“You won’t,” I say.
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. Her fingers brush the back of a chair, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying to understand the texture. There’s something in her eyes—reluctant awe. A sadness underneath it.
She should have grown up in a place like this. She should have had warmth, safety, ease. Instead, she got stress, bills, double shifts, and a mother who had no choice but to work too hard for too long.
That ends now.
She isn’t mine yet. Not officially. Not with words. But I know the truth in my bones.
She is my kitten. The only thing I want to protect, the one person I’ve let myself care about in years. And I will make sure she never has to struggle for anything again.
We stop by the railing on the upper floor. She leans slightly over it to look at the foyer below. Her curls fall forward, and I have the sudden, sharp urge to tuck them behind her ear.
“Savannah,” I say quietly.
She turns, and something tightens in my chest at the way she looks at me. Curious, nervous. Unmistakably drawn in.
God! She’s beautiful.
Not polished or practiced, not the kind of beauty women force themselves into for men. She doesn’t try for anything. She justis. Warm brown skin, flushed from walking, eyes so deep I could drown in them if I ever let myself get that careless. Her curls frame her face like they’ve always belonged in a place like this, soft and wild at the same time. She has the kind of mouth aman thinks about far too long after he’s supposed to look away. Full, expressive, made for honest words and quiet sounds.
I stare at her as she’s standing right before me in one of my shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hem almost reaching her thighs. She looks small in it. Fragile, even. But there’s nothing fragile about her spirit. She’s fire under pressure, steel that’s been bent but never broken, from what I know. The mix of that strength and her softness hits me like a punch to the ribs.
I want her.
Badly.
The kind of want that climbs under the skin and stays there, the kind that makes my hands twitch with the effort not to reach out and touch her. I want to take her face in my hands. I want to drag her closer. I want to taste her, slow and deep, until she forgets every reason she ever had to be afraid.
But I hold still.
Because she’s looking at me with something new in her eyes—something open, trusting, and unsure all at once—and if I move too fast, I’ll scare her away. Last night already pushed her to the edge. I won’t be another force dragging her anywhere she isn’t ready to go.
I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but wanting isn’t enough. Not with her. I’ve watched her long enough to know she deserves patience. She deserves to be approached like something rare, not taken like something owed.
I step closer, but slowly. She doesn’t pull away. The air changes between us. Her breath catches, just barely. My eyes drop to her mouth. Hers flick to mine.
She tilts her head up, soft and unsure and wanting.
I’m seconds from kissing her. Seconds from claiming what’s already mine.
And then?—
“Ahem.”
Savannah jumps. I turn.
Valerio is at the end of the hall with his arms crossed, looking painfully entertained. “Hate to be that guy,” he says, “but Luca’s waiting.”
My jaw tightens. “Now?”
“Now,” Valerio confirms. “You know how pissy he gets when people are late.”
Savannah looks down at her socks like she suddenly wishes she could disappear. “You didn’t have to stay this long with me,” she murmurs.
“I chose to,” I say, holding her gaze until she finally looks back up.
A blush creeps into her cheeks.
