Page 88 of Sweet Deception
Little does she know that I would never turn my back on her right now. Not when she practically cracked herself open to show me her soft, gooey core.
Slowly, I press the door closed before cupping her cheeks. I kiss her once, gently.
I guide us the twenty paces from the door to the king bed on the far side of the room. She lies down, and I settle around her, pulling her into my chest.
To hold her in my arms again, her sweet scent enveloping me, is almost too much to handle. I want to inhale her like a drug. Everything that was in disarray since I left her at the safe house seems at ease now, which is messed up. Since when do I do peace?
She settles deeper into the bend of my body, as if she belongs there.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have a runner go to your apartment and pick up some of your things.” I close my eyes. “Since you may be with us for a while.”
She catches her breath at those words. We’re tucked so tightly together, I sense her chest stuttering against my own.
“The music box.”
“Hmm?”
“My grandmother’s music box…” Her hopeful eyes plead with mine. “It’s priceless to me. If there’s any way you could get that, I’d be?—”
“Done.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I truly believe she put her whole heart into those two syllables.
I’m still as a statue with my arms locked around her. Which is fine, considering she’s asleep in seconds.
Holding her so near, I listen for her small huffs of breath while my mind ponders over our time together. When I reflect on the way I’ve been acting, I don’t like what I find.
Truthfully, I don’t recognize myself.
The chaos agent I pride myself on being is nothing short of mush around Veronika Kotova.
I blow things up. I kill men with my bare hands. I show other people how to do the same.
I don’t cuddle defenseless ballet dancers while they sleep, wanting nothing more than to keep them safe. But here I am, snuggled up with this woman and drowning in protective instincts I never even realized I had.
What the hell is happening to me?
Chapter Thirty-Two
I crack open my eyes to find Darren watching me. Because of him, I’m…not alone. Again.
He gently disentangles himself from me and pushes to his feet.
“Let’s eat.” His eyes are soft. “It’s dinnertime.”
That wakes me up a bit more. “Didn’t we miss it?”
“We eat late in this house.”
Mumbling some kind of affirmative, I climb out of bed and go to freshen up in front of a giant vanity in the gorgeous en suite bathroom.
Due to my exhaustion when we first arrived, I didn’t even stop to appreciate the room. It’s easily bigger than my entire apartment. A cozy conversation set takes up one corner, near a large window with a perfect view of the barn garage where Darren parked his car.
Abstract art decorates every wall. A cute kitchenette sits tucked on one side. A wide-screen television hangs across from the bed. Then there’s this bathroom. It’s fit for an A-list movie star—chic, postmodern lines, above-counter sink, clean, warm recessed lighting. Everything’s so nice, I almost forget where I am and what’s going on.
Almost.
Two splashes of freezing water to the face grounds me. Staring at my weary reflection, I blink the sleep out of my eyes and use my fingers to rake my hair into a loose bun.
