I measure the weight of them in my hands, caressing her flesh. I move in closer, pressing against her mostly bare body. I release her tits, bringing my arms up on either side of her, trapping her against the wall.
I want to kiss her so goddamn bad. She arches against me, craving the same contact.
This is not what I came for.
Before things can get too far out of hand, I take a step back. She covers herself, as if chilled, and I reach back to retrieve the bra and t-shirt she left abandoned on the edge of the sink.
She dresses quickly and reaches to turn off the shower but I grab her, stopping her with a shake of my head.
She’s frowning now, really confused, but she obeys and follows me. I hold up a hand for her to stay in the hall. I want to check out the living room window, just to make sure the kid hasn’t noticed anything. His face is illuminated by the glow of his phone; he hasn’t moved.
I go back to get Annabelle in the hall, and I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, because I can’t just break her out. Any longer than it would take for her to shower and even the dipshit outside might start to wonder what’s going on. If I kill him, her whole goddamn family will come after me. I don’t need that headache.
I climb out the window first so I can help her out. She doesn’t know what’s going on but follows me without reservation. I could be leading her to her death, and she’d follow me there like a fucking puppy.
I shouldn’t have saved her. Now she thinks I’m her hero when I’m anything but.
I haul her out back but it’s not far enough. There’s a thicket of woods in the yard of a neighboring house on that back street where I parked. I consider just taking her to my car, but I strike the idea down and head for the wooded area instead.
She’s slower than I am, so I grab her hand to pull her along.
And then here we are, back amongst the trees. That first meeting, pinning her against the tree comes to mind, and I want to do it again, but I push down my baser urges.
Quietly, unsure, she asks, “What’s going on?”
“You’re being watched.”
Her eyebrows rise, since, well, I’ve been watching her.
“Not by me. Not our guys. Pietro’s.”
Now she scowls. “Why?”
“That’s what I want to know,” I tell her. I watch her, too. It’s not that I don’t trust her, ‘cause I more or less do or I wouldn’t be putting my neck on the line for her, but… you can never be too careful. I’m not as trusting as she is.
She shakes her head, gazing off at nothing, trying to think. “I don’t know. I think Paul told him I’m having an affair. Maybe they’re watching for the guy—well, you. In which case, you really should not be sneaking in my bedroom window. I’m not going to leave it open anymore.”
“There’s no other reason you can think of?” I demand.
Shrugging helplessly, she says, “What other reason could there be?”
I sigh, looking at a spot beyond her head. “I’m not going to be able to come around with them watching the house. What if Paul set this up on purpose? Has he been acting strangely?”
“He’s Paul, he always acts strangely.” She pauses, frowns. “I mean… I guess he has been extra strange lately. You think, what, he has guys watching the place so you can’t protect me?”
I don’t know, and she knows I don’t know, but I watch the implications of that sink in on her face and I want to hit someone. A line of someones. As many people as there are standing between Annabelle and me protecting her.
Goddammit.
I don’t know if I’m more enraged by the possibility of Paul or Pietro keeping me out so sh
e’s at Paul’s mercy, or the steely fucking resolve I have not to let that happen. Both are extremely problematic.
“Fuck,” she says softly.
I nod, because I was thinking the same thing.
She looks at the road. “I could run.”