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Not denying my attraction to her and being who she deserves are two different things, but I’m selfish enough not to give a fuck. If my raven wants to stay here, then I’ll gladly keep her. Even after the threat to her life is gone.
I’m fully aware that keeping her will leave her exposed to a continuous string of lingering threats. I’ve made the decision, though, and it’s one I no longer wish to go back on—Olivia Danes is mine, and as long as she embraces that truth, she will remain by my side.
I don’t need months to decipher my desires; I knew the moment I laid eyes on her when she stepped onto that stage and again when she walked into that alleyway—this woman is special. Beyond that, her audacity to fearlessly confront me, to express her true feelings despite knowing what I’m capable of, is undeniably sexy.
Her strength is something I overlooked before, but I won’t make that mistake again.
After retrieving another wrap for her wrist from our medical closet, I go back to the room, intent on staying there for the rest of night. Not because she needs me, but because I’m tired as fuck and hungry.
Hunting Abel for three days meant that sleep and food were low on my list of priorities. Now that I’m not so singularly focused, I know I need to take a break.
Olivia is still on the couch when I return, her sketch pad back in her lap with her knees propped up, creating the angle she needs to draw without being hunched over. Strands of her damp onyx hair are tucked behind her ears, allowing her unwavering gaze to fixate on the task at hand, seemingly unaware of my return.
Curiosity piqued, I approach her, longing to discover the subject that has captivated her attention so intensely. But just as I’m about to glimpse the details of her work, she gasps, hurriedly flipping the pages away. “What are you doing?” she questions, her voice betraying her guilt.
I loom over her, narrowing my gaze. “What areyoudoing?”
“Nothing.” Her reply is swift, but the lie is evident.
Extending my hand, I demand, “Give me the paper, Raven.”
“No.” Her grip tightens, her knuckles turning white.
“That’s not a word you should use with me,” I warn, seizing the drawing from her grasp with force. “Ever.”
I find what I’m looking for, and one glance at her artwork renders me speechless. She’s sketched my face, or rather, my eyes. They peer back at me with an intensity that leaves me uncertain of my own emotions. Though devoid of color, her detailed lines and markings bring forth a striking resemblance, every nuance flawlessly captured.
She’s no longer looking at me, and her hair shields half of her face as she stares toward the windows across the room.
Instead of continuing to make her uncomfortable, I hand the paper back and say nothing. Not because I don’t appreciate that she’s made me look anything other than the murderer she’s seen me to be, but because I choose not to push further.
I pull the wrap for her wrist from my back pocket and hand it to her. “You should put that on.”
Her wide, innocent eyes look back up me, making my chest ache from the ferocious desire I have to protect this woman. To make sure that nobody can ever harm her in any way for as long as she’ll allow.
The emotions are so strong that I have to force myself to breathe through them before I do or say something that would make me a liar.
No matter how much I want to protect this raven from those who wish her harm, I know that it’s more likely I’ll be the one to destroy her in the end. Even if it’s not by my hand, I’ll still somehow be to blame.
As I start to pour myself a drink at the bar, she says, “Thank you.”
“For what?” I turn toward her with a tumbler between my fingers and rest my hip lightly against the counter.
She raises the bandage. “For this.” Her cheeks flush as she pauses. “Though, I don’t really think I need it any longer, but also thanks for coming back to the room after I sort of yelled at you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, taking a long pull from my whiskey.
Her responding chuckle isn’t what I expect to hear next. “I see you can choose to have manners when it suits you.”
“If you haven’t learned yet, I only do what I want.” I finish my drink and add, “In all aspects of my life.”
Olivia swallows roughly, her gaze drifting toward her drawing pad, which now displays a page filled with previously sketched flowers. “Is there somewhere here that I can paint? Justine brought me some acrylics, but I don’t want to make a mess in your space.”
Apart from seeking an apology earlier, I believe this is the first time she’s requested anything since arriving in my apartment. A fact that has escaped my attention until now.
“We’ll sort something out soon,” I assure her. “You’re also welcome to move through the compound as you want. Nobody will stop you from going anywhere that isn’t off limits.”
“Like the sublevels?” she asks, again allowing her teeth to tug at her lips. Lips that I’ve imagined on more than one occasion around my cock.
