I sigh, wanting him to stop worrying, to stop treating me as if I am fragile, breakable—not the woman he wants by his side.
I stare at the keyboard as if it holds the answers to how to expunge him from my heart, extinguish this forbidden love.
“Ignoring me, I see,” he sighs, the sound ringing with desolation.
I never could, and never will.
He strides toward me. The action kicks my heartbeat out of cadence, causing my breath to hitch. He’s proficient at snatching my attention. From the corner of my eye, I see he has his hands shoved in his pockets. To the untrained eye, it appears he’s casual. But I know him better than I know myself. Beneath his clothes, he ripples with anger. At least I get a reaction out of him.
For someone who oozes violence, even thrives in it, I feel the safest with him. My dark knight would destroy the world, himself included, if it comes for me.
Guilt chews my insides, leaving behind decaying bones. He loves me. That has never been the problem. Our problem has been that I am in love with him, and he is not.
“I could never ignore you,” I whisper, emotions overcoming me.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I turn my face away, wanting to hide what he already knows—I am weak, too soft.
He tips my head back, and emotions flicker in his eyes, creating a war zone.
I shrug, wanting to make it easier for him. “It’s nothing.”
“Your tears are because of me. And I’d fucking stab myself to death if I knew that would stop them…”
“You could change that,” I murmur.
His jaw clenches, hard enough his molars might break from the raw pressure. “I can’t.”
Stubborn.
As he rubs his thumb along my chin, everything else vanishes, lulling me into this cocoon of safety where cotton dreams and velvety desires unfold. But then my gaze lowers, and I catch his split knuckles. The sight seizes my heart in an unyielding grip, deflating me.
Holding his hand, I place soft kisses along his battered knuckles to soothe him. “Mika…”
“Needed to calm down.”
I gulp. “And did you?”
He gives me an intense look. I know he didn’t. Maybe we’re cursed to live this life the way we do—never finding peace.
“I’m okay, baby girl.” His deep voice ending on a rasp like liquid chocolate, sensual, decadent.
“No, you’re not,” I whisper.
Neither of us is.
“Let me take care of you, please.”
It’s the “please” that does it. He nods, incapable of refusing me.
I smile under my breath, trying to hide it, but of course he notices it.
“Mighty proud of yourself for being my weakness.”
The corners of my mouth tilt up, grinning wide. “That’s all I’ll ever be. Might as well take advantage from time to time.”
He arches a brow, and I giggle. “Fine. All the time.”
I stand up, and he follows like a shadow attached to my side—silent but constant. Craning my neck, our eyes meet, and for a few precious moments, I could imagine that he’s mine, and he’s bringing me to our bed.
