Forever Mine (Tormentor Mine 4)

He shrugs, though his expression tightens. “She won’t be pleased, but she knows this is important. I can’t delegate something this big; growing soft is dangerous in our line of business. Besides, it’s the four of you who’ll be in most danger. Kent and I will only get involved if all else fails… and unlike yours, our faces are not plastered all over the evening news.”

85

Peter

On Monday night, I prepare all of Sara’s favorite foods and open a bottle of sparkling grape juice for dinner. Though it’s now been a couple of days since Sara’s had any flashbacks, I hate the thought of leaving her alone for so long.

Even with her staying at the Esguerras’ house, with Nora and Yulia within shouting distance, I’m going to be worried the entire time I’m away.

“Why do you have to go?” she asks again, her heart-shaped face pinched with stress. Her plate, piled high with her favorite pasta, is sitting in front of her untouched, as is her champagne glass with the sparkling juice. She hasn’t eaten all day—not since learning that I’m going to London.

“You know it’s almost certainly a trap,” she continues as I contemplate how to get her to consume some calories. “He’s luring you out, using the email from his wife as bait.”

“I know—and we’ve planned for that,” I remind her patiently as I nudge the bowl with freshly baked bread toward her. “It’s still a chance to acquire a lead. It’s hard to set a trap without leaving traces; somewhere, somehow, he’s bound to fuck up.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” She pushes the bowl away. “What if he succeeds in trapping you?”

“Ptichka…” I sigh. “You know he’s just going to keep coming after us. I tried to walk away from this once, and look what happened. If I hadn’t taken the deal and given up hunting him—”

“No.” Sara’s eyes glitter with painful brightness. “Don’t even go there. I told you, that’s not on you. I know how hard it was for you to make that deal, and no matter the outcome, I’ll always be thankful that you tried… that you made that kind of sacrifice for me.”

“Then eat. Please.” I push the bowl of bread toward her again. “If not for yourself, then for me and our baby.”

She blinks, as if only now realizing she hasn’t had so much as a bite of anything I’ve made. Picking up a piece of bread, she obediently bites into it, then forks some pasta into her mouth.

I eye a speck of sauce left behind on her upper lip, and as if reading my mind, she runs her tongue over it, making my body tighten.

Fuck, I want to nibble on those soft, plush lips… to feel them pressed against my balls as she uses that tongue on me.

The surge of lust is so strong it catches me off-guard. My heart rate kicks up, and I go from mild arousal to a full-blown erection in a second. The only thing that stops me from stretching her out on this table is that she’s finally eating.

Reluctantly, with an obvious lack of appetite, but eating.

Reining in my lust, I finish my own food, watching her vigilantly the entire time.

She consumes about half of the pasta on her plate before she gives up and declares herself full. I coax her into eating some dessert—a bowl of berries with whipped coconut cream—and then I finally give in to my own hunger.

Leaving the dishes on the table, I pick her up and carry her to our bedroom.

86

Sara

Peter is careful with me tonight, unusually gentle, and for once, the tenderness is exactly what I want. Ever since this morning, when he told me he’s leaving for London, I’ve been paralyzed with fear, so terrified for him that I can scarcely breathe.

He’s still not fully healed, though he acts as if the wounds don’t matter. Over the past two days, he’s resumed training with Anton and the twins, performing feats of strength and endurance that few uninjured athletes could’ve matched. Despite that, I’m acutely aware that he’s not superhuman—that he can bleed and die from bullets, just like anyone.

I spoke to Nora after lunch, while Peter was finalizing the logistics with her husband and the others. She was outwardly calm, but I could tell that she was just as worried, her anxiety running just as deep. She told me some more details of their plan—about how Kent and Esguerra would be heading up the backup teams, how six dozen of their best-trained guards would be involved in the entire operation. How the men have run through over fifty different simulations, preparing for everything under the sun.

It should’ve reassured me, but the sucking pit of fear in my stomach has only gotten worse. If nothing else, that conversation had impressed upon me just how dangerous the whole endeavor is—particularly for Peter and his teammates.