Firelight caresses her face. I put my hand there too. Give me this one mercy. I know I don’t deserve it. Take her under the shadow of your wing. Protect her, protect her.
Haley’s eyelashes flutter. Another raindrop falls onto my hand. And then I’m looking into the clear, warm blue of her eyes. They move over my face, her lips parting in soft surprise. Her eyes open wider. A bolt of fear threatens—what if she doesn’t know me?—but the presence in the room holds it at bay. Like a vast wing folding over us. A temporary shelter.
A frown tugs at the corner of Haley’s mouth. She reaches up for me. Her fingertips brush against my cheekbone. “Oh, Leo, you’re crying.”
At the sound of her voice, at the sound of my name, my balance deserts me. I rock back until I’m sitting heavily on the rug, my back to the fire. My shadow covers Haley’s body but there’s enough light surrounding us to see her eyes. Haley loops her arms around my neck and lets me hold her. I kiss her forehead. Her cheeks. Her chin. I turn her face in my hand and breathe a silent prayer to the bruise darkening her skin. Never again. They’ll never hurt her here again. No one will ever hurt her again. A light hand, light as air, rests on the top of my head for a fraction of a breath.
Small hands on my face bring me back to her eyes. I never thought I would see this shade of blue again, except in my dreams. “Darling. You came back.”
She smiles, a little sheepish, wholly perfect. “I’ll always come back. You can’t scare me away.”
“I love you.” The words are so small. My love for her so great. I want to make her understand that these words are like grains of sand in comparison to the size of the universe. I’ll take a lifetime to do it, if she’ll give it to me. “I should have told you before.”
Haley breathes a laugh. “You did. I don’t think you knew you were saying it. We were—” So many things we’ve done together, so many things I’ve done to her, and she blushes for me. “The night you brought me home.” I was rough with her that night, and Haley begged me for it. She wasn’t afraid. “But I knew. I always knew.” She puts my hand over her heart again. The beat is strong and steady under my palm. “I could feel it here.”
“But I was—I’ve been—”
“I love you,” she says. “You showed yourself to me, over and over again, even when it hurt.” Haley runs her fingers through my hair and over the contours of my face. “For a beast, you really wear your heart on your sleeve.”
“My heart has been in your pocket from the moment we met. Stay with me.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “Forever. I don’t care where we go. I don’t care if we have to live with your family or go to the ends of the earth. I need you.”
Haley shakes her head. “My home is here, with you. In your house.” Her nose wrinkles, and it’s so fucking adorable I could die. Or live. “You have a castle, Leo. I don’t know why you won’t admit you’re a prince.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Haley
Daphne thought Leo was a control freak about the makeup for my birthday party, and maybe she was right. But it’s nothing compared to how he is after I hit my head. After Rick hit my head.
He summons Dr. Carina Jain to examine me, along with a full team including a neurotrauma specialist and a neurologist and three other people with intimidating titles. They recommend ice, rest, and ibuprofen for the pain. It’s Leo who insists on keeping me in his bed for those days. It’s Leo who wakes me up in the night so he can look at my pupils for signs of concussion and ask me questions to look for signs of confusion.
“It’s just a headache,” I tell him in the middle of the third night as he stares into my eyes. “Do you ever sleep? How can you sleep if you wake me up all night?”
“I wake you up every night. Do you remember where you are?”
His hands are so warm, so gentle on my face. I’m so tired. My eyes burn. “Your house.”
“Where’s my house?”
“A castle.”
Leo frowns.
“A castle outside New York City. It’s not in Bishop’s Landing.”
“And who am I?”
He asks me this question every time, his tone almost teasing. “Leo Morelli. Beast of Bishop’s Landing. A man with a terrible temper and an even worse reputation.”
“And?”
“And the love of my life.” Leo leans in and kisses me. His teeth sink into my bottom lip. His hand wraps around the back of my neck. But before he can put any real pressure on my body, he’s gone. Turning out the low light in the bathroom. He puts his arm around my waist and ushers me back to the bed. Puts me in. Pulls the covers up tight. I let out a frustrated groan, fighting uselessly against the blanket. “I wish you would just—”
“Fuck you?” Leo says from the other side of the bed. “Is that you were going to ask for? You still blush when you want sex. But I think not, darling. Not until you can take it.”
“I can take it now,” I say, pouting.
“Can you?” His fingers in my hair. His voice in my ear. “You’re already falling asleep.”
“I’m not,” I say, but it’s a lie. My eyes drift closed against my will. The last thing I see is Leo’s face blurring into light and shadows as dreams overtake me.
On the fifth day, the doctors clear me for light physical activity. Leo says that doesn’t include fucking. I tell him he’s never been so mean.
On the sixth day I wake up with a pit in my stomach and jittery hands. Early, because we’re going into the city for a meeting. I wanted to go sooner. Leo didn’t. I pretend not to be nervous when he takes me into his enormous shower, with its wide shelf and its wide bench.
When Leo has the water the temperature the way he wants it, he pulls me underneath the stream and kisses me. Hard. Harder. So hard my body responds, coming alive again after days and days of missing him, of wanting him, of having a headache. It’s better today. It’s a lot better. The bruise isn’t. He backs me up to the stone bench and pushes me onto it under the force of his kiss.
And then he starts kissing down my body. He takes each of my nipples between his teeth, one by one, and by the time he’s on his knees between my legs I’m a hot, panting mess braced against the wall. Leo wraps his arms around my thighs and spreads them open for more access, and Jesus, it’s good. It’s good. It’s so good. I’m not used to it, my muscles straining, but the first lick of his tongue chases that feeling away.
He’s careful, but he’s not gentle.
Oh, thank god.
I can’t breathe for what he’s doing. Tongue and teeth and relentless pressure. His fingertips dig into my legs the way they always have, hard, hard, hard, and the pain makes me feel less like a delicate creature made of glass and more like myself. The woman who loves Leo Morelli. The woman who wants him every second. Pleasure spikes from my center and wraps around my hips, which buck against it, fight against it. It’s like the time he did this on his dining room table. My whole body fights him. My whole body wants him to win.
And I’m going to explode, I’m going to fly apart from this indescribable thing he’s doing with his tongue on my clit, when he slows.