Now as she sat beside him in the cockpit of the small private jet Eagle had bought for him and his team to use, all he could smell washer. Not her emotions, just her.
It wasn't until now that he even realized how heavily he’d come to rely on the changes Dr. Gardner’s experiments had done to him. As a kid, if he wanted to figure out the best way to remain safe and out of the line of fire, he had to study body language, voice inflections, and search for the tiny tells that told him he was about to be taught a brutal lesson in what it meant to be part of a mafia family.
The changes made to him gave him an edge, and now he found he struggled to read anything else. Since he couldn’t scent her emotions, he had no idea how to figure out whether Cassandra was more angry or upset that he’d all but emotionally blackmailed her into coming away with him.
Not that he wasn't telling her the truth. The money transferred to her assailant indicated he’d gone after her for money and therefore wasn't an employee of Dr. Gardner’s, so staying with him and his team really was the safest place for her, but still, it felt like manipulation.
Talking had never been his thing. In his family, you didn't talk about your feelings, you just squashed them down until they disappeared. There were expectations that had felt stifling, and he’d spent all his time playing along, pretending to be exactly what his family wanted him to be, while constantly counting down the days until he could escape. Then he’d jumped straight from the frying pan and into the fire. Escaping his family, only to enjoy a few years of military and special forces training, andthen wind up a prisoner all over again, this time to a deranged scientist who once again wanted to mold him into the man he wanted Dragon to be.
Did he even know who he was?
There had never been time to figure it out, there’d always been bigger problems and issues to deal with. But when he was sitting beside Cassandra, her caramel scent invading his body and mind, he wanted to know what it would be like to be a normal man. One who wasn't a danger to the sweet woman that had somehow managed to find an opening he hadn't even known existed and wriggled through it to lodge her presence inside him.
“How come you didn't make me wear the blindfold?” Cassandra asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped them since they took a cab to the airport after they finished talking to the cops and she was treated for her injuries.
That was a loaded question and one he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.
All his life, he’d practiced keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. Nobody in his family cared, he wasn't a real person to them. He was the heir to an empire he had no interest in controlling. But that didn't matter to them, playing along had become so easy that he’d lost himself in the process, and now even answering a simple question—or a not so simple one—felt like a life-or-death challenge. His family would never have killed him, he was the oldest son and heir after all, for answering a question wrong, but he would have been punished for giving the wrong answer. Severely.
Maybe his upbringing wasn't all that different from Rose’s. They were more alike than he let on, and that made him feel worse about how he’d treated the feisty redhead. It wasn't Rose’s fault he’d lost Cassandra, it was his own.
Now he wanted her back, but he didn't know if it was even a possibility.
What the hell is running through your mind right now, little rabbit?
It would be so much easier to adjust what he said if he knew her expectations. He could work with anger, and he could work with hurt, but he couldn’t work with nothing, it left him feeling like he was floundering, and he despised that feeling.
“Not like you know where we’re going anyway,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. It wasn't the answer he wanted to give, but he couldn’t seem to make himself be real anymore. How could he when he didn't even know what was real and what wasn't?
“I can see where we’re going,” she countered.
“Okay then, tell me what state we’re flying over right now.”
After pausing, Cassandra huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine. I don’t know where we’re going. Still, you never cared about that before. You guys always had a strict blindfold or sedatives policy when it comes to bringing people to your home. I don’t understand what’s different this time.”
Although he was missing his ability to scent Cassandra’s emotions, he could tell, nonetheless, that there was an undercurrent to her question. He just had no idea what the hell it was, or what she wanted from him.
Since he couldn’t come up with the correct answer, he gave none at all, merely shrugging and then concentrating on flying the plane. Thing was, he hadn't discussed with his team letting Cassandra see where they lived. Of course, they knew he was bringing her home with him, but he hadn't mentioned that he didn't want blindfolds or sedatives between him and Cassandra anymore.
It made things between them feel fake, the same as everything else in his life, but what he felt for Cassandra was possibly the most real thing he’d ever felt in his life. There was no doubt he thought of the men on his team as his family, hisbrothers, he would die for them, he would kill for them, they had been the backbone of his existence for the last decade.
But what he felt for Cassandra exceeded what he thought he was capable of feeling.
It was terrifying because there was no chance he could ever be the soft, gentle man she needed him to be. Cassandra was sunshine, and he wasn't just a rainy day, he was the dead of night, in the middle of a violent storm.
They were never going to mix, and yet he couldn’t seem to let her go.
Even if she walked after this, and of course she would, he wouldn't be able to cut her out of his life. He’d go back to watching her from afar, stalking her every move, and hope she never met someone who could give her all the things he couldn’t.
It made him selfish, but it was what he was. He was absolutely the kind of man who was an if I can't have her, then no one else can type. Maybe he should just keep her at the mansion, refuse to let her leave, she could hate him for it, but at least he’d be able to have her close.
“Are you angry with me for something, Dragon?” Cassandra asked, and when he turned his head, he didn't have to rely on his temporarily malfunctioning enhanced sense of smell, or his long-lost ability to read every person and situation to know what she was thinking.
Worry wafted off her in waves, and he couldn’t stop the sharp shake of his head even if he wanted to.
“No. Why would I be?” he asked. He had zero reason to be angry with Cassandra, she’d done nothing wrong. It was because of him she was now in danger, running for her life, forced out of her home and away from her family. The only one of the two of them who had a reason to be angry with the other was her.
Shrugging, she turned back to stare out the window, and his hands tightened on the controls.
