Page 9 of The Wishing Game

"There should be something we can do."

"What? I've thought of everything over the years, Luce, but I don't have any proof. Not for the accident, not for the shooting, not for any of the other attempts on my life."

"Shouldn't the fact that they have the most to win if you die count?"

"Not anymore." He smiles.

I tilt my head, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the sole beneficiary of my fortune. I changed my will as soon as we got married. I would have changed it sooner, but because of my head injury, I had to pass some tests before they declared me mentally fit to make any such decisions."

I blink in surprise.

"You..."

"Of course, a part will go to Malia, too," he mentions our goddaughter with a smile.

"That's... I don't know what to say, Nikki."

"You don't have to say anything. All my life I've been hunted down for this cursed money. They've taken almost everything from me, Luce. Almost everything." He takes a deep breath. "But I won't let them take it all."

Although he'd been born to generational wealth, his parents had more than increased the family fortune, becoming one of the richest couples in the world before their gruesome deaths. From the beginning, Nikki had suspected that it had been his kin who'd done it in an attempt to gain control over his parents' company and fortune. He has one aunt, two uncles, and a slew of cousins, all of whom are rich in their own right. But one thing I've learned, regardless of whether you're from Mexico or the U.S., even if you have money, you'll always want more of it. And how could anyone turn their noses up at the billions of dollars under Nikki's name?

Unfortunately, Nikki has never been able to enjoy his fortune—not with how bad his mental health had become as a result of other people's greed.

"Enough of this morbid talk." I wave my hand.

"Don't worry about it. I have a security team on standby if anything happens. They're always behind us, but they'll keep a distance so they don't interfere with us."

I raise a brow at him. Now, he hadn't mentioned that before. But I should have realized that someone who's come to call paranoia his closest friend could never go somewhere without a full security detail.

"Well, I guess it's all right as long as we don't notice them," I grumble.

He gives me a wide grin and, coming to my side, he pulls me into his arms, leading me to the bedroom.

After throwing me on the bed, he takes a step back and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

I bite my lip as I watch him toss it aside, my eyes feasting on his naked chest. Like me, he bears the scars of his past. There are a myriad of scars all over the surface of his chest, some deeper and gnarlier than others.

Raising my leg, I trail my foot down his torso, feeling the ridges of his muscles. Despite his agoraphobia, Nikki has always taken care of his physique, installing a gym in our home and using it on a daily basis. In his own words, it helped him to clear his head when his anxiety was at its worst.

"I have one more surprise for you," he murmurs suggestively, catching my leg and kissing the arch of my foot.

"Is that so?" I challenge, grabbing the hem of my shirt and taking it off before doing the same with my bra and underwear.

His eyes darken, his pupils expanding as he takes in my naked body. His gaze moves from my face to my chest where most of my marks are clustered together, going all the way down to my thighs. There are different shapes littering my flesh, a haunting black against my lighter skin. I'm still not sure what they are, and no doctor has been able to tell us for sure if it's a tattoo, or if someone had branded my skin. I only know what they represent—years of servitude that almost erased who I was. Because of that, I've always been ashamed of them.

"You're beautiful, Luce," Nikki whispers reverently. "All of you is beautiful."

His intense scrutiny makes me blush, and I look away.

"Don't," he rasps. "Don't take those beautiful eyes off me."

A tremulous smile tugs at my lips as I slowly meet his gaze. After all this time, I still get self-conscious about the marks on my skin. I don't like them. Why should anyone else like them?

He kisses his way up my leg. When he reaches my marks, he pays special attention to them, kissing each one in turn, lingering on the larger ones. He moves slowly, trailing his tongue up my chest until his mouth is on mine. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I pull him closer as I give myself to his embrace. He's slow but thorough, worshipping my body with his and bringing me to the brink, time and time again.

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