Elio whistled lowly. Sexual assault on your young teenage daughter relabelled as an indiscretion? Stefano had to be over forty, which would have made him at least thirty when he’d assaulted her. “That’s cold.”
“In her mind, practical. My mother rarely thinks with emotion. I assume she had a quiet word with him because he never went near me again.”
“He got away with it,” he stated flatly.
While Siena still lived with the damage he’d caused her, the man who’d assaulted her when she’d been little more than a child had got away with it. Her own mother had seen to that.
She didn’t answer.
Memories of Siena at fourteen still a blank, Elio thought again of Elvira at that age. She’d brimmed with hormones and attitude, but also with vulnerability.
Closing the gap between them, he pressed his nose into Siena’s hair and inhaled her soft, marshmallow scent. Feeling her body close in on itself even more, he put his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her over, but instead of climbing on top of her, rolled her into him so her cheek pressed against his chest, and then wrapped his arms around her unyielding form.
For the longest time, they just lay there, Siena rigid in his embrace, not the flicker of a muscle in movement.
Spearing her hair, he gently ran his fingers down its silky length, his other hand making tiny patterns on her back. When he felt the first tiny nuzzle of her nose against his chest in response, he clenched his jaw and breathed in slowly. His guts felt like they’d been punched.
He’d never looked at her like aslab of meat with a hole to fuck. Not ever.
But he’d treated her like one. He might despise her, but she was still a human being capable of pain. A human with skin like butter and who smelled of marshmallows.
To know someone had once hurt her so badly made his heart pump with a fury that vibrated in every cell of his body.
* * *
It didn’t matter how hard Siena fought to stay rigid and contained; she was no match for Elio. Not when he was stroking her back and hair so gently. There was nothing sexual in it, just one human giving unspoken comfort to another. Except this human was Elio, and his body was so warm and hard and his touch so tender that she was helpless to stop herself from melting into his embrace.
With a deep sigh, she slipped her thigh through his, wrapped an arm around him and pressed her lips tight to his chest. Filling her lungs with his scent, she pressed herself even tighter to him.
What was it about this man, she wondered despairingly as her fingers started making identical patterns on his back that he was making on hers. How could she feel such safety and comfort with someone who would kill her without blinking? How could her body feel such hunger for someone who only wanted her out of vengeance? And how could someone who only wanted her out of vengeance treat her with such care when she was naked and at her most vulnerable?
She didn’t know if he’d read her mind, but when he slowly eased her onto her back and quietly said, “Do you trust that I won’t hurt you?” despair almost choked her.
He rubbed a thumb over her cheekbone. “Never trust me in life, Siena, but when we are alone in this bed, just you and me, I need you to trust that I won’t hurt you.”
Skimming her hand up his back to his broad, muscular shoulder, she met his stare. Even in the dark, she could see his eyes so clearly. They shone like moonlight.
Tears filled her eyes. Blinking them back, she could only whisper the truth. “I do trust that.”
“Then let me give you what that man took from you.”
“What…?” It was the sudden intensity in his eyes that made his meaning clear.
Before she could say the automatic, frightenednoforming on her tongue, his mouth came down on hers for a gentle, gentle kiss.
She swallowed. She couldn’t. Just couldn’t. Even when his lips parted hers for one of his dizzying, life-draining kisses and his fingers skimmed down her throat, her heart was beating frantically, her body readying itself for fight or flight.
Gripping his shoulder tightly, she was a whisper from pushing him away when he cupped her breast. His thumb brushing over her hardened nipple, he pulled his mouth away to gaze into her eyes.
“You’re my wife, Siena,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever brought us here, that does mean something.”
Her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her ribs.
His throat moved. “Look in my eyes and trust that I will make it good for you.”
“Your eyes scare me,” she whispered, gazing deep into them.
The hand cupping her breast began to massage it. “Why?”
