She didn’t move away from me, her back still pressed against my chest, my fingers still on her ribcage. It heaved under my touch. One deep breath and her spine straightened. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
“And you are one of them?” I asked.
She looked away, out toward the city lights. Her lashes fluttered again, but this time to keep the tears contained in her eyes. “I don’t know.”
The words were so quiet, the wind almost carried them off before they reached my ears.
For a moment I felt like smashing the world, like burning down everything. I wanted to go after her father and see the life drain from his veins slowly. I wanted to find her mother, and cut her throat, see her sputter on her own blood. These emotions were foreign, not because of their brutality or fierceness, but because they were on behalf of a woman. I’d had bouts of protectiveness when I was younger, toward my sisters; before they’d left me and before I’d become the man I was today.
I traced my fingers down her ribs, then slid my arms around her stomach. She shivered. “Let’s go inside, you are cold.”
Her eyes searched mine, curiously, hopefully. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she nodded slowly and let me lead her inside. The wonder returned to her expression as she took in the living area. I’d spent most of my life in luxury, had taken it for granted most of the time, until it had been ripped from me. But she had never had anything close to it. I pulled her against me, her nipples pressed up against my ribs. “Stay with me tonight.”
Her eyes widened, then she gave one frantic shake of her head. “I told you, I won’t sleep with you.”
Not tonight, but soon. Leona might still believe she could evade me, but she was mine. “I know,” I said in a low voice, then slid my hands over her back.
She relaxed, then tensed as if remembering herself. “Then why? Why have me spend the night if there’s nothing in it for you?”
Fuck, if I knew.
“Stay,” I said again, an order this time. She looked up at me, fearful for all the wrong reasons.
“Okay,” she breathed, resigned and tired. She’d had a long day. Working at Roger’s Arena couldn’t be easy. I lifted her into my arms. She didn’t protest, as if she’d realized it was a losing battle. I carried her toward the stairs. She leaned her cheek against my chest, whispering. “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t think I can handle it.”
I paused with my foot on the first step, glancing down at her crown of amber curls. It wasn’t meant the way people usually begged me not to hurt them, I could tell. It would have been easier if it were. I wasn’t sure I could not hurt her. I was dragging her into a world where the things she longed for where even less attainable than in the hopeless life she was used to.
Her breathing had flattened. Had she fallen asleep?
She shouldn’t have, not in the arms of a man like me. Her trust was foolish and completely unfounded. I ascended the stairs and entered my bedroom. I never brought anyone here. I put Leona down on my bed and she didn’t wake. I allowed myself to regard her. Her narrow hips, her round breasts barely hidden from view by the sheer fabric of her bra, the outline of her pussy under her panties. I raked a hand through my hair. Women were supposed to be entertainment and pleasant distraction. So far Leona was neither of those things, but I couldn’t allow her to be anything else. My life was dedicated to the Camorra, my loyalties belonged only to them. It couldn’t be any other way. I got out of my clothes and stretched out beside Leona in my briefs. I watched her as she slept beside me peacefully. Never had a woman slept in my bed. I’d never seen the appeal. And I still could think of many more entertaining things to do with Leona than sleep but watching her peaceful expression gave me a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in a long time, perhaps ever.
I curled my arm over her hip protectively and allowed myself to close my eyes. As I listened to her rhythmic breathing, I began to drift off.
I woke with Leona’s body curled into me, one of her legs intertwined with mine, her breathing fluttering against my bare chest. I’d never woken up beside a woman, never not minded that kind of physical closeness. Closeness was reserved for sex, and then it was a very different kind of closeness.
I carefully untangled myself from her, and she turned on her back, the blankets pooling at her hips. Her face was relaxed, no sign that she was going to wake.