Page 22
I slammed my palm against the brass plate to stop the shower before stepping inside again.
Her bright, expressive eyes met mine. The sapphire color had darkened to a deep, cobalt blue. The look she gave me pierced straight through my heart, a wound more devastating than any bullet.
Her anger had vanished, replaced only by raw pain.
I realized now why I had so cruelly goaded her earlier. Why I had fucked her against the shower wall with such violence. Why I had met her legitimate protests with ruthless domination.
It was because I wanted—needed—to stave off this precise moment.
The moment she looked at me not with fire and rage…but with hurt and betrayal.
I tossed one towel over my shoulder and began to dry her off.
She licked her lips. “I can do that.”
It was the first time she’d spoken in several minutes. Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been screaming for hours.
I enveloped her in the warm, plush towel. “I know. Let me anyway.”
With a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, she nodded.
With careful restraint that threatened to snap at any moment, I dried her shoulders and arms then knelt to swipe the towel over her hips and legs. I couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to her stomach, just below her navel.
She sucked it in, tightening her muscles as if physically closing herself off to my touch.
“Don’t pull away from me.”
“Why?” The word was barely a whisper. “What difference does it make?”
I pressed my forehead against her stomach, my hands gripping her hips. “Because I can handle your rage. Your hatred. Your defiance.” I looked up at her, letting her see the raw truth in my eyes. “But not this. Not you closing yourself off from me.”
She inhaled sharply. “You don’t get to decide how I cope with what you’ve done.”
“No.” I rose to my full height, towering over her. “But I can tell you this—your father tried to kill you today. Not me. Him.”
She flinched as if I’d struck her.
“I’m the one who found you in that alley. I’m the one who carried you through the blood and the bullets.” I cradled her face in my hands. “And I’m the one who will burn his world to ashes for daring to touch what’s mine.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I pressed my lips to her forehead. “You will always be mine. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us.”
I draped the towel over her shoulders before turning her around. Using the second towel, I ran my hands over her long hair, twisting it to squeeze out the excess water. Droplets fell onto the marble floor, the plops unnaturally loud in the silence between us.
After only a moment, she turned back. Her small hands grasped the towel protectively around her as if it were armor.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
We stood there awkwardly, the air heavy with unspoken accusations.
I cleared my throat. “There is a garment bag on the bed. My staff brought it over from the palazzo. It has some clothes in it for you.”
She nodded, a barely perceptible movement. Then she silently stepped out of the shower and left the bathroom, water trailing in her wake.
Giving her space, I yanked my clinging jeans off my hips, the wet denim scraping against my skin. I quickly rinsed off and stepped back out, grabbing another warm towel. After running the towel over my wet hair, I wrapped it low around my hips and followed her into the bedroom.
Part of me expected her to grab the garment bag and flee to one of the other bedrooms.
