Fucked.
I was completely fucked.
CHAPTER 8
MILO
Icouldn't stop myself from bringing her things.
On Tuesday there was rain in the forecast, so I left a black umbrella propped against her apartment door before dawn. That evening, she unfolded it the second she stepped outside.
On Thursday, the wind turned biting and cold in one of those weird Texas days where the temperature drops and brings in three days of second winter. I watched her shiver at the crosswalk, blowing on her knuckles to keep the stiffness out of her fingers. The next night, I left a pair of cashmere-lined leather gloves on her doorstep, then waited down the hall for her to leave for work. She opened her door and hit them with her cane. Bending down, she found the gloves, slid them on, flexed her fingers against the warmth, and smiled.
Friday, a man at the bar spent her entire first set eye-fucking her. He was mid-fifties, wearing an expensive watch and the kind of smug entitlement that came with too much money and too few consequences. As she played, he stared at her tits, her throat, the way her body moved with the music.
And I stared athim.
I imagined peeling his eyelids back and making him watch while I broke every finger on both hands. Imagined what his face would look like when he realized the pretty blind pianist wasn't as unprotected as he thought. Men like him never expected consequences. They moved through the world taking what they wanted because no one had ever stopped them and they knew that they could.
I wanted to be the one who stopped him. Permanently. And maybe that's what prompted me to follow her into the back hallway when she took a short break.
She was waiting for me just outside the restrooms, away from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Arms crossed, she leaned back against the wall with her cane propped beside her, head tilted toward the sound of my approach.
"You're upset," she said as I approached.
I stopped walking and let my eyes wander over her face and throat as I tried to reign in my temper. "How do you know that?"
"I know the cadence of your steps," she informed me. "I can tell what kind of mood you're in from the way you walk."
"And so you thought it would be a good idea to wait here for me to find you?"
She shrugged, the small movement drawing my eyes to her breasts. "You won't hurt me."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." She dropped her arms to her sides. "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead. If you wanted to hurt me, you'd have doneit by now. Instead, you buy me coffee and leave me gifts to keep me dry and warm."
I didn't remember moving, but I suddenly found myself standing right in front of her. She reached up with one hand and her fingers found my face. With a light touch that drove me mad, she traced the stubble that covered my jaw and the tense muscle beneath.
"So that means you're upset about something else." She paused, and I felt her studying me, sight or no sight. "Is it the men who stare at me that have you so upset?"
"Don't, Raven."
But she kept on. "You're not dangerous to me," she said softly. "You're dangerousforme. There's a difference." Leaning into me, she lifted her face until our lips were nearly brushing. "And I like danger. I miss it."
My self-control cracked.
Grabbing her hips, I pinned her back against the wall. Her gasp echoed in the narrow hallway as my body pressed against hers—chest to chest, hip to hip—and I knew she could feel how hard I was. From the corner of my eye, I saw the bastard who'd been eye fucking her all night. He froze when he saw us, then silently turned on his heel and left. Back the bar, I presumed.
Smart man.
"You think I'm safe?" My mouth hovered an inch from her ear. "You think I won't hurt you?"
Her breath came faster. Her fingers curled into the front of my shirt.
"I think you want to." Her voice was steady, but I felt her tremble. "I think you lie awake at night imagining all the ways you could tear me apart."
YES.
