War of Hearts

“You are. You didn’t ask for your life. And you obviously don’t want it. You want to change. You didn’t mean for that man to die.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he did,” I said, strained.

“No,” she allowed. “It doesn’t. But the way you feel about it changes everything. When Marco kidnapped me, I thought I didn’t know you. I thought I couldn’t trust you. But I was always right about you. I know you, Joseph. You are a good man. And when all this is over, we’ll go back to Cambridge and have the life you want. The life you deserve.”

My chest tightened at her words. I wished they were true. I was relieved at her reaction to the ugly truth about me, but I knew we could never go back. Now that she was in my world, I wouldn’t be able to return her to her old life, even if she could go back to her classes at Harvard. Her life would always be tied to mine.

Because I wouldn’t let her go. I wasn’t capable of letting her go.

“I’d like that, angel,” I said, offering her the only truth I could. I longed for the dream of a normal life with her, but the time for that had passed. It had never even been a possibility.

She beamed up at me, elated at my response. She didn’t realize I was deceiving her again, but I couldn’t bring myself to shatter this moment with her. By some miracle, she wasn’t horrified by my admission. I wasn’t willing to ruin that by dashing her hopes. She’d adjust with time, and she’d forget that she’d ever thought about leaving.

I hoped I wasn’t deluding myself.

Chapter Thirteen

Marco

“Are your eggs okay?” I asked, breaking the stretch of silence. Ashlyn was pushing her food around her plate rather than eating it. She’d been quiet ever since Joseph had left to go into the city an hour ago.

She shot me a shy glance, then dropped her gaze back to her plate. “They’re great. Thanks for cooking for me all the time. I know you don’t have to do that.”

It was the first time she’d ever expressed gratitude for my cooking. Something swelled in my chest.

“I want to do it,” I told her. “I like cooking for you.”

I’d like to take care of her more, if she’d let me.

My gut told me she’d welcome Joseph’s kinkier games. I wanted her to welcome me, too.

But my perversions weren’t a game. They were a part of me, a need that gnawed at my soul. In the time she’d been with us, that need had shifted to Ashlyn. I’d thought about her countless times, our few intense encounters giving me enough fantasies to make me come in the shower every day. When I stroked myself, I’d close my eyes and remember the way she trembled for me.

She might think her reactions were fearful, but I knew better. She was a little intimidated, but she liked when I imposed myself on her. I could see it in the way her eyes locked on mine and her breathing hitched as she stared up at me. When I turned that side of myself on her, I commanded her full attention.

And when I’d held her last night, protecting her and sheltering her while she cried, I knew I was just as devoted to her as Joseph was.

He might secretly want to corrupt her innocence, but I would cherish it. I’d ensure that she never lost that part of herself, no matter how depraved Joseph’s games became. She was made for both of us, a perfect match for our needs.

I just needed to convince Joseph that I was right.

“You’re not eating,” I observed. “Are you still upset ab

out last night?”

She peeked up at me. “A little. I feel… a little out of sorts. It would really help if I could go for a swim.” Her tone turned hopeful, her eyes wide and beseeching. “It helps clear my mind.”

I locked down my emotions before they could rise, shoving them away with familiar, ruthless force.

“No,” I said, an absolute refusal. I’d been putting Joseph off, but I had no intention of getting that pool filled and letting Ashlyn in the water. “Now, eat your breakfast.”

Her brows rose. “No? That’s it? Just no?”

I placed my hands on the marble countertop, leaning toward her. The kitchen island separated us, but she shrank back on her stool.

“That’s it. No. Now, eat.”

Her lips thinned, her eyes flashing. “No,” she said, the word heavy with mockery. She flung her fork down. It clattered on the china plate.