“I don’t love her.” The words pour out in a rush. “I don’t want her. I have never wanted her. She was a name on a contract, a duty I was trying to escape, and the only thing—” His breath hitches. “—the only thing I’ve wanted— The only thing I’ve ever wanted isyou.”
His hands are shaking. I can feel them trembling against my jaw. This man who breaks bones without flinching, who commands armies of guards, who terrorized me into submission… his hands areshaking.
“Don’t think less of me.” His forehead drops to mine. Close enough that I feel his breath. See the desperation in his eyes.“Please. I can take your hatred. I can take your fear. But don’t—” His voice breaks. “Don’t compare me to them. Don’t think I’m just another man who lies to women while he takes what he wants.”
Jesus Christ.
He’s falling apart.
Right here against the wall, caging me with his body, Elio Marchetti is coming undone. And it’s not because of Cicero’s threats. Not because of the Ferrantes, or the broken engagement, or the political shitstorm he just created.
It’s because I compared him to cheating men.
Because he’s terrified of what I think of him.
I touch his jaw before I let myself think.
He sucks in a breath like I’ve burned him.
“You think I’d marry her and keep you here like some—” He can’t finish.
“Elio...”
“Tell me how to fix this.” His eyes search mine. Desperate. Lost. “Tell me how to make you want me. How to be good for you. I don’t—” His voice cracks again. “I don’t know how to be good. I only know how to take. To control. But if there’s a way to make you?—”
“Shh.”
The sound comes from me. Soft. Instinctive. The same noise I’d make hushing something wounded.
My thumb strokes his cheekbone, making his eyes flutter closed, and a shudder runs through his whole body.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers. “I’ve never—” His arms wrap around my waist. Pull me closer. His forehead drops to my shoulder. “I’ve never wanted someone like this. Never cared what they thought of me.”
He’s holding me like I’m the only solid thing in the room.
I should push him away. Should use this moment of weakness to run. He’s vulnerable. Distracted. The door is right there.
Instead, my hand slides into his hair.
He makes a sound against my shoulder. Something broken and grateful. His arms tighten.
What are you doing, Murphy?
I don’t know. Don’t understand why I’m standing here cradling a man who kidnapped me. Why his desperation makes my chest ache. Why the feel of him trembling against me triggers an instinct to comfort rather than flee.
“I only want you.” The words are muffled against my shoulder. “Just you. Only you. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be someone you could?—”
His voice gives out.
My throat closes.
Tell him the truth.
The truth I’ve been hiding even from myself.
When Cicero saidwedding rings, something in my chest shattered. Not because I was scared for myself, though I was. Because the thought of Elio marrying someone else, belonging to someone else, felt like losing something I’d claimed without realizing I was claiming it.
You want him.
