Page 62 of Owning Nicci

“Maybe.” She looks up at me, a small smirk on her lips, and I want to kiss it away. I want to leave her gasping, begging, pleading for the pleasure I can give her, for no reason other than that she craves it.

I don’t want to go back to reality. I want this to be reality. This—right here, right now. This thread of lust strung taut between us, this dream that we’ve been living in for days now, where nothing that came before matters and nothing that’s ahead of us is real.

Nicci looks up at me, and I can see that she wants it, too. Her eyes soften for just a moment as they catch mine, and for the briefest second, I think she’s going to lean in and kiss me. Her lips part, and I can feel the connection between us pulsing as if it has a heartbeat of its own.

She turns away abruptly, and the moment shatters. “Goodnight, Savio,” she murmurs, walking past me to the side of the bed that I’ve started to think of ashers, and she slides under the covers, reaching for the light.

I stand in the doorway, looking at her for a long moment. Tomorrow, we’re heading back to the city. I’m not ready, and deep down, I don’t think she is, either.

My jaw tightens, and I turn away, hardening myself against the possibilities that feel like they’re still lingering there, in the space between us.

If anything was going to change,I tell myself as I walk down the hall,it already would have. She would have changed it. She would have made a move.

It was a pleasant, brief dream. And it’s time for us both to wake up.

24

NICCI

The ride back to the city is silent for us both.

I didn’t sleep well last night, and if I had to guess, neither did Savio. I could feel the reluctance in him when we packed this morning, like the time at the cabin was a vacation that neither of us wanted to leave behind. But vacations have to end, and so did the fantasy that we spun for ourselves in the brief time we were there.

What shocked me the most was that he didn’t touch me at all. Not once, although I know he wanted me. Isawit. But he held back, and I wonder if that will be true when we get back to the penthouse—or if he’ll fall into old habits.

It doesn’t matter,I tell myself, staring out of the window as we approach the city. Soon, none of this will matter. Whether Savio decides to fuck me again or not, the plan is the plan. Nothing has changed.

We’re hitting Francis and Martin’s restaurant tonight, and that’s where my focus needs to be.

It’s brought back into sharp relief when we arrive back at the penthouse. The security is still there, minus the guard Savio shot on my behalf, who has been replaced with another man—thesame bulky, muscled sort of guy with a crew cut who looks like he was picked out of a Bodyguards-R-Us catalog.

Just as I thought it would—as Ifearedit would, if I’m being honest with myself—the feeling that was there between Savio and me in the cabin, that feeling of quiet, safe domesticity, flees, leaving only a tense anxiety. How could it not? Here in his penthouse, there are all the reminders of how this began and how I plan for it to end. The perfect, pristine apartment, the security guards, and the familiar sight of the room I stayed in since I first woke up here all sharply remind me of the fact that up until very recently, I was Savio’s prisoner. Whatever has changed since then, it hasn’t changed what he did.

Just because I understand why, now, doesn’t change it either.

Savio takes me back up to my former room, and I try to ignore the pang that I feel in my chest at the thought of sleeping alone again. It’s not rejection, I remind myself. We slept in the same bed at the cabin because it was that, or take the floor or the couch, and neither of us was willing to do that—not because wewantedto share a bed.

I try not to think about how it felt having him next to me. How good it felt to have a warm, solid body sleeping next to mine for the first time in my life. How many times I woke up and wanted to roll closer, to find out what that body would feel like curled up against mine.

“The door won’t be locked,” Savio says abruptly, his voice taut. It almost sounds as if he’s struggling with coming back, too, although I can’t imagine that’s true. He might not hate me the way he once did, but I’m still a possession, something that he spent an astronomical amount of money for, an investment that he needs a return on. Four days at a cabin doesn’t change that.

“I’m trusting you won’t leave the penthouse,principessa,” he adds. “For your own safety, if nothing else. But the rules from before—” He shakes his head. “You can do what you like here,now. Move around the house as you please, use the kitchen, watch TV.—” He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

“Are you still going to cook?” The question sounds stupid as soon as I ask it, and I wish I could take it back. I meant it as a joke, but said aloud, all I can think is that it sounds pathetic. Like I’m begging for something that was never actually real.

Savio chuckles dryly. “No. But don’t worry, you’ll still be fed.” He drops my bag on the floor next to the bed, turning away. “Enjoy being back in luxury,principessa. And feel free to lock the door from the inside at night,” he adds. “If you want to. If it makes you feel safer from the guards.”

And from you.I don’t say it aloud, just nodding my assent as I watch him leave. That hollow feeling in my chest remains, and I try to shake it off, focusing instead on unpacking and thinking about the job we’ll do tonight—the last of the Crows. The end of the first part of Savio’s and my deal, and the beginning of the other part.

Anticipation rolls through me at the thought of finally,finallytaking the revenge that matters the most to me. I’m not sure yet how we’ll get to my father or my brother, but we’ll figure it out. Savio has been able to track the others down so far, find inroads to get to them, and I’m sure he’ll do the same for my family.

And then we’ll finish them off, once and for all.

I lie down atop the made bed, grabbing a throw blanket and pulling it over myself. It’s luxuriously soft, made of cashmere, nothing like the rustic textiles back at the cabin. But still, I find myself missing the scent of cedar and pine, the way it reminded me of how Savio smells, and the weight of him in the bed next to me.

—

I wakeup a few hours before we’re supposed to leave. Dinner is waiting for me on the desk, like it always has been before, and I feel another sharp pang, remembering Savio and me eating together at the cabin. That too seems like it was a part of the irrational fantasy that we were living in for a few days.

---