Page 23 of Wild Card

“Gio. Please don’t make me go back up there. Don’t let your uncle hurt me, please?”

Jesus the way her voice trembles.

“I promise I won’t run. Please?”

She probably couldn’t run right now even if she wanted to. But Lorenzo will want her in a more secure location. Right now, I don’t give a shit about anything other than keeping her safe and getting her healthy.

She’s pale and quiet, a shadow of the woman who’d easily bested my uncle in a battle of wits just the other day.

What are we doing to her?

I ease back into bed and drape my arms around her.

“I won’t let him hurt you again. Today you can stay here. You need to rest and get better.”

I have no desire to put her up in that attic again. It’s swampy, and a place where she was assaulted. But when I’m not here, I worry about my uncle being able to break into my apartment. It’s easier than getting into the attic which was designed to keep people out. But she won’t get better trapped up in that space.

She relaxes visibly, and it makes me feel like shit. Like some kind of manipulative creep. I want to do the right thing by Catriona, but I’m not always sure what that is.

I really need to get up. I’d missed Sunday dinner with Nonna and told her I was sick. She’d stopped by to give me a lasagna she made, and luckily, Catriona was hidden in my bedroom.

I have no idea what Lorenzo’s been up to, but he got his face smashed in the other night. Wouldn’t tell me who the fight was with. But I have enough on my mind already without worrying about his additional extra curriculars.

She’s looking up at me still. I can’t fucking handle it. Her delicate cheekbones are still bruised, though the lacerations are starting to heal. She’s lucky Lorenzo didn’t break those bones.

And he’s lucky too. My muscles tense, and I’m struck by a nearly insurmountable desire to draw her tight against me. To use my body in whatever way I can to keep her safe, whether it’s shielding her or dismantling anyone who hurts her.

Or maybe I just like touching her because I’m so Goddamn attracted to her.

The dusting of freckles is becoming more visible on the bridge of her nose as the swelling subsides. Her wild cascades of hair drape over her collarbones, down her incredible breasts.

I sweep a few curls from her face. “Must get all kinds of headaches carrying this much hair,” I say.

“Rose hates it,” she murmurs.

“Rose?”

“My mother. Always wants me to straighten it. Have it be sleek and elegant.”

I play with one of the curls, twisting it around my finger. I like her wild mane of hair.

“It’s better like this,” I say, tickling her throat with the end of the curl in my hand.

What the fuck do I think I’m playing at?

I feel the beginnings of another erection when she reaches up and touches my face.

“I’m sorry for what my father did.”

It’s not her fault, but I can’t bring myself to say so. I rest one of those perfect curls on her chest. I watch her lips, and before I can react, she’s wrapped her hand around my neck and kisses me.

Fuck. This is a bad idea.

She’s vulnerable, and she’s been through hell.

I want her, but not if it will hurt her.

“Catriona,” I murmur, stroking her delicate cheek. “You’re so lovely.” I’m about to launch into a speech about why this shouldn’t happen when she kisses me again, sighing softly as she does. This woman has been at the mercy of others for too long. Let her take some power here. I swallow the lecture, follow her signals and slide my tongue in her mouth.

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