Stolen Touches (Perfectly Imperfect, #5)

by Neva Altaj

“Thirty-four. Having a wife and kids was never something I planned.” “And do you have a set plan for everything?” “For most things, yes.” He looks into my eyes. “Would you like to apply for the wife position?” I burst out laughing. It’s not the question itself, but the way it’s delivered in a completely serious tone.

I’m getting rid of every single one of those. When I leave the bathroom twenty minutes later, however, I grab Salvatore’s T-shirt off the floor and tuck it under my pillow.

“I don’t care how they are or how their day is going, Milene.” I turn my head and stare at him. I kind of assumed that was the case, but I didn’t expect him to be so blunt and admit it. “You are one exceptionally rude person.” “What I am, is uninterested.”

“Uninterested.” I nod. He’s absolutely nuts. “About the people who work for you, or people in general?” “In general. With one exception,” he says and levels me with that unnerving gaze of his. “You.”

“So, if this place is usually packed, where is everyone?” I ask looking around. “They left.” “Left? Where to? Why would they . . .?” I snap my head back and gawk at him. “You shooed away a whole restaurant full of people?” “You said you wouldn’t be comfortable with them staring at you.” He pulls my hand closer. “Now they won’t.” My heartbeat skyrockets. That’s the most fucking romantic thing a man has ever done for me. “So, a hundred or more people had to leave in the middle of their meal because of my shorts?” “No. They had to leave because no one gets to make you feel uncomfortable.”

I reach out and take a piece, then yelp. They’re scorching hot. “Let me see.” Salvatore seizes my hand and turns my palm up. I try pulling out of his grip, but he holds my hand tightly. My heartbeat picks up, and butterflies flutter in my stomach again as he lifts my hand to his lips and places a kiss on the tips of my fingers.

I raise my hand again and mouth the amount. “We have one million,” the auctioneer declares. “Any further bids?” “Jesus fucking Christ,” Milene says, staring at the auctioneer. “I’d really like to meet the lunatic who’d pay a million dollars for a bracelet.”

your hubs

“Then why did I buy it?” I squeeze the bracelet in my hand and press it to his chest. “I have no idea.” Salvatore’s hand covers mine, and he pries my fingers from around the gold circlet. I let go of the bracelet and open my eyes to see him toss the million-dollar antique behind the sofa as if it were an empty soda can. I gasp. “Are you crazy?” “Why”—he buries his fingers in my hair, pulling my head lower until my mouth almost touches his lips—“did I buy the bracelet, Milene?” “Because I liked it?” I whisper against his lips. “Because you liked it,” he says as he presses his mouth to mine.

“Because that declaration, Milene . . . is every predator’s wet dream,”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” “I’m not stubborn,” I whisper. “I’m mad at you.”

“Playing games with me turns you on?” “It’s not the games, Milene,” I say. “Just you.”

hahahahahahaahhahaahhaah help me

“You are safe with me, Milene.” I take a sip of my wine and leave the glass on the nightstand. “But not because I’m better than the rest. Just the opposite, in fact.” “Oh?” I grab her chin and fix her with my stare. “You’re safe with me because I’m the worst it can get, cara. And no one will dare touch what is mine.”

“I want you to smile at me every day,” I say next to her ear and slam into her again. “Every.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Day.”

“You are such a contradiction, Tore.” “Does that pose a problem?” “No. I kind of like your strange ways.”

“I wish I’d been born into another family,” I whisper. “A normal one.” “I’m glad you weren’t.” He squeezes my ass and looks at me with his calculating eyes. “Because our paths wouldn’t have ever crossed.”

“You’re seriously lacking in social skills. You know that, right?” “Yes.”

me af

“What do you do with a depressed cat?” “He suggested taking in another one, so they could play.” “No.” “He’s suffering, Tore!” “I said no, Milene.” Another cat and I will be the one who’s suffering. “There’s a rescue close by. We can go have a look after lunch.” “No. More. Cats.” “You are a bad person.” “Yes.” “Please? Just one. You can choose.” “We’re not taking in another cat, Milene,” I say and cut the call. “Oh, look at the ginger one!” I grab Salvatore’s hand and pull him toward the last cage in the line. “He looks like a mini Garfield.”

“You said we’d come here to look.” I cock an eyebrow and smile. “I lied.” Salvatore watches me, his eyes glued to my lips. He does that a lot. He always studies my mouth when I smile. “Just take the damn thing, and let’s go home,” he grumbles.

He closes his eyes and brushes his nose against mine. It’s such an unexpected and tender gesture, so completely at odds with his character, that it elicits a tenderness in my heart, like a warm hug comforting me from within.

“We met a handful of times. I’m pretty sure he was stalking me. We even went on a date. A kind of date, anyway.” She stares at me. “Salvatore doesn’t do dates.” “He told me.” I snort. “Also, I’m not a 100 percent certain, but I think he broke into my place and filled my refrigerator with food.”

“You,” I whisper and slide my palms down his back all the way to his hard ass. “And do I own you, Tore?”

“I’m afraid you do, Milene.”

As soon as they exit the car, he grabs me around the waist, pulls me onto his lap, and puts his nose in my hair. I try to turn my head, but he just tightens his grip around my middle, pressing me to his body. “Four hours, Milene,” he whispers into my ear. “I called you every hour.” “I know.” He presses his face to my neck and inhales. “Do you think I’m crazy?” “A little?” I snort, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his. “Is that a problem?” “Not really.”

He takes my hand, lifts my fingers to his lips, gently kisses each one in turn, then proceeds to move his lips across my wrist and along my arm, sending tremors throughout my body. He does all of this very slowly, holding his lips over the spot for a few seconds before moving on, as though every kiss is meant as a statement.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Milene,” he whispers when he reaches my shoulder, and I tremble. “No fucking idea.”

I raise my hand and take her chin between my fingers, staring into her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” She blinks at me, looking slightly confused. “Um . . . thank you?”

I stare at him, amazed by his cluelessness. He does have a problem with realizing and processing

I don’t mention that I also have this crazy urge to touch her all the time. I can’t stand being in the same room with her without placing my hand on hers or wrapping my arm around her waist. If she’s sitting nearby, it has to be on my lap. I can’t process the idea of her being near and not having her skin against mine.

“I don’t fucking care!” she snaps, and the line goes dead. I lower the phone and stare at it. No one ever dares to hang up on me, and yet, she does it all the time. It’s strange.

“Do you want something to eat?” I ask. “Yes.” “Okay, I’ll check if Ada left anything in the fridge. Do you want something in particular?” “Yes.” Salvatore pulls on my hand and turns me toward him. “You. Get on the counter.”

“No, not really.” His hands squeeze a little. “And I would never let you fall, Milene.” “I know,” I whisper.

There is a question in Ilaria’s eyes as she waits for me to respond. “I want to feel her skin when I touch her,” I answer. “And I can’t do that if I’m wearing a glove.”

BYEEEE

Sitting on Salvatore’s lap during meals was a little strange in the beginning, but I’ve gotten used to it.

“Vita mia,” he whispers. “Please. Get down.”

VITA MIAAAAAAA AAAAA A A A A A. AA

Fucking Patrick Fitzgerald! He was hiding in his car while the gunfire was raging, and then tried to shoot me when everyone lowered their guard. Only, the bullet hit my wife. “A knife,”

The terror on his face is delicious. He knows I’m saving the best for last. I smile and take another step. Oh, how I will enjoy filleting the man who hurt the only thing in this world I love.

I take a deep breath, then exhale and grab her by the back of her neck. “Never, vita mia,” I whisper.

“You don’t understand, Milene,” I say into her mouth. “Of course I do.” She smiles and looks right into my eyes. “I love you, too, Tore.”

“You know, I was thinking,” I say as I place my chin on his shoulder and wrap my arms around him from behind, unbuttoning his shirt. “How would you feel about getting a dog?” Salvatore’s body goes so utterly still that I pause in my task and arch my neck to find him staring at the wall. “If you bring another animal in here, I’ll kill someone, Milene.” “Please?” I take his chin between my fingers and turn his head toward mine. “It can be some small breed and—Why are you keeping your eyes closed?” “No reason.” “Salvatore Ajello, open your eyes. Right now.” He sighs. Opens his eyes. “Pretty please?” I ask and smile widely. His gaze travels to my mouth, then he reaches with his hand to trace the line of my lips with the tip of his finger. “I want a psychological evaluation from a licensed animal psychologist, on paper, before it sets its paws in here.”

bye he’s so obsessed

I squeal in delight and kiss the tip of his finger. “You’re doing it on purpose,” he says, without taking his eyes off my lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You know very well what your smile does to me, and you’re using it shamelessly.” His finger stills at the middle of my bottom lip. “I wonder if you are aware of what a weapon you are wielding.”

“Always planning in advance,” I breathe, then moan when he slams into me again. “Of course.” Another thrust. “Did you think I would ever let you get hurt?”

“You destroyed a fucking antique. Barbarian.” “You curse too much, Milene.” “No shit?” I laugh. “We’re getting a new bed from Target.” “We are not buying a bed at Target.” I raise an eyebrow. “Snobbish much?” “I am,” he says and takes my chin between his fingers. “But you love me anyway.”

“But I love you anyway, Tore.” I smile. His gaze moves to my lips and stays there. “I love you, too.” My breath catches. His eyes move back to mine as his other hand comes to stroke my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know it’s not easy. Being loved by me.” I bite my bottom lip and take a deep breath. “You’re wrong.” I know he loves me, but it’s different when he says it. That he’s reached the point where he can utter those three little words means more than the sentiment itself. “Being loved by you is the best fucking feeling in the world.”

Salvatore cocks his head and does that thing with his eyes, the one when he pins me with his gaze, and slowly blinks. Damn, it still makes me weak in the knees.

He looks down at the baby sleeping on his chest. Mia’s eyes flutter open and a moment later two amber gazes collide. And then, my husband smiles.

HE SMILES