Page 53 of Desperate Desires

The fact I wasn't lying to her the way I normally did when I bedded a woman definitely meant something.

I wasn't sweet-talking her, either.

Truth was, I wanted Michelle to see me.

Like really see me.

I wanted to lay my soul bare for her. To show her all the dark and ugly parts.

But here was the kicker, I wanted to do that, to spew all my filth, and I wanted her to want me, anyway.

I was so fucked up.

I knew she was friends with the Volkovs and their extended families, and I knew she was sort of acquainted with the not-so-niceties of powerful people and businesses.

Sure, I’d worked to leave the criminal aspect of my family name behind me, but it wasn’t an overnight thing.

I wasn’t a good man, though. I wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer. Wasn’t someone who deserved her.

I mean, I'd killed three men in the last week.

Of course, I wouldn’t have done that had they not tried to kill me, but whatever.

My hands had blood on them. She was too good for me. I wasn’t worthy of a woman like her.

But I wasn’t a selfless man, either. I didn’t give up the things I desired or enjoyed.

Like eating red meat or drinking the occasional whiskey.

Yes, I indulged, however infrequently.

And yes, I both desired and enjoyed Michelle. But a damn sight more than a fucking steak or a drink. I liked spending time with her. Very much so.

Fine. I wanted her. And yeah, I intended to keep her.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, and I sucked in a breath, taking in her sweet, shea butter and almond scent.

“I’m thinking I’m not a good man,” I whispered the truth.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, frowning at me.

“Circumstances, I guess. But that’s not all of it,” I whispered, continuing when she remained quiet, “The choices I make aren’t always good.”

I wondered if she could guess what I meant. Watching her as she paused and looked down, as if mulling over my words.

I waited with bated breath for whatever she was going to say next. The wind whispered outside, and I heard the bare branches rustle.

Her apartment was warm enough, but it had been converted from a basement. Too small for her. Definitely too small for us.

But I very much liked the feel of the old brownstone, and I wondered how long it would take me to push the other tenants out so I could buy it and renovate it.

Just thinking about living there with her sent spirals of excitement traveling up my spine. I could see us there. And I liked what I saw.

Michelle sucked in a breath, and I froze, my attention on whatever she was about to say.

“A man I operated on died right before the holidays. He was fine throughout the surgery, but there was a post-op complication when he was in recovery and his heart gave out,” she murmured softly, but her brows were furrowed, and I knew she wasn’t done.

I wanted to howl like a beast and crush her to me to wipe the memory of the dead man away. She had such a big heart. I hated seeing her hurt.

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