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His eyebrows lifted. “Do you?”
She laughed. “No. But why?”
A brutal coldness slipped across his face, taking all mirth out of the moment. “What we’re walking into, Vic, I don’t know all the nuances, and Ialwaysknow the nuances. But in this, I do not.”
He moved past her to the table and set the lock down, then dug into an inner pocket of his jacket until he pulled free two hand-length, bent-tipped wires made from thin steel. They looked sturdy. He set those next to the lock. “So I need you to be ready for any eventuality as I’m not letting anyone take what’s mine. You know your way around a blade, thanks to Jules, but I want you to be prepared for anything.”
Take what’s mine.
He said the words so casually, like it was inevitable that she was his.
A possession.
Maybe it was and he’d already accepted it, while she was still deluding herself in that she had a choice in the matter.
Truly, for how she’d just left Seahorn with him—for what she did in bed with him the last two nights—she was utterly and completely ruined. The most viable path forward was with this man—assuming they both escaped alive the upcoming debacle to get Eva and Torrie back.
That part didn’t bother her, so much as the part on how she had never wanted to be trapped into a marriage. And she knew Rafe had never wanted to be trapped either.
She wanted the man she married towanther. True, soul-shattering want. Love.
That was what she’d been holding out for in her heart of hearts these years. Love.
But she was now with a man that had no capacity for it. He’d admitted as much to her.
He wanted her body, yes. He enjoyed her company, yes. She’d seen joy on his face when they would laugh together, yes. Even at night, when he held her after their bodies were sweaty and sated, she got the distinct sense that she might just be the one thing he cared about.
But he didn’t love her.
That she would know. That she would feel.
Wouldn’t she?
Even if she’d gone and fallen down that well herself. For she loved Rafe. Even knowing his past, knowing his history. How his morals lacked. How he’d killed people. Tortured them. Yet she’d still, stupidly, fallen in love with him and she knew it.
The unsettling part was what did her misguided love say about her? That she was just as corrupt? She had a soul tinted just as dark as his?
Maybe.
Maybe that was why she was having a hard time coming to terms with them being together, rather than just accepting the fact that she wanted this man. Wanted him wholly and fully and for the rest of her days.
Rafe looked over from the table to her, his fingers tapping on the wooden top next to the lock. His gaze flicked over her, from head to toe, and instant desire flashed in his eyes, but then he blinked it back, tapping on the table again.
He wanted to get on with it.
Because she was a possession to him. Something to own. To care for. And this was what would assist with that.
At least he felt that. It was a start.
So sure, she’d learn to pick a lock if it would help her to crawl into the cold cavern of his heart.
How did one convince a man that has never known love, to love?
“Please, Vic.” Rafe stripped off his coat and waistcoat, setting them on the opposite chair, then removed his boots, getting comfortable in just his lawn shirt and trousers. “Can we get this done so my cock doesn’t explode having to stand next to you nearly naked?”
Or he was stripping off extraneous clothes to make access easier when they were done? She liked that thought.
With a wry smile she stepped toward him. “What do I need to know?”
