“You like it, right?” She peered up at him. “Colm is Irish?”
“Yes, Gia, Colm is Irish.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned in to him.
“I like seeing this side of you. You’re fucking beautiful when you let me inside.”
She ducked her head and stirred the thickening oats.
“They’ll stand for a bit.” He gently tugged her shoulder.
“You talked to Demon.”
“I did. But that can wait too.”
She turned to him with her brow wrinkled. “I don’t understand.”
“I want to know how you are this morning, Gia. Last night was…intense.”
“To say the least,” Gia mumbled as she set the metal spoon down.
He pulled her away from the stove and backed into the island in the middle of the kitchen.
He leaned against it, pulling her to stand between his legs.
“I’m okay. I’m not going to go off the deep end, if that’s what you’re worried about. The
moment got away from me.” She continued to stare at the floor.
“Look at me when you talk to me, Gia.”
“I can’t.”
Her voice sounded so soft he almost didn’t hear her. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to see that look.”
“What look, Gia?”
“The one you’re wearing now.”
“You’ve barely looked at me since I got here, G. How do you know what’s in my eyes?”
“Because it’s in your voice too.” Her words wavered.
“Gia, what is it you think you hear?”
“Pity,” she spat. “Caution, because you don’t want to tip the scale and send me into another tailspin.”
“No, Gia.”
“Yes. I knew this would happen.” She stepped back.
Instantly, he caught her and gripped her forearms. “Look at me.”
She shook her head, keeping her gaze on the ground.
He gave her a light shake. “Look at me, damn it.”