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Still, I gentled my voice. “Take it easy. I just want to—.”
I undid the clip, letting the rich brown waves tumble down. I dropped the clip on the coffee table and combed my fingers through the silky tresses, working out the tangles and arranging it around her shoulders.
All the while she stared at me with a tense crease between her eyes. I smoothed the crease away with my thumb.
She heaved a breath, and I felt her relax—just a bit.
Something inside me eased in response.
“C’mere.” I urged her closer until her forehead rested against my chest. Gathering her hair, I moved it aside so I could massage her neck.
She was tight, a wire stretched to the breaking point.
Guilt snaked through my belly. Was she that afraid of me?
I stroked my fingers up and down her nape, then gently squeezed the flesh on either side of her neck.
“Relax,cher.” My mom was part Cajun, and it tended to come out when I was with children, but almost never when I was with women.
Unless the woman was Mila.
“I can’t,” she muttered against my shirt.
“Yes, you can.” I worked my fingers up her neck, pressing and circling, and then back down again.
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled, and my lips twitched in spite of myself.
But her breath sighed out. Her hands came up to rest, butterfly-light, on my chest.
My heart clenched painfully. “That’s it,” I murmured. “Relax.”
She fell silent, but her fingers spread out on my chest. They were warm, the nails cut short. She stroked the thumbs over my nipples. When I caught my breath, she stiffened and curled her thumbs into her palms as if she hadn’t meant to do it.
I continued to massage her neck and shoulders until she relaxed again.
A knock on the door made her start. She pushed at my chest. Reluctantly, I let her go.
It was Airi, the head of my personal security. “I have the food, sir,” she said through the closed door.
I took the tray and waited for the door to shut again before tapping a control on the wall to activate the security system. A precaution, even though Airi or another enforcer would remain on guard in the hall all night, and the entire compound was wired with a high-tech system so expensive only billionaires could afford it. In addition, Tomas had assigned extra Syndicate soldiers to prowl the grounds 24/7.
I set the tray on the coffee table. Lougenia was a fucking treasure—she’d prepared an assortment of sandwiches, fresh fruit and tender young vegetables. She’d even included two glass flutes and a split of champagne chilling in a bucket.
Mila stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself.
I indicated the couch. “Sit.”
She cast a longing glance at the food, but shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Get this over with?” I repeated softly. The guilt receded, replaced by anger. “Don’t play the victim card. You came to me, remember? Now, sit.”
Mila worried her lower lip. She had such a beautiful mouth, soft and full, with a sexy upward tilt at the corners.
“Gabriel,” she said. Just my name, nothing else.
“What?”
She opened her mouth, closed it. “Never mind.”
