Page 69 of Sold to the Silver Foxes
“A lifetime of business lies makes others easier. Practice making perfect and all that.”
She drags her fingers through her long hair. “Is love something you’re looking for?”
“Love led to a coronary collapse once already. I can’t fail my brothers, and a good woman deserves more than a man whose heart is a ticking bomb.”
She reaches up, brushes strands of hair damp with stress from my forehead. “Love didn’t collapse your heart. Betrayal did. Different variables.”
“I’m still parsing the equation.” My laugh emerges brittle.
She smiles faintly. “Are you happier since the auction?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“Do you feel stronger? Better?”
“Daily.” Her logic corners me with elegant force.
She inches nearer until our knees touch. “Then data suggests that emotion, however fleeting it might be, is cardioprotective.”
I rasp a chuckle at that. “Get your degree in cardio-psychology, did you?”
“Working on it.” She giggles softly. “Currently, I’m performing a long-term observational study. It might take a while before I know anything definitive.”
“I’ve always been a patron of the sciences. I’m happy to fund this study.”
She grins at me, and the tension around my heart fades by half. I slide fully onto the bed, and she lies beside me, head resting on the inside of my arm, her ear over my heart.
“Promise me something,” she says into my chest.
I’d promise this woman anything she wants. “Name it.”
“Regular cardiologist visits.” The surprise makes me laugh, and she sits up. “I mean it.”
“You caught me off guard with that, but yes, I promise,” I answer, vow echoing deeper than my sternum.
She lays her head back down. “And I promise not to hide any chest pain from you.”
“You’d better not,” I mutter, attempting a stern façade. She kisses the hollow of my throat, shattering me. I weave fingers into her hair. “When we take Erin to surgery, I’ll ask the hospital’s cardiac unit to schedule me for imaging.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Sal?—”
“Just to schedule them. I’m staying by your side for the surgery.”
She bites her lip, then nods. “Okay.”
We lie silently. My pain is gone. In its place, warmth flows—viscous, unstoppable.
“Can we sleep?” she whispers, eyelids heavy.
“Yes.”
But sleep eludes me for an hour. I watch snow swirl through half-drawn curtains, analyzing emotions impossible to pin down. Eventually, my heart now calm, I drift off to her steady breathing, her weight an anchor pulling me into the safest depths.
Sleeping next to Tabitha is the most restorative sleep I’ve ever had. When I wake, my chest feels fine. I flex experimentally—no twinge. Data supports last night’s thesis.
I kiss her forehead, and she stirs. “Mm, what?”
“Just getting up for a shower. Feel free to keep sleeping.”
