Page 45 of Savage Assassin

“I was married, once,” I tell her shortly. “I’m a widower now. And things changed for me, after that.”

The silence that hangs between us for a moment is thick and heavy. I see a look of shock on her face for a brief second, and then it fades into something softer and sadder.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice very quiet. “Was it–recent?”

I shake my head. “No. About twelve or so years ago, now.”

She hesitates, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and I can tell she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something.

“Go ahead,” I tell her. “You can ask whatever you want to. I won’t be upset.”

“Was that–” her teeth sink further into her lower lip. “Is that why you didn’t sleep with me? That night at Diego’s?”

Is that really what she thinks?I shake my head quickly, emphatically. “No. I’ve been with other women since she died. Twelve years is a long time.”

“Then why–”

“My job is to protect you,” I tell her firmly. “To keep you safe, not use you for my own pleasure. The only reason I touched you at all during that party was because it was necessary to keep you safe, Elena. That’s where it ends.”

I see her chin jut out a little, a stubborn set to her jaw, and I can almosthearwhat she’s thinking.

“You didn’t have to kiss me in the bedroom to keep me safe,” she says, confirming exactly that.

“That was–”

“Don’t say it.” Her teeth sink into her lip again. I can’t help but wish she’d stop–the last thing I need is to look at her mouth, that full, soft lower lip, while she talks about my kissing her and reminds me just how good it felt. “I don’t want to hear you say it was a mistake.”

“I won’t say it, then.”

There’s another long, heavy moment of silence, and Elena abandons the rest of the food, pulling her knees up to her chest as she wraps her arms around them. “Is that what you do with other women, then? Use them ‘for your pleasure’?”

I can’t help but wince at the way she says it. I don’t entirely know how the conversation ended up on this track. Talking to Elena about sex and pleasure and what I do with other women on this deserted beach is a dangerous path to go down, and I know it.

She needs to understand that I’m not the kind of man she needs to get involved with. That wanting me leads her down that same dangerous path, and it only ends one way.

“In a sense,” I admit. “But I’ve always made sure that the women I’m with want me. I’m clear that it’s a one-night thing, and I make sure they’re fine with that, so much as I’m able. I know it’s shallow, in a way, but–” I shrug, giving her a lopsided smile. “I’m not the kind of man who can exist in a life of celibacy, like some men I know. And even the most celibate man I knew, a former priest, ended up finding a woman who wore him down eventually. But the least I can do is not fall in love again.”

The moment I say it and see the expression on her face, I know I’ve said too much–opened up too much. I know she doesn’t fully understand, and I can’t make her without telling her so much more than I want to talk about.

I should have said less.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her abruptly, turning to poke at the fire and build it up a little more. “I’ve told you more than I needed to.”

“No, I–” She hesitates. “I’m glad I know. I’m sorry you–that you had to go through that.”

“It’s nothing that others haven’t gone through, too. You’ve been separated from your sister.”

“At least she’s still alive.” Elena purses her lips, leaning forward so that her chin is on her knees. “It must have been lonely, all this time.”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” The words come out shorter than I mean for them to, bitten off. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Elena? I feel like I’ve been doing all the talking.”

She takes a deep breath, tilting her head to one side. “I don’t think there’s all that much that’s interesting. I’ve spent my whole life cooped up in that house. Only allowed to leave with a bunch of security guards and at least one of my parents, usually to go out shopping or to church or something like that. The rest of the time–stuck at home. A hothouse flower, a caged bird–whatever allegory you want to come up with applies.”

“So, what did you like to do while you were stuck at home?” I glance over at her. “You must have had some kind of hobby.”

“Reading.” She looks at me almost defiantly, as if she expects me to have a negative opinion about it. “That’s what I spent most of my time doing. Or walking around the garden with Isabella. She and I spent a lot of time together. She was always more adventurous than I was–I just went on adventures in my head. More of a reader than a doer. Although now–” she smiles wryly, a slight curve of her mouth. “I guess I got more of an actual adventure than I bargained for.”

“It does seem like it.” I can’t find it within myself to tell her just how dire the situation still is, not tonight, at least. “What kind of books did you like to read?”

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