Page 7 of Whispered Desire

“I'm not playing at anything. Please, you have to believe me. All I know is I saw the gun, I saw you, and my body reacted. There wasn't much thinking going on at all.”

His fingers tighten on the blanket near my hips, strapping me to the bed like a cocooned butterfly.Or a spider's doomed prey.

“So, you lack the universal instinct of self-preservation?” Disbelief tinges his voice as he lowers his head to mine. This close the silver sparks in his eyes blend to onyx, and my breath freezes at the hostile suspicion.

“Apparently,” I whisper. A coughing fit bursts free, and I use it as an opportunity to hide, turning my face away from his.

He has no idea the suicidal thoughts I've dealt with in the past. How sometimes I wonder if death would be better than the life I'm currently living. One that's full of stress and trouble.

Did that subconsciously control my actions?

Was saving him some twisted way of ending my misery?

Only you could twist a selfless act into one of unconscious selfishness.

The man retreats long enough to pour water into a plastic cup. He lowers it to my mouth but doesn’t allow me to take control of it. Instead, he directs the straw between my lips, waits a few seconds, then pulls it out, quietly deciding when I’ve had enough.

It’s high-handed, but the only emotion I can muster is gratitude as the water soothes my dry mouth and throat.

“You were willing to trade your life for mine.” He places the cup on the tray by my bed. “For no other reason than the kindness of your heart. Danger strikes, and instead of running away from it, your body tells you to run towards it.”

“I guess so,” I say wearily. I'm not going to voice the other possibility: that I subconsciously did it on purpose.

I don't think he'd believe me anyway.

Fatigue weighs on my eyelids. All I really want is to fade back into sleep where I don’t have to worry about thoughts of hurting myself, and I don’t have to deal with this man who may or may not want me dead. Or silenced. Or whatever else men who get shot at and have distrust radiating from them in waves want.

“We'll see if that's true or not, won't we?” He studies my inert form in one long sweep, as if willing my secrets to reveal themselves under his powerful gaze, before he turns on his heel and heads for the door.

“Wait!”What are you doing? Let him go!But my messed-up brain has other ideas, curiosity and dread refusing to let go until I know one thing.

He pauses but keeps his back to me.

“Who are you?”

“If you're as innocent as you say, it’s best you don’t know,mon ange.”

Then he's gone, and I'm left to spiral over what the hell just happened.

CHAPTER FOUR

MATHIAS

“Where are we on finding those motherfuckers?” I strip off my blood-splattered suit and toss it onto the hotel carpet. I need a shower, a drink, and something to focus on other than Allison Fields.

She was nervous during questioning, but I hadn’t detected any lies. Which means she’s more of a mystery now than she was before we spoke.

I'm starting to think that her jumping in front of those bullets was a random act of kindness—a thoughtless act with no regard for her safety.

Who cares?

I don’t have time for a woman. No matter how intriguing she may be.

I've got actual problems to deal with rather than puzzling over her rash decisions. Or wondering why no one else showed up at the hospital looking for her. Or remembering how thirsty she’d been as I held her cup and worrying if a nurse would refill it for her soon.

A couple of buttons pop off my shirt as it rips open from my agitated movements.Dammit.Now, she has me ruining my clothes like some clumsy beast rather than the controlled man I am.

Luca leans against the doorjamb, an indecipherable expression on his face. “Rafe tracked the van's license plate to a shell corporation owned by Enzo D’Amora. So, the good news is the drive-by wasn't meant for you. It was dear old Dad trying to kill me instead.”

---