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“How did you find me?” I ask.
“When I couldn’t track you down in Marseille, I knew you’d skipped the country. It wasn’t that difficult. I only had to have your family followed.”
My heart starts beating in my temples. “Damian?”
“His wife.”
I jump to my feet. “Stay the hell away from them, do you hear me?”
“Whether I stay away from them is up to you. However, you will speak to your brother tomorrow and tell him we’re back together. You’re going to take me to meet him. How things happen from there depends on how convincing you are. We can be like the couple in my story, leaving nicely, or I can kill a few people before we go. As I said, it’s all up to you, my little flower.”
His voice is even, disinterested almost. It’s as if his fire has burned out after our fight, but I know better. I know him too well. He’s pulled away, hiding deep inside himself. He’s become the cold psychopath again. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep on trying to draw him out of his shell and hoping to reach him. This love I feel, this hopeless, wrong, painful love, I’m not sure it’s worth fighting for. It almost destroyed me once. I can’t let it happen again.
When he pushes me down with a hand on my shoulder, I’m too weary to resist. I simply sink down into the cushions and let him take my foot in his hand. I watch him disinfect and bandage the cut with the meticulous attention that makes him Maxime. I sit quietly while he cleans up the broken glass and mops the floor. I don’t say a word while he boils water and makes tea.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, handing me a cup.
“I’m not hungry.” I can’t be a complete monster. “If you are, there’s food in the fridge.”
He doesn’t smile at the offer. He waits for me to drink my tea, then helps me to my feet.
“Can you put weight on that?” he asks, looking at my bandaged heel.
I flinch when I put my foot down. “I think it may take a day or two.”
Scooping me into his arms, he carries me to the bedroom and lays me down on the bed. He sets the gun on the nightstand and settles next to me before pulling the covers over us. I don’t brush my teeth or wash my face. We don’t undress. We simply lie next to each other in the layers that protect our bodies and hearts, breathing quietly in the dark, both of us staring at the ceiling.
After a long moment, a big, masculine hand rubs against my smaller one where it lies on the mattress, his pinky locking gently over mine.
Chapter 8
Maxime
Waking up early is an inaccurate statement. It’s more like I never slept. At the crack of dawn, I take the gun and go to the kitchen, leaving Zoe in bed. She’s not sleeping either, but she can do with the rest. We have a long flight ahead of us.
I find bacon and eggs in the fridge and make breakfast. I’m drinking a strong cup of coffee when Zoe walks into the kitchen, showered and changed. My gaze skims over her frilly blouse and fitted jeans. The clothes are her, the woman I got to know. She’s as beautiful as ever, even as a blonde. My heart skips a beat. The truth gives me a head rush. She’s truly here and not just a vision from one of my empty dreams. I have her back.
I pull out a chair at the breakfast counter. “I kept your breakfast warm in the oven.” Using a mitten, I serve her the warm plate of food. “Coffee?”
“Yes.” Like an afterthought, she adds, “Please.”
I pour a cup and stir in two sugars the way she likes. Gripping a strand of her hair, I twist it between my fingers. “You’re going to dye this back to your natural color.”
Her words are catty. “I thought men liked blondes.”
“I like you for who you are unless you want to be a blonde now.”
“Not particularly.” She folds her hands around the mug. “Anyway, it’s a lot of work to keep up.”
Good. It’s one step closer to who we used to be, to who we’re supposed to be. “Eat your breakfast, then call your brother. I’m going for a shower.”
She eyes the door. I smile. The keys are safely in my pocket, the alarm on the door set, and I’ve already confiscated her phone. If she thinks she can run from me again, she’s got another think coming.
While she eats, I shower and pull a clean shirt from my overnight bag. The pants are crumpled from sleeping in them, so I pull on a pair from the suit travel bag I’ve stored in Zoe’s closet. I’m ready in twenty minutes, finding Zoe in a clean kitchen. It would’ve been fifteen if I didn’t have to tend to my painfully hard dick in the shower.
