Stolen Touches: Epilogue


I can’t believe he did it again.
The elevator pings open. Paying no heed to Salvatore’s secretary who is gaping at me from behind her desk, I march across the office foyer toward the big ornate door on the right.
“Mrs. Ajello?”
I stop and throw a look over my shoulder. “Yes, Ginger?”
“Is everything . . . okay?” the secretary asks, her eyes going from my tangled hair, over Salvatore’s gray T-shirt which I’m wearing, to my bare feet.
“Of course it is.” I grin widely, grab the knob and enter my husband’s office.
With hands on my hips and a scowl on my face, I walk around his desk and come to a stop next to him. Salvatore looks up from the laptop, then leans back in his chair.
“Did you sleep well, vita mia?”
I narrow my eyes at him and point at the small bundle he’s holding on his chest. “Stop stealing my baby.”
From the moment we came home from the hospital a month ago, Salvatore has been using every opportunity he can to sneak into the nursery, take Mia and carry her around with him everywhere. His explanation—she likes sleeping in his arms better than in the bed. And if it wasn’t enough, he’s been the one holding her while she’s awake too. All. The. Time.
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.
“You had her to yourself for nine months, Milene,” he says in that grave tone that makes even the most bizarre statement sound absolutely solid. “It’s my turn now.”
“She was inside my belly, Salvatore. It doesn’t count.”
“In my book, it does.”
I sigh and take his face between my palms. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ because I know you all too well. So, spill it.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then closes his eyes. “I’m afraid she won’t love me.”
“What?” I tighten my hold on his cheeks and shake his head slightly. “Of course she’ll love you, baby. You’re her dad.”
Salvatore’s eyes open and even though he doesn’t say anything, I see worry deep inside his amber depths.
“She will love you,” I say again and press my lips to his. “She’ll fucking adore you. Like I do.”
“You promise?” he whispers into my mouth.
“I promise.” I reach out and place my hand on our daughter’s head, brushing back the short blond strands. “Just look at her. She already loves you unconditionally.”
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.


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