Page 15 of Mine to Love
Gio and I have had little time together today, at least, alone time, which has actually been perfect. I’ve been able to quietly observe him from afar while he’s been distracted by our company. While my observations do nothing to unearth the enigma that is Gio Moretti—the mysterious, gun-carrying, Black Card-wielding gentleman with a soft spot for strays, Delilah and I included—they have allowed my comfort with him to grow. Perhaps because they’ve humanized him.
He and Damon egg each other on like brothers and the conversations have remained light and humorous, ranging from whose dog is better to wedding talk. Ana jumps in from time to time too, which reveals how comfortable she is around the two of them, around Gio. I suppose seeing herand Delilahinteract with him has helped me feel a little more at ease. I turn to glance behind me then.
Delilah burned out not long after lunch and she asked Gio to carry her. It’s surprising to me that she asked him and, even more so, that I gave my permission, but I did. She’s been half asleep in Gio’s arms ever since. Looking at her now, she has her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. She looks so at ease and I’m so thankful for it—after last night, after the last three weeks, after everything. I lower my eyes then to Gio’s strong, veiny hand holding her in place. Then, my gaze drifts up his chest to his neck and finally, to his amber eyes, which are focused entirely on me. My lips part and I quickly snap my head front-facing just as Ana calls out, “We’re here!”
As the four of us plus the two dogs enter the cutely decorated, air-conditioned children’s boutique, I let out a sigh of relief, both thankful for the ACandthat my portion of today’s try-ons is officially over.
“Welcome in,” the store owner greets us with a friendly smile. Like all the other places we’ve visited today, we’re the only customers and I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence, especially given the store signage that lets me know most of these places aren’t even typically open on Sundays. Did Gio organize an entirely private shopping tour through New Orleans for us? And in one night? Maybe he’s not human.
As my curiosity about him peaks once more, I quickly shove the thoughts from my mind and remind myself of what he said last night. He said there are certain things he just can’t tell me, and I accepted that truth because I have enough problemsand secretsof my own. I don’t need to bear the weight of his too.
While Ana exchanges pleasantries with the store owner, I head over to Gio and Damon. Damon plops down on the creamy colored settee, letting loose of all the bags Ana has forced him to carry. Surprisingly, he hasn’t complained a bit. He’ll make a good husband. With him settled, Brinkley, the little white dog, jumps up and positions himself in his lap. Damon lets out a sigh and begins mindlessly petting him while Ru lays down at Gio’s feet, despite him still standing. The two of us exchange a look and then I direct my attention to Delilah.
“Sweetie.” I rub my hand slowly up and down her back to wake her. “Honey, I think this store is for you.” Feeling Gio’s gaze on me, I suck in air and lower my eyes to our feet as Delilah clings to sleep. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this close to him before, well, aside from when he tried to stop me from leaving the restaurant last night,andwhen I awoke in his arms after those men tried to,andwhen he carried me to bed. As all the memories of the last twenty-four hours flood me, I take astep back just as I feel my cheeks flush and my fingers begin to tremble.
“How old is she? I can pull some basics for you. That way, the three of you can just focus on the fun stuff,” the store owner says then. Thankful for the distraction, I turn toward her and take a deep breath.
“She’s five, and that would be great.” The shop owner gives me a warm smile and then gets to work picking out Delilah some underwear, pajamas, and casual play clothes.
“Ooo, we aredefinitelytrying that,” Ana says then as she moves toward a rack of pink, frilly dresses. I would say I’m not sure that’s Delilah’s style, but the truth is, I don’t know what Delilah’s style is. It’s not like we had a reason to get all dolled up in Montana and with her enjoying playing outside so much, shorts and t-shirts or little jeans usually sufficed.
“Getting ideas, are we?” Damon asks her as he watches her sort through the little girl’s clothes.
“No, but you are, and you better calm your horses,” she says then, giving him a look of warning.
He laughs and grins mischievously. “It’s not my horses that need calming,” he mumbles under his breath.
“What’s that?” She asks, turning back to him with raised brows.
“Nothing, my love.”
“Mhmm.”
I smile, watching the two of them. I’m not sure of their ages or how long they’ve been together. But I suppose none of those things truly matters when it comes to kids and one’s readiness to have them. When it happens, you make it work, that is, if you choose to. I’m a twenty-five-year-old mother and I wasn’t the least bit ready when I found myself pregnant with Delilah. And I had no idea what it meant to be a wife when Clive proposed. Although, I suppose he was never really looking for a wife, washe? I take a deep breath then and return my attention to Delilah, who I find wiping the sleep from her eyes in Gio’s arms.
“Mommy?” she asks.
“I’m here, sweetie. I’m right here.” I place a reassuring hand on her back and maneuver her out of Gio’s arms and into mine. During the exchange, Gio’s hand brushes against the side of my boob, given our height difference. The unexpected touch doesn’t go unnoticed—by my brain or body—though I do my best to ignore it as I finish pulling Delilah into my arms.
“Sorry,” he says softly once I’ve got her settled.
My eyes flick to his and I hesitate to respond as my brain and body decide whether to panic. After a few moments of locked eye contact, I feel my heart rate slow and the tightness in my stomach release. Finally, I say, “It was an accident.” With that, I quickly turn and leave him to join Ana, who already has an armful of items I fear Delilah is far too tired to even consider.
14
As the girlshead to the dressing rooms in the back, I sink into the couch alongside Damon. He groans in exhaustion. “I’mindefinitelydying,” he says. Ignoring him, I pull my phone from my pants pocket and use the moment without the girls to contact the guys at The Compound about the issue Damon brought to my attention earlier today—Serena Santos.
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a maid,” Damon rambles on. Shaking my head, I sigh as I continue typing my text to Zane, Xander, Killian, and Milo. “And the way you’ve been toting around that little girl. Delilah, is it? She has you wrapped around her little finger.” At that, I click send, shove my phone into my pocket, and lean back against the stiff edges of the settee.
I take a deep breath and try to pop my back before resuming a normal seated position. It’s been a long day. But seeing Darcy smile and grow more comfortable around me, around us all, has made it worth it. Although, I’m still not sure why she was upset earlier in the dressing room at Ana’s. Though, perhaps she wasn’t upset. Perhaps she was just emotional, overwhelmed. Ana did quite a number on her. She looks…well, like acompletely different person and yet, somehow, more herself than ever.
When I first saw her in her new dress, all I could see were the tears in her eyes, and all I wanted was to make sure she was okay. I wanted to go to her, pull her into my arms, and hold her, much like I did last night. But I know she wouldn’t have responded well to that. And then, when my eyes drifted elsewhere… When I saw how her dress cups her breasts—creating the most pillowy, bouncy cleavage—wicked thoughts consumed me, thoughts of groping, grabbing, and caressing her. They left me practically salivating. And that slit exposing a sliver of her thigh…I just wanted to rip it all the way up and fuck her in a way that makes her forget everyone and everything else. Those thoughts have continued to pop up throughout the day as I’ve watched her move around the various stores.
Watching her may be my new favorite thing to do. As I examine her every smile, the way her slender fingers caress the various garments, the way her back arches and her chest rises with perfect posture as she walks, the way the little bone in her neck protrudes when she turns her head just so. I want to lick along the line of that bone, leaving kisses on her soft, sweet-smelling skin as I do. I want to hear her moan in pleasure and let those sounds replace any other that may race through her mind. I want to unleash my inner savage on every inch of her gorgeous body, worshipping her, claiming her in the most natural and yet depraved ways.
Perhaps that’s why I left so quickly, without uttering a single word. I didn’t trust the words that would escape me, words of lust and desire, words I know are too soon and too inappropriate to express, and, perhaps, even words of disappointment as I found my Darcy painted over and erased with a mask of product that while beautiful, is unnecessary.
I hope she doesn’t think she has to change herself, hide herself. But, given her past, maybe change is exactly what she wants. Maybe looking like a different person, or a slightly more put-together version of herself, will help her feel like someone who was never hurt, like someone who wasn’t almost raped and murdered just last night.
