Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,36

out a sigh and dip my chin down. “I know.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he pleads, his brows drawing together. “I hate this, Kit. You’re my best friend. Forgive me.”

Pain jabs through my chest as I pull my hand away. I drag it through my hair, staring at the concrete floor. When I lift my eyes back up to Finn’s, my voice is small.

“I’m trying,” I say.

Finn lets out a sigh, pinching his lips together. He nods. “Okay.” With a forced smile, he claps his hand on my back. “Let’s head back to town.”

14

Serena

The front door opens as I give my pasta sauce one last taste. It’s not as good as Nonna’s, but it’s close. I’ve spent enough hours in her kitchen to learn a few tricks, and I hope Kit will appreciate them.

When he pokes his head in the kitchen, inhaling as he groans, my heart does a flip.

It almost feels real. Like we’re playing house. And…I like it?

“I made dinner,” I say. “As a thank you for letting me stay here.”

“I won’t say no,” Kit says. His eyelids hang low as he sweeps his gaze over my body. Even with the heat of the stove behind me, goosebumps erupt over my skin.

How does he manage to do that to me with just one look?

Kit’s eyes sweep over to the kitchen table, where I’ve laid out a tablecloth and two place settings. His eyebrows arch.

“Where’d you get all that? The tablecloth and stuff.”

I bite my lip. “I may have rummaged through your cupboards.”

Kit laughs. “I didn’t even know I had it. Looks nice.” His eyes shine when he meets my gaze, and my whole body burns.

I love the way he looks at me. I love the kindness in his eyes, backed by a burning fire. He makes me feel safe and alive and hot.

I know, I know.

I’m trying to get over Angelo. I should be finding myself. I should be learning how to be independent. I’m not trying to fall into the arms of the first man who treats me decently.

But if the perfect man just happens to drop at my feet and offer me a place to live, what am I supposed to do? Deny it?

I grab a bottle of wine I bought earlier and pour out two glasses, handing one of them to Kit. When he takes it from me, his fingers brush over mine and electricity jumps from the touch. My cheeks burn, and it’s hard for me to think.

I clear my throat. “Hope you like pasta.”

“Love it.” He smiles. He jerks his head toward the living room. “Is that your yoga mat? And what’s that smell in there?”

I nod. “It’s incense. There wasn’t enough room for me to practice in my bedroom. Hope you don’t mind. I can stop burning the incense if it bothers you.”

Kit’s eyes darken as he holds my gaze. He clears his throat, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Practice anytime.”

Is he picturing me doing yoga in here? My heart does a heavy kind of thump, and I know I’m in trouble.

This isn’t I want to rip your clothes off anymore. What I’m feeling is something more. I don’t just want to climb him like a tree and ride him until morning, I want to wake up in his arms. I want to cuddle and feel the safety and warmth of his embrace. I want to be with him.

Sucking down some wine, I turn back to the stove and give the pasta one last toss. When I put Kit’s plate down on the table, he lets out a low moan and my panties go sploosh.

I should just get hypocrite tattooed across my forehead, because I love playing house with Kit right now. The one thing I hated doing with Angelo—cooking and cleaning and being a perfect little housewife for him—feels good to do with Kit.

“Thank you,” he says, glancing up at me. His lips tug and he shakes his head. “This is incredible.”

My chest constricts, and I realize that’s the difference. That simple thank you. Angelo never thanked me for anything. He’d come home from work and complain if dinner wasn’t ready. He never once told me he appreciated what I did. He just expected it to be done.

I smile, taking a seat across from Kit and pointing to the plate. “Dig in.”

“I could get used to this.” Kit spins some pasta around his fork.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” I laugh. When his eyes meet mine, I can tell he knows the