More tears. “I don’t know if I can do this. Live in your world. Be with a man who can touch me like that and then do… this.”
“I know.” I stand, offering her my hand. “But you’re not going to run, are you?”
She stares at my hand for a long moment. The hand that touched her. The hand that has blood on it.
Then she takes it.
I pull her to her feet, and she doesn’t let go right away. Just stands there, her small hand in mine, looking up at me with those beautiful green eyes that have now seen too much.
“Why did you really come to my room tonight?” she asks quietly.
I could lie. Tell her I was testing her. Playing games.
But I promised her honesty.
“Because after watching you on surveillance all day, I couldn’t stay away. Because you’re under my skin and I don’t know what to do about it except try to possess you completely. Because I’m losing control and you’re the reason why.”
She pulls her hand free. “I should go inside.”
“Yes,” I murmur. “You should.”
Neither of us moves.
Then I step closer. Very close. Her breath hitches as my body nearly brushes hers, the space between us shrinking to nothing.
I reach down, fingers finding the hem of her nightgown. I press the fabric between her thighs, feeling the heat of her through the thin silk. When I pull my hand back, the material clings slightly, damp with evidence of what she won't admit.
I rub the wetness between my fingers deliberately, letting her see exactly what her body is telling me.
"Look at that," I murmur, my voice low. "Your mouth says no, but this..." I press my thumb against the damp spot on her gown. "This tells me something else entirely."
Her face flushes, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't deny it.
I step closer still, eliminating the last inch between us. The hard length of me presses against her stomach, impossible to ignore, impossible to misinterpret. She inhales sharply, and I feel the rise and fall of her chest against mine, her breathing already uneven.
Her hands come up, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I'm not sure she knows herself.
Her eyes flick up to mine. Her lips part slightly, and I notice the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. The faint flush spreading across her cheeks tells me everything she isn’t saying.
“Do you want me to walk you back to your room?” I ask, my voice lower now.
She swallows.
“No,” she says softly. Then a spark of defiance slips back into her tone. “What’s the point if the monster is already walking beside me?”
Before I can answer, she turns and walks away.
But not before I notice the slight hitch in her step.
I watch her cross the lawn, the night air cool against my skin, my body still aching with the memory of her standing so close.
“Valentina?” I call.
She doesn’t look back.
She disappears into the main house and closes the door behind her.
And I’m left standing in the dark, wanting her far more than before.
