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I bite my lip, lifting my head. “Leo.” No answer. “Leo.”
“Those aren’t snores, Mia.” His words are muffled against his palms. “I only want to hear your snores.”
I do not snore, the big jerk, but there’s no way I can fall asleep tonight and prove that to him. So I need to do something else, because I can’t lie here stewing in my regrets. I need other entertainment.
The moonlight casts Leo in a silvery sheen, cratered with deep shadows. He’s still dressed in his tailored pants and waistcoat, his white shirt ghostly in the darkness. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and every time I peek at those corded forearms, my mouth goes dry.
His brown hair looks black in this gloom. Those wild, tangled curls are untamed, like him.
“You’re not allowed to touch me.” My voice comes out hoarse.
Leo grunts. “I know.”
I wet my bottom lip, and summon up every ounce of my courage. I’m propped up on my elbows, swaying with the train. “That’s still true. I’ll never beg, Palladino. But can I touch you?”
His chin jerks up. Those eyes are deep, dark pools, and I’m toppling in. I’m drowning; I’m fighting for air.
I shiver, already squirming under my scratchy blanket.
“You want to touch me?” Leo demands, and when I nod, he blows out a long breath. He’s made of stone, a statue of a jilted groom, but then he pushes to his feet and strides to my cot bedside.
His hand twitches for me, but he snatches it back. Curls them into fists. Then he stands over me with raw hunger in his eyes—like a monster who crawled out from under my bed.
A brutal monster. A miserable one.
“Where?” I’m already scrambling up to sit cross-legged, my cheap leggings rustling and sticking to themselves. The worn hoodie is somewhere down by my feet, but the fringes of my crop top tickle my waist. “Where am I allowed?”
“Everywhere.”
His stomach twitches under his clothes when I reach for him, and I pause. “Are you sure?”
“Mia.” The train rocks and sways, squealing over a rough patch of rail. The kingpin sounds broken again. “Touch me, princess. You know I’m yours.”
I do?
Huh. I guess I do.
This whole time I’ve been obsessing over the injustice of my situation. Of beingowned, passed from one family to another. And that’s all still true, my family can still suck ass for what they’ve done, but it never occurred to me that between the two of us, this could be an even trade.
Leo might want to possess me, yes—but I would own him too. Tit for tat.
There’s another flood of pain in my chest. Another ache low in my gut, because oh god, what have I thrown away?
“You’re mine.” I try the words on for size, saying them slowly. They sound good. They sound right. “You’re mine, Leo Palladino.”
He nods, silent, and steps forward another inch. Just close enough that my fingertips brush his waistcoat.
It’s soft. Well made. The fabric is high quality, the embroidery clearly done by hand. Even the row of buttons down the front are exquisitely made, and I draw a line down Leo’s stomach on the pretense of touching them. He sucks in a little under my touch, like it tickles. Like he’s holding his breath.
“Do you like your groom?” He’s still bitter, but amused too. Mouth quirked up on one side.
I grin up at him in the darkness. “Very nice.” The sight of this man at the altar would have stolen my breath, no doubt about it. If I’d glimpsed him in the church, it would have been much harder to run—at least in the right direction. “You should have seen my dress.”
“I did,” Leo says absently. He’s running his gaze all over my body, forehead creased with concentration. Trying to touch with eyes alone. “I found it in a trash can.”
Oh.
“I found your shoes, too.” His frown deepens. “I left them somewhere. My compartment, maybe. If you want them, I’ll go fetch them.”
