Page 87 of Daddy's Obsession


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We take great care in drying off. She sanitizes and redresses my wound, moving slowly and with care. I order her some food and make sure she eats as much of her meal as she can manage before we both crawl into the tiny twin-sized bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms not just because of lack of space, but because we need this.

We need each other. For comfort, for reassurance, for warmth.

I know Raquel is still mad at me, but when she curls up against me and hides her face against my chest, I take it as a good sign. We don’t have much time left together, but at the very least we have this.

Chapter 34

Raquel

These bouts of morning sickness are turning out to be a right ol’ bitch. For better or for worse, Gabriel thinks I’m just worn down from all the stress. I don’t think he suspects I’m pregnant yet, which is fine by me because I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him. Now really doesn’t seem like the right time. Then again, is there ever a right time?

When we cross the French-Swiss border, I come to the conclusion that there isn’t. We’re in the home stretch now. As sick as I might be, I’m also buzzing with nervous excitement. When the streets and buildings start to look familiar to me, I know we’re back in Montpellier before Gabriel even announces, “We’re here.”

Making our way up the big driveway in front of his country home is surreal. It feels like a lifetime ago since I was here. I can’t help but smile grimly to myself. The last time I found myself here, I thought the world was ending. Little did I know things were going to take a massive turn for the worst.

It’s hard not to notice the shallow grave that now decorates the front lawn beneath the shade of the leafless rose bushes. A thin layer of snow warps over the mound beneath, a makeshift grave marker the only real sign of Penelope’s final resting place.

When I give Gabriel a hesitant look, he shakes his head, grim. “I didn’t have a lot of time,” he explains. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

My heart breaks for him. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been, burying his housekeeper mere hours after the kidnapping of his daughter.

The house is cold and dark when we step into the main foyer. I assume Gabriel left in a frantic hurry because the front door wasn’t even locked properly. I try not to stare at the dried blood painting the floor, but the mess is difficult to ignore. Shattered glass, overturned furniture, furious holes bashed into the drywall.

My body aches, but I push through. I’m so close to saving Dad, I can taste it in the air.

“Stay one more night,” Gabriel tells me. “Gather your strength before you head to Paris.”

I open my mouth to protest, but there’s no denying taking the time to prepare myself is a good idea. Once I head out, I’ll officially be on my own. I need all my strength and wits about me when Gabriel and I go our separate ways. He won’t be there to protect me anymore. The stubborn voice in the back of my head tells me I never needed him in the first place, but the feeling deep in my gut is the first to call the voice a liar.

“One night,” I whisper. “But then I’m headed out first thing tomorrow morning.”

Gabriel nods, solemn.

Neither of us make a move, lingering just out of each other’s immediate range. I hate the way he looks at me —like I’m precious to him. I don’t know why it breaks my heart to see this man so torn, on the verge of breaking. My anger has all but fizzled out, leaving my chest hollow and craving any semblance of comfort he can give me. I want to go to him, kiss him,lovehim.

But I can’t shake the feelings of doom.

He’ll save Odette and hopefully go back to his old, quiet, peaceful life. The life that I so rudely dragged him out of. And me? Once I save Dad, we’re probably going to head back to the United States. Recuperate, plan, figure out our next steps for what little remains of the Red Ravens. We’ll probably spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulder for Lucius or Favreaux or whoever wants a piece of the McHale Fortune. I can’t read the future. I don’t know what’s in store for us, but one thing is perfectly clear: we’re leaving France the first chance we get.

Which means this is the last time I’ll see Gabriel.

Probably forever.

“Can I use your shower upstairs?” I ask him, drained and weary.

“Of course. I’ll see if there’s anything in the fridge I can still use to make us something.”

I turn slowly, making my way up the stairs. It’s surprising how familiar I am with this space, in his home. My throat goes dry when I see the bloody footprints leading up, dark brown stains of someone’s heavy boot marked against the carpet. Signs of a terrible struggle are everywhere. I shudder, pushing this haunted feeling from my mind as I make my way to Gabriel’s room.

I don’t lock the door. As I undress and step into the scalding hot spray of his shower, I wonder if I did it on purpose. The more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that yes, leaving the door slightly ajar was a deliberate move. A deliberate invitation. I don’t know if Gabriel will actually join me, but if he does, I’m certainly not going to complain.

I breathe in the steam, letting the water stream over my face and soak into my hair, spilling over my tired shoulders to trickle down and pool at my feet. I’m not at all surprised when I hear soft footsteps padding across the cold tile, the glass shower door popping open. When I turn, my eyes lock with his. We don’t have any words for what this is or what we feel.

Something inside me snaps. I need him. I need the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the possessive nature of his soft lips. I want his eyes on me and me alone, his undivided attention more potent and addictive than any other drug known to man.

I pull him toward me, leaving him no time to undress before I crash my lips to his. The water soaks through his shirt, turning the once opaque material see-through. It clings to his chiseled chest, his wide shoulders, the dark outlines of his tattoos just visible beneath the spray.

My hands are just as hungry as his mouth, a burning heat rising from deep within my core. It’s a consuming sensation, overwhelming and powerful. My fingers eagerly map out every inch of his skin, my tongue perfectly content to explore his mouth. He meets me touch for touch, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke. We don’t dare pull away when the steam starts to make it hard to breathe. Who needs air when all we need is this?

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