Page 72 of Dangerous King
I swallow hard, because my throat feels thick and choked. "How do you know what to say?"
"I don't," he murmurs. "But I know what it looks like to want to disappear."
My chest aches with an emotion too big to name. He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. It's neither demanding nor sexual; it just is.
I sigh and, for the second time in one night, I let myself believe I'm not alone anymore.
I didn't see her when I entered the house. Not in the dining room either, where two families were getting to know each other. I stopped for introductions and acknowledged the thanks of Cat's parents, and I think I managed to hide my disdain for her father well. That man has been sitting tight for fourteen years while his daughter was being held hostage. That would have never happened under my watch. I would have started a war to bring her home. Judging by his large belly and the jewels on his wife's neck, hands, ears, and fingers, he didn't do too badly working for Giovanni. I checked him over, too. There were no obviously missing body parts, contrary to his daughter's maimed hand, and that infuriated me even more. So much so that I didn't stay long. Not only because I didn't see Cat, but because there were just too many fucking people in the room. It was too noisy.Everyone was smiling, laughing, and nearly yelling. It was a party.
But she wasn't there.
No one seemed to care except me.
I suspected she slipped away. I've noticed it before, how she folds into herself when things get too loud. The way she carries her joy like it's something borrowed and fragile.
So I went looking.
I find her at the end of the pier, silhouetted by moonlight, still as a statue, her loose hair stirring lightly in the faint breeze. She looks like something out of a dream.
Don't get too close.
Don't ruin her.
The words hit me like a hammer.
What I feel for her, there's no word for it. At least not one I've ever used before. Not one that fits inside the life I live. Whatever I feel, it's more than want.
Though my bodywants. Desperately. My dick's hard the second I lay eyes on her, and it's not just because of the way her shirt clings to those soft curves, or the way the moonlight skims the edge of her jaw, or the soft set of that mouth I haven't stopped thinking about since I tasted it.
After that night, that kiss, I've tried to stay away from her. Two long, fucking days. Two days during which I couldn't help but think about her. The few glimpses I allowed myself only made things worse. The yearning inside of me is… I can't explain it.
I feel it now again, watching her. It's the way she stands out here, alone, not expecting anyone to come looking for her. As if she doesn't think she's worth anyone coming to look for her.
When she opens up to me, tells me how the voices overwhelmed her, how she felt like she didn't belong, how guilt wrapped around her chest like wire, my heart does something I didn't know it could.
It cracks wide open.
And inside that split is something new. It's raw, protective, and I'm afraid,permanent.
I pull her closer without thinking. My hand on her waist is possessive in a way I've never experienced before. Every part of me aches for her. But it's more than desire. It's this overwhelming need to shield her from the world. To show her what safety feels like. What it means to be cherished. Protected.Loved,maybe, though I'm not ready to say that out loud, even to myself.
She's not just something to touch.
She's something tohold.
Something sacred. And if I have my way, she'll never feel alone again. Not in my arms. Not in this life.
I press my mouth to her forehead like a vow, promising silently:No one will ever hurt you again.Not while I breathe. Not while I'm Enrico Sartori. Not while I live.
She tilts her head up toward me, those mesmerizing whiskey eyes are wide and shining in the moonlight. Filled with trust.
Fuck.
I can't take it anymore. I slide my hand to the side of her face, fingers splaying through her hair. It's softer, silkier than I remember. She leans into my touch, and that's all it takes to tip me over the edge. I've denied myself for too long; still, I lower my head slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn't. Her lips part, and her breath hitches. It's the undoing of any willpower I've got left. I kiss her.
Not like the first time, where I took my time, where I was gentle and cautious. This kiss is everything I haven't said. Everything I've buried. It's rougher, deeper, hungrier.It's demanding and consuming. If any part of me is afraid to chase her off with my near aggressiveness, it's drowned out by the raging fever inside me for her. I need her.
