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The sight’s forever burned into my memory. The perfect shape of her breasts. Her nipples stark peaks against the alabaster skin bathed in moonlight. A fucking goddess. It took every fiber of my being not to storm inside and take her right then. And her smile—I don’t think I’ve seen her genuine smile before.

In our previous encounters, it was guarded. Almost as if she was wearing a mask to blend in with the setting. At auction houses, lunches and meetings, her smile was there but the essence of it was absent. Shallow. An ounce of hesitation always remains. Tonight, I got to see behind the mask and it was a sight to behold.

Walking to my car is painstakingly slow and painful. My chafed dick is a testament to that. I adjust my frustrated member for the third time. I’ve never been this haunted by a woman in my life.

When I arrived at the gala tonight, I thought I might ruffle her feathers, perhaps garner a little insult. Then she walked in looking like the goddess Diana. I take that back—Diana could not hold a handle to the goddess Patience. The most perfect vision of beauty to ever exist. Her hair fell in rolling spirals from a bun, flawlessly framing her face. Her delicate neck was graced by a vine of gold leaves catching the light perfectly. Powerful. Like the epaulets of a general, yet elegant. The vines, of course, had the singular purpose of lifting her flawless, full, and rounded breasts. Her gold dress was…fluid. Eclipsing every masterpiece in the exhibit.

Watching her from a distance was uncomfortable. The urge to walk with her and pick her brain about the exhibit was overwhelming. Then she took the hand of that unimpressive Woody Allen, who apparently has a wardrobe budget capable of making purchases exclusively at Goodwill.

I mean, the shoes! Who wears brown shoes with a black tuxedo? That guy. He does.

The night became downright painful as I watched him snake his hands along her waist. The only thing I could do was grip the table to stop myself from ripping his arms off his body in front of the whole gala. I ball my fists as the scene replays in my mind.

All the while, Patience continued twirling with him. Round and round, in poorly formed circles. He’d never had a dancing lesson in his life, and it showed. I barely had time to step into the crowd after throwing the table to the side in my half-formed plan to tear her from his dusty clutches. Through sheer dumb luck, no one witnessed my minor outburst.

Groaning, I rub my hand down my face.

I couldn’t leave it at that. Oh no. That would be too easy. I had to approach her. She was just standing there looking at the sculpture. Enraptured by its beauty. While I stood enraptured by her. Invading all my thoughts.

The perfume she wore, the shimmer of her dress—all drew me in like a moth to a flame. Being within feet of her stirred feelings inside me I hadn’t felt in years. It didn’t matter. I had to know what thoughts, memories, feelings the sculpture evoked for her. For a moment, our walls crashed down. A moment of shared vulnerability. Then he came back. I had to walk away before I ended up rearranging his face for touching what was mine.

Not mine. Definitely not mine. Though, who wouldn’t want perfection?

My phone vibrates, saving me from further dangerous thoughts. Mark confirms he’s relayed the information to his contact. After tonight, there’s no way she’s going to pass up an opportunity to make my life difficult. I can’t wait to see her unleash her chaos.

The following day drags on. Lack of sleep makes every movement difficult as I distract myself with petty tasks while my mind continually returns to Patience. As I walk through the alley on my way to the warehouse, an alert appears on my phone. When I pull up the camera system, I can’t see anyone or anything out of place, but I know she’s already there. Rubbing my temples, I try to quell my frustration. Of course, she came early.

The warehouse is filled to the brim with items from an old manor, leaving only a handful of places she could secret herself away, out of view of the cameras. Turning down an alley to my left, I head toward the rear entrance of the building. Softly prying the door open, I slip in smoothly.

I proceed as though I’m oblivious to her presence. Setting my items out, I begin to mark where my pulleys will be placed. A shatter at the back of the warehouse breaks my focus. Dropping all but my knife, I make my way along the far-right wall of the building. When I near the center of the warehouse, a quiet whimper sounds from one of the aisles. Walking cautiously, I peer around the corner to see the profile of Patience on the floor holding her arm to her chest. Blood drips between her fingers. I move before my brain registers what’s happening. Once I’m by her side, I run my hand around her shoulder to turn her toward me. Her red-brimmed eyes find me. The horror behind them speaks volumes. Kneeling, I run my thumb along her wet cheek.

“Darling?”

She looks at me through pools of helplessness.

“I…I…I was trying to get out…” she says with a broken voice that shatters my heart along with it.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. Hold on to me.” I lean over and slip my arms under her waist and legs. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She tentatively wraps them around me. Her eyes bore into mine with a hopelessness I hope I never see again. Watching her adrift in her own torture traps my chest in a vise. I whisper a silent vow that she never experiences hopelessness like this again.

Cradling her, I make my way through the warehouse toward the back entrance. Her body shudders. I squeeze her tightly, trying to soothe her. I’ve never felt so entirely useless. Once outside, her body slackens. She takes a few deep breaths to steady her breathing. I look down at her face. The unshed tears still cling to her long lashes. I pull her up into the crook of my neck and nestle my chin against her cheek.

“Where did you park, sweetheart?” I whisper.

She raises her hand to point down the alley in the opposite direction from where I came. Walking in that direction, I continue to hold her close. Her Mini Cooper is just up the street in the parking lot. She holds the keys out to me in her palm. Stepping to the passenger side of her car, I set her down gently. Immediately, she wraps her arms around herself. A trauma response I instantly recognize. Working with Mark after he left service taught me enough.

I lift her chin with my finger, making contact with her war-torn eyes. “Patience, I’m taking you home.” I run my thumb along her jaw.

She lets out a little sigh, before leaning back in the seat.

Making sure the seat belt is fastened around her, I close the door and take the driver’s seat. My gaze darts to the passenger seat as I hit the ignition button. She holds her bloody hand in front of her. Her delicate fingers slowly unfurl to reveal the deep wound on her palm.

I place my hand atop her wound, breaking her concentration.

Selecting the fastest route to her house, I set off. It isn’t until we’re far from the warehouse that her weak voice breaks the silence.

“You’re not mad?”