“I’ll take your coat.”
She doesn’t resist when I slide the sleeves down her arms yet keeps her gaze glued to the fucking floor.
“Thank you.”
We’re back to pleasantries of course. God damn it. “Let me give you a tour.”
Her dainty hands wrap around my bicep. I want to be relieved she touches me, but I can’t. I know the reaction is just habit not preference. Frustration clenches my jaw. Yes, I fucking fucked up. But she could be with Dante. Naked and strung up by her wrists. Suffering whip marks across her back because the bastard loves the sight of ripped flesh on virgin skin. Instead, she’s standing here safe and protected and loved. And she’s fucking pissed at me for things I can’t control. I search her pale face, and my irritation instantly evaporates. I’m a god damn fucking dumb ass moron. Not pissed. Scared. My princess is scared. Everyone lies to her.
Now including me.
And it hurts.
Especially from me.
I blow out a deep breath and tip my head down to hers. “I’m sorry. I know all of this is confusing. It seems like both of us have to learn some new ways of doing things.”
“When you kissed me…” Delicate fingertips trace her cheek where my lips had brushed her sweet skin hours before. “No one has touched me with love or affection for more than nine years. Except for you. You’re always so gentle with me. I don’t want it to be a lie too.”
Nine. Fucking. Years. The rawness of her plea slices me to the bone sharper than a razor. I’d do fucking anything to go back and make that motherfucker suffer a thousand fold for what he’s done to her.
“It’s not.” I don’t know why the hell we’re whispering. But anything louder will burst the bubble we hold between us. Push too hard and it will pop. Step back and it will float away forever. Neither one can happen. “It never has been.”
Silky hair brushes my chin from her head bobbing underneath. Paralyzing me from her subtle movement. I can’t move. Not until she does. Not until her small fingers slowly reach up and curl around the slick fabric of my jacket. Trusting me. Testing me. Tempting me.
For once I’m a good man, and instead of taking what I want, I give her what she needs.
A hug.
Wrapping tight around her, I mold her into my chest. With her arms pinned between us so she doesn’t have to do a damn thing except let me love her. Nothing more; nothing less. With no expectations of anything in return.
And she lets me. Her body softens within my solid grip. Her tranquil sigh ruffles against the nylon. Her hands tuck under my throat. Fucking heaven. I give absolutely zero fucks about anyone or anything else in the entire world at this moment except for her.
Darkness shrouds us. The sun completely swallowed into the horizon with only faint light in the room from the control panel on the washing machine. But I’m in no hurry. I’d fucking stand here like this all night if she’d let me.
“You have a lovely home.”
Or maybe not. At least my princess and her impeccable manners have come back to me. I kiss the top of her head. Slowly releasing my hold but not her body. I don’t want her anywhere but with me. “Thank you. How about you see the rest of it before you decide?”
My lame teasing earns me a giggle and a fucking gorgeous smile. Even more glorious when her hands slide back on my arm where they belong. She seemed most excited in the car about the sun room, so I escort her there first. “When the weather warms up, I’ll take the glass out so there are just screens in the windows. Then you really feel like you’re outside but without the bugs.”
She gives the old porch swing a small nudge. Seemingly enamored with the smooth wooden rails. Smiling from the straining creak of the chains I’ll need to oil. “Am I really staying here?”
Impossible to infer the hidden meaning behind her question, I give her the only option available to her. “Yeah, princess. Did you think I was going to let you stay at a hotel or something?”
“You said we’d talk but I wasn’t sure about…everything else.”
Everything else. She wants to know if I’m going to try and fuck her. After all she’s been through, I refuse to let her think I’m anything like Arturo. I take what I want, but not consent. Permission to fuck her has to be given freely.
As gentle as I can, I clutch her shoulder and pivot her to face me. Confirming she sees the devotion in my eyes when I speak. Ensuring she comprehends the commitment in my expression when she hears my response. “Tonight all we’re going to do is talk. With everything else, I’ll only do what you want me to do. You can be sure about that.”
Another rampant blush rushes up her cheeks, which I take as acceptance. Perfect since she doesn’t have any choice. I finish the tour —kitchen, living room, basement —before we end up in the guest bedroom my mom decorated as a long-ago housewarming gift.
More for my mother than me since she cares about that kind of stuff and I don’t. I guess she was hoping someday I might actually have a normal life. Get a regular job and invite some friends over. Or, even better yet, get married and give her grandchildren. I smile at that thought. She’ll be pleased that I’m going to have a wife soon. “This is your room if it’s okay.”
The first time her face falls since our hug. Not sure why. With the yellow walls, white furniture, and green and lavender decorations, I thought Viviana would love the space.
Unless the location concerns her more than the style. I’d bring her into my room —my bed —in a fucking second. I may be fucking domineering, but I’m a man. Not a fucking saint. I can’t have her lying next to me without my desire evident to her. She has to come to me when she’s ready. “I have another guest room if you want that instead.”
“Oh, no thank you.” Her head shakes furiously. Of course not. Because requesting otherwise would be impolite. A forced smile supports her feigned approval. “It’s beautiful. I would love to stay here.”
“Good.” No, not good at all. Her hesitation bothers the hell out of me. I need to figure out what’s upsetting her. “How about I build a fire, and we can relax before we figure out dinner?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Probably not after I tell her the rest of what she needs to know. But the honesty I promised her starts tonight. So she can finally put the past behind her and both of us can focus on our future.
“May I take my heels off please?”
Viviana stands next to the sofa. Fidgeting with the thick cord running along the edge of the cushion. Squirming and uncomfortable, not just because of her shoes. Unable to relax in this strange place without the normal rules to define and direct her behavior.
Fear. Flashing bright and hot in her eyes when I rise from crouching in front of the brick hearth and stride toward her. She stumbles back a few steps. An instinctive response from my quick movements. Fuck. A reminder again that I have to move slower and more cautiously for my skittish princess. With all the sudden backhands and unexpected shoves, she can’t let her guard down with me yet. I pause, keeping my voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to ask. You can wear whatever you want whenever you want.”
Warily watching me, she bends forward and unfastens the straps. After three years of Arturo demanding she always be ready to go so he never had to wait for her, casual and comfortable doesn’t come easily. It took me a month to figure out why I never saw her without shoes, jewelry, and make-up from early in the morning until I’d head out in the evening. Already missing her before I pulled out of the driveway.
After neatly lining the stilettos next to the end table, she lowers herself to the couch and tucks her feet to the side under her dress. Giving her a reassuring nod, I go back to snapping slender twigs and bundling them in small piles. My body already warming from the sips of bourbon I enjoyed after pouring her a glass too and sharing the story of how the raid in an abandoned distillery netted my buddy and me several bottles of very nicely aged liquor.
She takes a small drink herself. Sexy as fuck that her eyes
never leave mine while she brings the rim to her gorgeous pink mouth. Puckering daintily before her willowy throat swallows down the smooth liquid. I can only imagine how magnificent she will look swallowing me down.
Budding flames begin to lick at the larger logs from the nest I’ve built underneath the grate. Relishing the crackling of the seasoned wood I had delivered once I decided I would be bringing her here. And that I was never letting her go.
Much slower this time, I walk to the couch and drop down next to her. Invading her space a little, but I’ve waited too damn long to have her home and I always want to be close to her. She doesn’t flinch this time. Just wraps both hands around her tumbler while I tap my glass against hers. My reward is a small grin before she tucks her head down again. Maybe edging another chunk out of the barrier around her battered heart. “It’s really nice having you here angel.”
“It’s really nice being here.”
I can’t help myself. She’s too fucking beautiful not to touch. I rest my palm on her thigh. Not squeezing or stroking higher than above her knee. Just connecting with her. Enjoying the images in my head of us relaxing together like this for the rest of our lives. Overwhelming me with the peace I’ve chased for so long, that now cuddles beside me. Pleased she’s finally relaxed a little bit too. Because she probably won’t be after I finish telling her the rest of the story she deserves to know. “When you were little, your grandfather established a trust fund for you to make sure you were always taken care of.”
A dainty hand releases from her cup and slowly glides to mine curled over her leg. Wrapping around only my index finger. Almost as if anchoring herself against the shit storm coming her way. The bashful gesture a perfect symbol of the cautious trust she places in me rather than the playfulness of her earlier onion ring theft.
“He died when I was two, and I don’t remember him.”
“He loved you. Otherwise he wouldn’t have set this up to always provide for you.” A pleased smile lifts her cheeks with my declaration. Nice for her to finally know someone else cares for her besides me. “There were several stipulations outlined in the documents. The first one was that you couldn’t access the money until you turned twenty-one…unless you were married or pregnant.”
The humiliation returns to her expression. Unable to negate the proof her father and her husband used her for one of the few genuine gifts she ever received.
“The second provision was that you would get a lot more money with a child. The payout increased to thirty million. I guess he wanted to take care of his great-grandchild too. And, if something happens to you, the money passes to your husband upon your death.”
Her timid grip tightens and her eyes squeeze closed. Shutting out the images I’m sure still haunt her even in the darkness. “So that means…”
“Arturo needed to marry you, get you pregnant, and then kill you after the baby was born to get his hands on your money.”
“I guess he really always meant what he said.”
Motherfucker. I don’t really want to know but I also have to. “What did he say?”
Her eyes blink open, shiny with tears that don’t fall and her head shakes slowly. Defeated and shattered. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Disappointment flows through me. I hate it when she fucking diminishes her feelings. Thinking so little of herself. Believing she doesn’t deserve better. “It does matter. If it hurts you, it matters to me.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fucking helpless. Witnessing her shrink into herself against the pillow. Vulnerable and lost. Uncertain what to do. So I do what I did before. I pull her to me and hold her. “I’m sorry.”
Nothing. No acceptance or resistance. Just her head resting on my chest and her bent legs draping across my thigh. I curl my arm around her and entwine our hands again. Ignoring the wetness seeping through my shirt from her silent weeping. Clutching her tighter while her body racks with the devastation.
All I can do is wait and watch. Wavy lines of heat billow upwards, distorting the white bricks. Bursts of gold and orange flicker on the smooth gloss of the grey swirl tile. Reflecting the dancing surges of light. Without a pattern or direction. Just like us.
I hold her until the thicker logs split. The halves splintering and tumbling down between the metal tines. Suffocating the already dissipating flames. “I’m going to stoke the fire.”
Glancing down, I meet closed eyes. Asleep. Spent from the exhaustion accompanying grief. I kiss her smooth forehead and slide out from underneath her. Laying her across the cushions and covering her with the fleece blanket tossed on the side chair. Not a stir or a whimper. She’s really out from the warmth and the booze and the heartbreak.
With the addition of a few more pieces of wood and pokes of the embers, I resurrect the blaze as well as my bounding irritation from her suffering. That I can’t figure out how the fuck to relief but sure as hell need to release. I yank off my damp Henley as I stride down the hallway. Headed to the only other place besides with her that I can use to chase away my own demons.
“I couldn’t find you.”
Fuck! I really am fucking distracted for her to sneak up on me. I spin around from her quiet voice behind me. The tone heavy with accusation. Her face drawn dark with despondency. Clouded eyes swollen and red above her water trailed cheeks.
“I thought you left.”
Without her. Damn it. “I’m sorry you were scared.” I flick my wrist to rip apart the Velcro fastening my glove. “I’d never leave without you. If for some reason I had to, I would tell you first. I promise I won’t just disappear on you.”
Not completely convinced, she hugs herself. Rubbing up and down her slim arms covered in a flimsy material that doesn’t protect her from the frigidity in the unheated room or within her apprehension. Comfort I need to give her myself as soon as my hands are free. Reassure her that while I’m fucking obtuse sometimes, my stupidity doesn’t lessen my concern for her.
She nods toward my small workout area. “What’re you doing?”
“It’s a punching bag. I use it for exercise and to relieve stress. Do you want to try it?”
Her body perks up from the opportunity I offer. Gazing from me to the equipment and back again. “Really?”
“Sure.” I smile as I look her up and down. Fucking gorgeous. “You’re not really dressed for it. But you can take a few swings and if you like it, we’ll buy you some shorts when we go shopping tomorrow.”
You’d think I’d fucking given her a million bucks the way the despair evaporates from her expression.
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, then let’s do this.” I gesture for her to come closer, and she practically runs. Fuck me she’s adorable. I position her in front of me, about two feet from the vinyl, and sheath her back. “Sorry I’m sweaty.”
She doesn’t seem to notice. Just keeps balling her tiny hand into a fist. My princess is ready to throw down. “Now, imagine the bag is a person so you know where to aim. We’ll start with the face and pretend this is the cheek.”
I curl my fingers around hers and together we jab softly against the black plastic. Our bodies synchronized to the same slow rhythm for a smooth cross punch. She catches on fast and keeps going as I slowly slide my arm away. And fail to keep my cock from coming to life with her sweet body pressed against mine. Soft and flowery and fucking glorious in her determination. “You’re doing great.”
She nods, focused on the spot I told her. Almost hypnotized. Similar to me when I’m wound up. An easy way to relieve some of the pressure. I’m no fucking psychiatrist but my girl’s got to need an outlet too. So I tell her something I hope helps. “Now when you’re ready you can add some more force. Imagine someone you hate, someone you really want to hurt, and pound away.”
Her head bobs again, and I can feel her tiny body tense before she wails on the weight. Over and over. Huffing breaths as she hits with all her might. Long strands flinging back and forth across her shoulder as she drives forward. A damp
circle darkening the back of her light purple dress. Lost in a battle only she can understand. And, hopefully win. I can’t imagine all the times she wanted to hit that bastard back. To make him feel her pain. To make him experience her fear. “Okay, angel, I think that’s enough for now, or you’ll hurt your hand.”
Startling from my voice, she blinks a few times and seems to come back again from wherever her mind steals her to when she thinks of that asshole. Still panting while I stroke over her knuckles to make sure she hasn’t cut or bruised the delicate skin. Way more vigorous than I expected. We definitely need to get her properly attired and gloved next time.
She steps back when I kiss her palm. Bouncing from the intensity still pulsing in her. Hopping from foot to foot with the energy surging through her. Ready to go again. Maybe ready for me to dig a little deeper. I attempt a nonchalant tone, when I push a bit more myself. Unsure if she’s can withstand me delving into her battle too. “Who were you beating?”
Her gaze drops to her fingers cupped in my mine. “Myself.”
Goosebumps actually lift on my blazing skin. What in the ever living fuck? I force myself to check my disgust that her fury was aimed at herself. “Why?”
My chest aches from her weak, indulgent smile. As if she humors me. As if she shields me from the obvious answer I’m too thick to understand.
“I know it’s wrong to thank someone for taking the life of another.” Her body shivers from the words, and she flips her trembling hand to hold mine. “But I do want to say thank you for telling me everything and for helping me. No one has ever done that before.” Her chin lifts and shoulders smooth back. The brave princess returns. Ready to accept her penance. “Are you going to take me home in the morning?”
She’s actually fucking serious. Like I’d ever fucking let her return to that bastard Dante. That I’d ever let her fucking leave me. I don’t blink from her questioning gaze. “No.”
“But I thought…at church you told me you would explain everything to me and then take me back.” Her voice fades to a whisper from the realization. “You lied to me again.”
192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance Page 8