Page 25 of Vows of Blood

When I open my mouth to deny it, his eyes narrow, seeing right through me, as he looms closer.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Sienna. Or have you forgotten how well, how intimately, I know you?”

The reminder of what we once were rattles me more than I’m willing to let him see, so I turn my back and walk to the dresser, pretending I’m not mentally falling apart. Taking my sweet time, gathering my composure, I pull out underwear, a bra, jeans, and a T-shirt. The whole time, his eyes stay on me, burning into my skin.

“Can you… ?” Twisting, waving my hand to the door, I wait for him to do the gentlemanly thing and leave, but it seems Luca’s lost his manners, as well as his understanding of boundaries, since I saw him last.

“After you tell me what you saw,” he insists, giving me his best intimidating mobster glare.

Unwilling to let him make me feel small and powerless in my own space, I turn back to face the wall and mentally brace myself. One foot at a time, I step into my lacy thong underwear and shimmy them up over my hips under the towel.

Right before I drop it.

The sound he makes is barely audible, his sharp inhale quickly controlled, but I hear it, and satisfaction curls through me.

"What are you doing?" he asks, low and husky, his deep timbre sending tingles down my spine.

"Getting dressed. Or did you expect me to have this conversation naked?"

I should feel scared, exposed. Instead, recklessness stirs inside me.

Taking my time hooking my bra, I bend to put on my jeans, cursing internally when I have to wiggle a bit to get them over my hips and ass. These might not have been the best choice.

The silence in the room is deafening, but when I reach for the T-shirt, I hear him move.

One step. Two. Close enough to my back now that I can feel the cold coming off his clothes.

"Sienna."

I freeze, T-shirt clutched to my chest. Schooling my features into a mask of complete calm, I turn slowly, finger-combing my still-wet hair like I’m not the least bit concerned about having a dangerous man like him in my home.

His eyes lower, following the trail of water droplets still clinging to my collarbone, before traveling back up slowly.

"The shooter," he says, each word gritted out through clenched teeth. "Tell me what you know."

This again.

“I already told you. He was wearing a mask,” I say stubbornly.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

I try hard not to stare at Luca’s full lips or the tanned skin visible at the base of his throat.

"Someone bumped into me just before the shooting started. He was heading toward the back and knocked into my shoulder." I pause, replaying the moment in my mind. “It might have been the same guy.”

Luca goes very still. “It might have been, or it was?”

I consider it for a second, lifting the T-shirt and sliding it over my head. “It was.”

Those luscious lips that I used to love to suck on press into a thin line, his expression morphing into one of barely controlled anger. "You didn't mention this before."

"I was in shock. It barely registered at the time." I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying the moment in my mind. "I couldn't describe him even if I wanted to."

Luca scoffs, easing closer, menacing with his dark clothes, musky scent, and unblinking stare.

"So, you don’t want to? Because you know him? You want to protect him? He’s a killer, Sienna."

Pot. Kettle.