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What do I do about it all? That's the question. I could rummage through phone records and see who's been contacting her. I suppose that's the rational idea. As for Tatum, she's been quiet the last few days, ever since Kristoff returned. Other than that first night, she’s kept to herself. Except when I see her around the house, she does seem to be in better shape. At least showered and in clean clothes. I have to take that as a good sign. I can't push her, though, or else I might risk her regressing. I’ve been having Romero keep watch of her just for safe measure. I can’t lose her.
My life has become one big minefield. I never know where to step.
Of course, my other concern is Bianca. I see her face in my mind's eye as I walk through the house. I used to imagine this home, full of life. Nights like this, with so much weighing on my mind and so much pain in my heart, it seems more like my men are guarding my tomb. I can't remember the last time my thoughts went so dark, but I can't shake them off.
There's a man out there who believes I killed his wife, who came here yesterday intending to kill me in retaliation. The woman I love lives under his roof. A woman who goes out of her way to avoid me, who refuses to see what we have, the love that we share. I can't even keep her here with me. How will I ensure she is safe?
Fuck, Bianca is wreaking havoc on my mind and body. Destroying me from the inside out. Chipping away at the old pieces of me, causing something new to grow in its place. When I reach my office, the light aroma of vanilla hits me first.
I smell her before I see her. She’s seated in my chair, her feet up on the desk. She's holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. Her dark russet brown hair hangs in thick waves over her shoulders, and her full mouth is pursed in thought.
Incredible, the number of reactions a person can have all at once. Joy floods me, followed by relief. She’s here. My arms ache to hold her as my hands stir to reach out and touch her. It's been days since I’ve last touched her skin. Even now, I have to wonder how I’ve lived this long without the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair, and the touch of her soft curves beneath my fingertips. As always, there's that hunger burning low in my gut, threatening to unleash itself.
To take, to claim, to own every last bit of her.
No. Not this time. I cannot let that impulse be the only guide. She’ll shut down instantly and build a wall between us. For once, I have to be stronger than my baser instincts.
“What are you doing here?” I ask gruffly. “And how did you get in without me knowing?”
At this rate, I’m going to have to post someone at every fucking window and entrance.
“I still have a key that I never gave back to Tatum, because I figured...” She looks down into her glass as if her thoughts consume her.
She's still wearing her work clothes, I see, hours after she would have left for the night. It’s late, which makes me wonder where she’s been. The question disappears as I drink her in, her skirt rides up thanks to her position, and her bare legs make my mouth water. I force myself to look away before I can react with my cock rather than my brain.
“You figured you would live here?” I prompt.
“For a little a while, that's what I thought.” She takes another sip, then exhales. “Anyway, you can have it back if you want.” I can’t get a proper read on her.
Brushing the comment aside, I loosen my tie, then remove my cufflinks before rolling up my sleeves. I feel her pensive gaze on me as I walk over to the bar. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk.” There’s a pause, and I continue since she doesn’t respond right away. “It must be a pretty heavy conversation if you needed a drink beforehand.”
“This isn't a game, Callum.” She sounds tired. It isn't easy to control my curiosity when all I want to do is take her into my arms. I want her to be mine, but I need her to admit what we have. For her to see that this is real.
Looking at her, I want to tell her that whatever’s weighing her down, I’ll take it. I’ll carry it. She only needs but ask.
“Nobody ever said it was.” After pouring myself a drink, I turn to face her, noting her somber expression in the light from the desk lamp and the worry lines between her brows. I expected fear to shine in her blue eyes, yet there’s none.
