His question threw me off. I normally went for a boring and trivial word.Bananaortomato. Something that wouldn’t come up as a part of dirty talk in the bedroom. But I didn’t have to think long to choose our safe word.
“It’s two words.” I licked my lips.
I could feel his gaze through the helmet, intent and lethal.
“Ford Prefect.”
The two words hung in the air between us like a sword.
“Thought you said we’re not allowed to talk about our past.” His tone was neutral, measured.
“It’s not our past,” I said. “It’s a book character.”
“Ford Prefect.” He grabbed my helmet and slammed it against my sternum. “Got it.”
I snatched the helmet with a huff and hopped behind him. Apparently, the conversation wasn’t over after all because he twisted around to face me.
“I’m not fucking you again so soon.” I screwed the helmet on my head and clipped it. “I’m implementing a three-hour rule between sex. You’re not worth the UTI.”
“I’m not going to fuck you again,” he said, and after a moment, added, “Not now, anyway.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Is it a crime to look at you?”
“No, but if it were, you’d still fucking do it.”
I glared at his covered face with open hatred, confused and out of my depth. I felt naked and exposed under his concealedgaze, knowing he was able to read me so much better than anyone else.
Finally, I punctuated the silence by saying, “If I’m such an awful person and you can’t stay away from me, what does that make you, Achilles?”
“Ah, that’s an easy one.” His thumb brushed over the throbbing pulse beating against the side of my neck. “A fucking fool who is, and always will be, addicted to you.”
“You don’t act like a lovesick addict.”
“I never said Iwantto be addicted to you.” He shook his head. “I’d love nothing more than to purge you from my system. You are a disease, Tierney. People are also addicted to meth. Doesn’t mean it’s good for them.”
“If you have any trace of compassion for me, stop hurting me,” I said quietly.
“I can’t,” he admitted. To his credit, he sounded rueful. Almost forlorn. “You hurt me. Not just then. Today. Tomorrow. Every day. Your mere existence makes it hard to breathe. I have to live every day with the fact you didn’t choose me. And I can’t stand it.” He flicked the visor up, finally letting me see a glimpse of his eyes. They were red, bloodshot. “I can’t quit you. I don’t know how. And it’s ruining both of us. So do us both a favor and fuck the hell off when we get back home.”
Chapter Ten
Tierney
The seaside hotelwe were staying in was patrolled by Camorra soldiers. I guessed Achilles didn’t want to take me to the Ferrante household, to avoid tipping off his father. Although I was sure that, by now, Don Vello already knew things had veered off plan and his precious deal gotten screwed over.
The dozen or so soldiers monitoring the hotel inside and out were all carrying, so I knew better than try to escape them, if and when Achilles left me alone. I didn’t know why, exactly, I didn’t want to die. I certainly had no particular reason to live. Maybe I just wanted to survive as afuck youto all the people who had hurt me.
I was still reeling from our spat at the cliff, so when we reached the presidential suite on the highest floor, I quickly paced toward the fully equipped kitchen and fixed myself a drink. I chose a brandy on the rocks and knocked it back in one go.
Nothing particularly noteworthy stood out about the suite. I’d been to more luxurious hotel rooms, but this one seemed to have that enigmatic charm of a place that wasn’t trying to compete with expensive hotel chains.
I stared at the marbled kitchen counter, still holding my empty tumbler, my back to Achilles.
I was thinking I should probably hop into the shower to wash off the long flight. And maybe take a nap. It didn’t matter how many hours I slept on the plane, nothing beat a good bed after a long journey.
Achilles appeared by my side, snatched the tumbler from between my fingers, and to my surprise, filled it again, handing it back to me. “Drink.”
