“I want the same things I wanted this morning,” he finally said. “You by my side, a house of our own, and whatever happiness we can find in this life.”
Relief poured over me, and my muscles loosened. “That’s what I want, too.”
“I love you, Sailor, even though I never thought myself capable of feeling that way for anyone who wasn't flesh and blood.” Scrubbing roughly at his face, he added, “I get headaches every time my dad and I talk business, but you ease them just by being you.”
“After love, everything else is secondary.”
He nodded.
“I love you, too, Noah. I don't want to lose you.”
“You can’t.”
For years, I had been dying to feel love, yet knowing I wasn't capable of that much emotion. Knowing there was nobody out there in the world who would love all my quirks and idiosyncrasies.
Leave it to fate to hand me a criminal and tell me to love him unconditionally, complications and all, and let him do the same in return.
Instead of making my tea, I stood in the kitchen with Noah’s arms snugly around me. His breathing was uneven, and I had the feeling there was more to what had happened earlier than he was willing to tell me.
But I couldn't expect him to tell me all his secrets. I knew going in that there would be some things he’d keep from me, whether for my own good or for his family’s sake. That was the business.
And maybe I was naïve after all if I hoped he could dig up information on the comings and goings of a different mafia family from two decades ago. But that meant he and I had more in common than I’d thought. As he’d said, girls didn't inherit the titles in the mafia world, so I never had a chance of being a don myself, but we had the same type of father. We would have moved in the same circles if I hadn't been torn away from that life.
I probably wouldn't have become a doctor if my parents had lived. Not just because their deaths were the catalyst for my need to save lives, but because I would have been on a different trajectory as the daughter of a don. Maybe I would have been expected to marry into another family. Maybe I would even have been arranged to Noah for the sake of brokering peace.
“In an alternate reality, maybe our parents would have matched us together.”
He snorted. “Even though I’m eight years older than you?”
“Age gaps happen all the time, don’t they?”
“Some families don’t do arranged marriages. My parents didn't want to.”
“Lucky for me, or you'd have ended up with someone else.”
“Lucky for me, too,” he said into my hair.
Perhaps we really would be okay. “I don’t think I want tea anymore. I just want to go to bed.”
“That sounds good to me.”
It had gotten late, and I felt exhaustion overtake me as we climbed into my bed. Noah scooted up until he spooned me, and I felt myself drift off.
But when I dreamed, it was of the hideous monster I’d once pictured Noah to be, with the waving arms, the red eyes, and the gun in his hand. He aimed it at me, and I tried to run. His finger eased toward the trigger, but instead of turning to fire behind him as he had in my first dream, he shot at me until the magazine emptied.
I sat up abruptly, my heart galloping in my chest and my hair matted to my sweaty face. Noah continued sleeping, oblivious to my nightmare. Apparently, my subconscious was trying to tell me something, I just didn't know what it was.
Trying to settle back down, I lowered myself slowly, hoping not to disturb him. I had learned to live with the way my scars hurt, but I had done a terrible job with the healing. Only once someone came along who was capable of stitching me back up did I feel a sense of closure. Why couldn't I just have my happily-ever-after? Why did there have to be so many obstacles thrown in my way?
I wanted to prove to Noah that I was still committed. Part of me begged to let him sleep, to not bother him at such a late hour.
But my need for him won out, and I ran my hand over his bare shoulder. He stirred, his eyes remaining closed, and I peeled back the sheet. Too bad we hadn't gone to bed naked, but I could make it work.
Shifting down, I lightly scratched my fingernails over his abs, and they clenched.
“Sailor,” he mumbled, tangling his hands in my hair.
God, his sleep-roughened voice rasping my name turned me on even more.
