He pulls back all too soon, his fingers untangling from my hair.
“Go to bed, little mouse.” He releases his hold on me.
I jump from the car and make a dead run back to my room. Though I have the necklace tight in my hand, I think this time it was Cesar who stole something from me.
5
Cesar
She saw me. But then again, how could she not? The stranger forced my hand.
I pull my phone from my pocket and send a text to my cleaners about the BMW and the body outside the diner. That’s all I have to do. My men know what I expect of them, and they’ll have the body and the car taken care of in no time. And if they don’t? They know the consequences.
Even with the problem being taken care of, I can’t cool my blood. My little mouse was in danger. If I hadn’t been there to protect her, what would’ve happened? I fist my hands just thinking about it.
So many bad men have come for her, and I have buried each one. They seek to take her--but none will succeed as long as I draw breath. This estate is a fortress, and though I’ve tried to lock up the Cruz heiress in the tallest tower, she manages to escape. Again and again, I have to track her, to watch her, to do more than that. So much more that my blood heats even more as I think about how many times I’ve fantasized about plucking her ripe cherry for myself.
But those are the thoughts of the man I used to be. The ruthless boss who killed without a thought. Now I actually consider the lives I take. I don’t atone for them. There are far too many for that; I could build a wall with the men I’ve killed to protect my little mouse.
I enter my bedroom and let the double doors slam behind me. The dark wood walls swallow the sound, and I yank off my coat and toss it on the bench at the foot of my bed. My empty bed. She’s not here. And I should stop imagining she is. Because she’s innocent, a lamb.
I’m a wolf. I’ve never been good at denying myself the things I want. It’s not in my nature. But I’ve changed that nature. For her.
Opening the small room beside mine, I walk inside and peer at the screens. She’s in her room pacing by her bed. She’s changed clothes. Sports bra and those tight lacy panties that are supposed to cover more, but highlight every curve. Boy shorts, she calls them. They don’t belong on her soft skin. They belong between my goddamn teeth.
I lean on the desk and watch her closely, trying to read her thoughts. She pulls the necklace up, eyeing the large ruby in the center. Her birthstone. The gem belongs to her, and I long to see it on her bare skin. The memory of our kiss flashes through my mind, and I try to block it out. I can’t. She won’t allow it. My sweet Valentina is too strong to be ignored.
I look down at the problem in my pants. “Fuck.”
Turning from the screens, I strip as I walk to my bathroom, then turn on the shower and step in. The rush of cold water hits my skin, but even the icy blast does nothing to quench my need for my sweet little mouse.
Gritting my teeth, I grip my cock and stroke myself slowly. I think of her. Always of her. Only her. She’s all that I’ll have. Ever. On her back, her legs spread as I tongue that secret flesh that no man has ever tasted. She belongs to me, and I’ll make my mark on her with my teeth, my cock, my kiss.
Each thrust inside her is agony and ecstasy, and I can see the way her eyes would hold mine, the pleasure that would leave her mouth in the form of my name over and over again. When I think of her cunt squeezing me tightly as she comes, I groan and stroke myself to release.
“Valentina.” The only word I know in this moment. The only prayer I’ve ever spoken. I spend onto the floor, my seed wasted on the cold tile instead of inside her welcoming body. Unsatisfied as always, I drop my hand and let the water cascade over me. It washes my body, but can never douse the fire that burns brightly for the one my soul covets.
When Valentina enters the kitchen in the morning, she stops in her tracks, her mouth falling open slightly.
“Good morning.” I sip my black coffee as she casts a questioning glance at my cook.
Martha shrugs and plates up Valentina’s favorite breakfast--French toast, bacon, and hashbrowns.
“I’ll um, eat in my room.” Valentina reaches for the plate.
“You’ll eat here with me.” I hold her gaze. “We have some matters to discuss.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, as if dread has settled inside her, then gives Martha a strained smile. “Thanks.”
I set my cup on the table. “You enjoy that meal? I thought you didn’t care for the cuisine offered in this house.”
Valentina blanches as Martha stops wiping down the griddle and looks at her.
“Though perhaps I misheard.” I shrug.
“Misheard.” Valentina puts her plate down, grabs a piece of French toast between her fingers and takes a big bite. “Love it. Best food I’ve ever had.”
Martha’s eyes narrow.
“You know, I think that’s correct. You did say that Martha’s cooking is one of the main reasons staying inside my walls is pleasant. Forgive me.” I call to Martha, “Thank you for breakfast. Give us the room.”
Martha hurries out, no questions asked. My little mouse slumps in the chair across from me at the small, cozy kitchen table. It’s quite different than the formal dining room where I often take my meals, and I must confess I prefer this sunny corner of the kitchen. But I can’t let my path cross Valentina’s too much. I can’t trust myself around her. Even now, when her dark hair curls in waves around her face and her nipples are slightly budded beneath her sports bra and T-shirt--I lick my lips. Yes, it’s better I stay in the formal dining room.
“Is this about yesterday?” She picks at her food.
“Eat.” I gesture and take up my coffee cup again. “And the answer to your question is yes and no.”
“Great,” she grumbles.
“You are safe within my estate. Outside, though--”
“I know. The world is dangerous. Mom tells me constantly.”
“Then why do you insist on leaving?” I already know the answer, but I want to hear what lie she might make up to explain her behavior. Or might she surprise me and tell the truth?
She shrugs and takes a bite of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “Here’s the thing.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “I feel trapped. I want to get out. It’s that simple. I have … needs.”
“Needs?” I rather like this honest turn.
Another piece of bacon dies before she continues. “Yes. I like to go out and do things.”
“Like what? What things do you like to do?”
“Shop.” She gives me an innocent look, but what she truly means to say is ‘shoplift.’
“Anything else?” I finish my coffee.
“My friend Jewels, the one you met last night--I’d like to hang out with her and just, I don’t know, have some fun.” She takes a deep breath, then blurts, “And I want to go to a real gym. With real trainers. One where I can work on my gymnastics.”
A gym. Now that is unexpected.
When I stay silent, she barrels ahead, “And I want a kitten. I think a kitten would really make this place a lot more homey and friendly and nice.” She winces when she’s done, as if fearing I might hurt her.