Page 64 of Safe Word

‘How can you maintain such focus?’ he clarified, his honeyed gaze holding mine.

For a moment, I hesitated, weighing whether to lie or give him the truth. My eyes darted to the empty coffee cup sitting on my desk, and I silently cursed myself for not leaving a few sips to occupy my mouth and buy time. With no caffeinated safety net, I took a breath and went for honesty.

‘I had a loud family,’ I admitted, surprising even myself. Maybe it was the fact that we were alone in this space – the privacy offering a sense of safety and familiarity I hadn’t expected. ‘My parents always yelled at each other, my brothers were… well, brothers. If I hadn’t trained my focus, I would’ve never finished high school.’ I gave a small, nervous chuckle.

His gaze softened first, then his face melted into something far gentler. For a moment, it looked like he was sad for me, and the thought wound itself tight in my soul.

Cain D’Angelo was a contradiction, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. On the surface, arrogant. Sure of himself. A man who knew his worth and never asked permission for anything. He carried himself like someone accustomed to admiration – both sought and unsolicited. Yet in the polished armour, there were cracks: fleeting glimpses of softness, of something human. And those glimpses, damn them, made him impossible to resist.

How could I not warm up to him? He was tall, dark, and handsome in a way that felt unfair. His dark, amber eyes had a way of cutting right through you. And his sharp jawline and formidable frame didn’t exactly help. He was the kind of man who’d make women sell their souls for a moment of his attention.

And he fucking knew it.

Yet, somehow, he managed to keep it professional with me. I respected that, even as I wondered if his restraint was less about me and more because he was used to beautiful women swarming around him. I was just the girl next door in jeans and a boring striped shirt – a world apart from all that.

I glanced at the said garment, which did absolutely nothing for my curves.

And then my mind snagged briefly on Ghost. My shadow. My release.

Cain’s allure, however, lay in his light. It was somewhat jarring, a tug-of-war with my senses.

It wasn’t fair to pit them against each other in my mind, but I couldn’t help it. Ghost consumed me in ways I couldn’t articulate, while Cain… Cain was a slow burn, a silent fire that I wasn’t sure I wanted to fan.

‘Must have been nice,’ he said, drawing my thoughts away from where they shouldn’t have wandered. ‘Having brothers, I mean. I don’t have any siblings.’

I scoffed. ‘Well, I guess everything has its pros and cons.’

I never doubted their love, but it always came wrapped in overprotection and bruised knuckles – shouts echoing through thin walls, fights broken up too late, arms thrown around me with the same fists that bloodied each other. And others. That was what it meant to have brothers.

He hummed in affirmation. I hated it when he did that – it sounded like a wolf growling. Made my belly flutter and my thighs clench.

‘I asked what you would like for lunch,’ he recovered quickly. ‘I’ll call Vinnie and have him deliver something to us.’ His tone was lighter now, though still carrying that natural authority he couldn’t quite shed.

‘Oh, I eat everything. I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ I waved away the question and turned back to my screen, eager to bury myself in work before I said something stupid.

‘I’m thinking Caprese salad with grilled chicken,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

That made me pause. I raised my brows, casting a questioning look over my laptop.

‘What?’ he asked with a smirk that curled one corner of his mouth.

I blinked, trying to reconcile the mental image of a man like him – a towering six-foot-five slab of muscle – living off salads. Before I could stop myself, the question tumbled out. ‘Won’t a salad leave you hungry?’

His shrug was irritatingly casual, as if the laws of caloric consumption didn’t apply to him. ‘I like salads.’

I couldn’t help it. My eyes swept over him, taking in his broad shoulders and the way his shirt stretched just slightly over his chest when he shifted. ‘You’re also six-five and about two hundred and twenty pounds.’

Now it was his turn to raise a brow. His smirk deepened, and I realised too late how my words could have been interpreted.

‘I’m six-six, and two hundred and forty pounds,’ he corrected, his voice a little rougher now. ‘Caprese salad with grilled chicken – and maybe a protein shake – is usually enough to get me through the afternoon.’

Then, softer, more amused as he looked me over. ‘What do you eat? Bird seeds?’

He gestured with a lazy nod, but it wasn’t the words that got to me – it was the way his gaze blurred for a second, no longer on lunch habits but on me. It was the same look he had earlier when I was messing with the cables. He’d sat there, sprawled back in his chair with his knees spread wide, his temple propped against his knuckles. He may have been polite, professional even, but there was no denying that beneath the elegant exterior and carefulness, Cain D’Angelo was still very much a man in his prime.

‘I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered, D’Angelo,’ I said, narrowing my eyes in mock indignation.

His laugh was low and warm, curling around me like a caress. ‘Neither, of course.’