When he returns to me, he drapes my hands over his shoulders and lifts me into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist as he grips my thighs and adjusts me, my head falling naturally against his chest.
All four men have disappeared from sight, presumably below deck.
A fleeting thought enters my mind about who this man is and how he overpowered them so easily, but it slips away as he carries me off.
After a few minutes, I realize he’s retracing the same path I took from the penthouse.
As if he can sense me piecing this together, he repeats the same steady assurance.
“You’re safe now, Gabriela.”
Maybe I shouldn’t believe it, but something in my gut tells me I can trust him. I may not know exactly who he is, but I’ve talked to him every day for months, and he’s never made me feel unsafe. In fact, the opposite is true. I’ve felt comfortable enoughto share my most private thoughts with him, and that doesn’t happen often.
There are still unanswered questions, like how he knew where I was tonight, or how he knows where I live. But considering what would have happened to me if he hadn’t shown up, they don’t seem as important right now.
The walk back to the penthouse goes quickly, though I’m not sure how he does it without breaking a sweat. It can’t be easy to carry an entire person that distance, even if he’s built like he was sent to earth to destroy it. His body is so solid, I haven’t felt so much as a tremor in his muscles.
As my head rests against his chest, I let my gaze wander the length of him. Beneath those dark clothes, I can only imagine there’s a gladiator—someone built for predation and violence. He could probably crush my windpipe with just a few of those fingers, and his shadow alone could blot out my entire existence.
It should probably terrify me, but my brain hasn’t gotten the memo.
Heat radiates from his body, easing the chill in mine. With every step, I breathe in the faintest hint of something woodsy, like cedar and cloves. He’s not wearing cologne, so I suspect it’s a lingering trace of soap. It reminds me of a winter night, the crisp scent of fresh snow and the cozy warmth of a fire.
I close my eyes, letting that imagery imprint on me until we reach my building. When we do, I realize that he might just leave me here, and a hollow ache settles in my chest. After what just happened, the idea of being alone unsettles me.
He seems to sense that fear, perhaps because I’m squeezing him so tightly, and offers me some reassurance.
“I’m taking you inside.”
I release the breath I’m holding, barely registering him withdrawing the keycard from my wristlet. When he taps it against the keypad, the door buzzes open, and he stalks throughthe lobby with a familiarity I choose not to acknowledge. There’s only so much I can deal with in one night.
As we approach the elevator, it occurs to me that Julian could still be awake, and he might hear our arrival. I’m not sure what he’d do if he saw this man enter the penthouse with me in his arms. Fortunately, I don’t have to find out. When the private car arrives on the penthouse floor, it opens to a quiet space, exactly as I left it.
Eros turns and carries me toward my room without asking for directions—another problem to address later.
When he opens my door, Beppe pokes his head out from beneath a blanket. Upon sensing my current state, he hops out of bed to assess the situation. He doesn’t like it when I’m distressed and he can’t get to me easily, but after a quick sniff, he determines that Eros isn’t a threat.
Eros approaches my bed and tries to offload me, but my limbs seem to be locked around him, and I can’t let go. For a long moment, he stands there, deciding what to do with me.
I want to explain that this happens sometimes, but I’m still having trouble formulating a sentence. Eros seems to understand this, and he sits down on the bed with me on his lap.
Beppe uses his ramp to join us, lying against my leg to apply warmth and pressure.
Eros splays his hands across my back, massaging the tension from my body.
I’m not always comfortable with physical contact, and I tend to go rigid when someone touches me. But his comfort doesn’t feel unwelcome. It feels safe. So much so, it tips me over the edge of my emotional threshold, and tears leak from my eyes.
He doesn’t recoil or tell me to stop crying. Instead, he sits with me in silence, letting me process everything that happened tonight. Gradually, my body thaws, and I let out a shuddering breath as I come back to myself.
“Finished rebooting?” he murmurs, injecting some much-needed levity in the moment.
A soft laugh escapes me before I finally manage a sentence. “Yes, I think so. That happens sometimes.”
“Let me guess, you’re running the new cute-but-chaotic version?” he teases.
“Well, it’s definitely an upgrade from the I-messed-up-spectacularly version.”
“You couldn’t have known what they were planning.” The modulated tone softens.
