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Yeah. That’s very likely.
“Umm…” He looked at me incredulously, silently questioning why the hell I was still there.
“Will you be at Café Diem tomorrow?” I asked. He turned fully toward me, resting his elbow on the steering wheel. His hair was messily thrown into a bun and he looked so youthful and so gorgeous I wanted to cry.
“Maybe.”
I swallowed, changing the subject. “You know, I have a tattoo, too.”
I was blabbing. But I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want him to roll someone else between his sheets. Didn’t want his hard inked thigh pressing against someone else’s sex. I could have died just thinking of his full lips skimming the jawline of a paying customer.
He smirked. “Show me.”
I turned around, gathering my long hair up into a ponytail. I felt his eyes on my neck. My eyelashes fluttered, my eyes hard on the row of palm trees facing the Morgansen estate through the passenger window. I waited for Bane to react. I felt his fingers brushing my ink. Trailing down, to my spine, further south, to my waist. He clutched my hipbone, and not gently. His mouth pressed against my tattoo, and it was warm and perfect against the roughness of his beard on my skin, just like I’d imagined earlier in the bathroom. A breathy grunt escaped me the moment his lips touched my flesh.
“Saw it before,” he whispered.
“You did?”
He nodded into the curve between my shoulder and neck. “At the beach. A few years ago. Red bikini. Cherry-patterned.”
I remembered that day. What surprised me was that he remembered me. I licked my lips, waiting for him to continue.
“I was going through some shit that got me thinking. On the brink of stopping the whole escort bullshit for a hot second. I thought that quote was aimed at me. I’ve always been a Pushkin fan—well, actually, my mom and wannnabe-stepdad—they were never actually married—liked him. They’re, like, mega-Russian. Anyway, it seemed like a sign. Like the universe was screaming something at me, and I didn’t speak the language. I was gonna hit on you, but then you crawled into this pasty fuck’s arms, and I realized it wasn’t a sign. It was a big fuck-you from God for thinking I could be something else. Or, you know, someone else’s.”
I twisted back to face him, inwardly inviting, praying, begging for him to break his rules and ruin this. Ruin us. Because once his lips were on mine, it was on. We were no longer friends. Or enemies. Or two lonely skies—one empty and starless like me, one full of lights. One hidden by walls, and the other by ink and a beard. We’d just be free to be.
We were looking at each other now. He was inching closer into surrender, and I wanted his defeat.
“You’re poisoned. Sheltered. Yet, you’re no Snow White. Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Snow White waited for the prince. You’ll be the one saving yourself in this story.”
I blinked at him, thinking about what my dad used to say, his accent thick, almost as strong as his words.
“You don’t need a prince, princess. You need a sword.”
Bane had my back. He believed in me, and that made me believe in myself. My body was saturated with hope. “You can be my sword,” I said quietly. God. That was pathetic. What if he couldn’t? What if he didn’t want to be?
He brushed my cheek with his thumb. His eyes crinkled. They were expressive. Real. Older with his experience. “I’m afraid I’m going to wound you if I’m not careful.”
“You’re not your father, Roman.”
“Maybe I’m not, but it still doesn’t make us right for each other. I’m your boss, and one of your only friends. I’d be taking advantage of you if I laid a finger on you. Tell me you understand that, Jesse.”
I knew he was holding my faith in his callused hands, and I understood where he was coming from. I needed to gain independence for us to be equal.
“I’m going to make this job my bitch,” I said.
“I don’t doubt you.”
“But I haven’t been kissed in…” Nine hundred and three days, four hours, twenty-four seconds. Since my eyes had met the red dot of the recorder while I lay underneath Emery. Since my fate had been sealed. I cleared my throat. “In a long time.”
“You will be kissed by a lot of men. A lot of men I’d love to punch in the face. A lot of men who aren’t me.”
Recognizing that I was begging, I scooted away from him, my butt touching the passenger door. I needed to leave, and I was going to, despite not wanting to. I didn’t want him to go to anyone else. It was greedy, and selfish, and uncalled for, but it was the truth. I wanted Bane for myself.
“I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else.”
