heard the boss is a bit cold-hearted.”

Her laugh is contagious.

“Come in.” The dogs move in perfect sync as she steps back, and I find myself impressed by their discipline.

“I’ll make breakfast,” she says over her shoulder as she walks. “You still love those disgusting, runny eggs?”

I follow her into the kitchen, eyes tracing the curve of her hips before I realize what I’m doing. I should look away. I should feel guilty.

But I don’t. And that truth sits heavier than it should.

“I thoughtIwas here to help. Why are you cooking? And…wait—you still remember that?”

“How could I forget?” she says, grimacing with mock disgust.

There’s a strange ache in my face, and it hits me. It’s from smiling too damn much since before I even arrived. I tell myself it’s just nostalgia, that she feels like family, that being near her just stirs up old memories I didn’t know I missed. But it’s not that. It’s something else. Something more I can’t quite name.

“It’s okay. I won’t judge you,” she says with a wink, grabbing my wrist and doing her best to shove me into a chair.

“I think you already did, but…thanks.”

A ceramic bowl clanks down in front of me before she heads for the pantry. I fight the urge to help, but even after all these years, I know better. Valentina is as stubborn and independent as she was the day I left.

But she’s a woman now.

My gaze drifts to her ass again, and my cock twitches under the table.

What the fuck are you doing?

Still, I don’t look away. Not until she turns, catching me in the act. There’s something in her eyes, an intensity that sendsheat crawling up my neck. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and feels it too.

We say nothing and let the moment stretch between us until she’s suddenly at my side again, pouring colorful cereal into my bowl.

“Where are those disgusting eggs you promised me?” My tone is light but clinging to the tension that hasn’t fully eased.

“It was just a question,Ruso. I never promised a damn thing.” Her dimples deepened the wider she grinned.

“Ruso?” I echo, brow lifting.

Before I know it, milk splashes onto the sugary loops. “Yeah, I can hear the slight accent.”

“Fourteen years in a place will do that.”

“I like it,” she murmurs, twirling a spoon between her fingers before handing it to me. “Enjoy.”

“And this…you like this?” I fill the spoon with a small mountain of the offending food.

“It’s my favorite. Nothing like cozying up with a warm blanket, a good movie…” She pauses, teeth catching the edge of her lip, and I find myself wanting to do the same. “Great company, and a bowl of the best artificially flavored fruit cereal ever made.”

I picture it. Her curled up on the couch, warm, safe…indulging in her favorite snack, and I don’t know whether to laugh or let my thoughts slip into darker territory.

Forbidden ones.