She sinks into the chair, resting her hands on the table, and I see the blood dripping onto the surface. I grab the first aid kit fromthe cupboard next to the fridge and set it beside her, then pull up a chair and sit across from her.
"Let me see," I say.
She hesitates, eyeing me suspiciously, then holds out her hands. The scrapes are deep, embedded with dirt and gravel, and I can see her wince as I gently turn her palms up.
I open the kit and pull out antiseptic wipes. "This is going to sting."
"I know," she says but hisses when I start working as if it's still a shock to her system.
I press the wipe against her palm, cleaning the dirt away, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. Her fingers curl reflexively, but she doesn't pull away. I work carefully, wiping the blood and debris from her skin until the wounds are clean.
"You shouldn't have brought me," she says quietly.
"I didn't have a choice. Sal wanted to meet you, and what if they asked questions about the ledger I couldn’t answer?"
"Well, now that man knows about me…" Her eyes are fixed on me and she's scared. "Will he come after me? I mean, he's seen my face. What if he connects my face to the missing persons thing on TV? I don't want my family to be affected?—"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
No one could know that. She's right about that. But Caruso and his men aren't worried about a missing persons case. They want to take me down, and it won't be by telling the cops Riley is with me. It'd draw suspicion, but Sal would just clean it up the way hedoes, and that would be that. I'm not fond of that idea, or the fact that my brain goes there so easily. But it's the cold, hard facts.
Enzo won't call the police to report Riley in my custody.
"You protected me," she says softly while I keep wiping her already clean hand.
"I protected my asset," I tell her blankly, because admitting aloud that something inside me has shifted and that I care about her feels too raw. I can't bring myself to say it.
"Rafe…" she says, but I keep wiping, smearing fresh blood on her palms. But dammit if Riley isn’t so fucking stubborn that she curls her hand into a fist and then tucks it into her lap to remove my distraction. "Rafe," she says again firmly, and I look up at her.
"What?"
"You protected me," she repeats with narrowed eyes. "Am I really only an asset to you?" Her head tilts, and it makes my world shake a little.
Those helpless fucking eyes draw me in every time. I open my mouth to speak and can't. Then I close my mouth again and clench my hands into fists. She's not making this easy. She doesn't understand how it'll destroy me when Sal says she's not useful anymore and to discard her.
"It's okay," she says, but she does something I don't expect. Riley climbs onto my lap, straddling me, and puts both hands on my face, making me look at her. "You don't have to say it if it's too difficult. Just show me that I'm not just an asset to you, and I'll believe you."
Then her lips are on mine, pressing, searching. Her tongue invades my mouth, and my hands find her hips like they're moving on instinct. The kiss has my head spinning and a rumble of a growl creeps up my throat.
My hands tighten on her hips, fingers digging into the soft curve of her ass as she grinds down against me. The kiss turns hungry, and I can taste the adrenaline still burning in her blood. She’s shaking, but not from fear anymore. It’s raw, desperate need, the same thing clawing at my chest.
I drag my mouth down her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse, and she arches into me with a broken little moan. My cock is already rock-hard, straining against my zipper, and when she rolls her hips again the friction rips a growl out of me.
“Riley,” I rasp against her skin, but she just fists my hair and yanks my head back so she can kiss me deeper, wetter, swallowing the sound. I love this side of her, the dominant, take-no-shit woman who demands to be paid attention to. It's intoxicating that she's taking charge. It makes me want her even more.
Her hands drop between us, frantically tugging at my belt. I hear the clink of metal, feel the zipper dragged down, and then her fingers wrap around me. I jerk in her grip, cursing under my breath as she strokes a few times and uses her thumb to swipe over my head, smearing the bead of precum there.
“Tell me,” she whispers against my mouth, squeezing just hard enough to make my vision blur. “Tell me I’m not just the fucking asset.”
I thrust up into her hand, teeth clenched. “You were never just that.”
She shoves my shirt up, nails raking over my stomach, and I yank hers over her head in one rough motion, then her bra, tearing it away from her skin to bare her to me. Her breasts spill free, and I close my mouth over a nipple, sucking hard. She cries out, back bowing, thighs clamping around my hips.
I grip her waist and stand, setting her on her feet between my legs. The second she’s steady, I shove my pants and boxers down and kick them off. She’s already popping the button on her jeans, dragging the zipper, pushing denim and lace down her thighs. I watch, still seated, reach forward, and yank the fabric the rest of the way off her ankles, shoes and all, tossing everything aside. Then I haul her back onto my lap, her bare knees settling on either side of my hips, heat to heat.
“Look at me,” I growl.
