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“Except me.” There’s an unexpected surge of pride as I realize I’m one of the few he has allowed to peek behind the mask—even if he hadn’t meant to allow it, or to fall asleep in front of me.
“It would seem so.”
The faintest hint of vulnerability in his tone is so shocking I automatically reach out and run my fingers down his jaw once again, wanting to comfort him. He stiffens, but this time allows the caress without stopping me.
Now when I touch him while he’s sleeping, he shifts but doesn’t fully wake. Occasionally, his usually cruel-looking mouth lifts at the corners in a faint smile.
Making Rio smile has become one of my favorite things in all this madness.
I have no idea what is happening between us. I still hate him—or at least, I hate who and what he is, and what he’s done to me and no doubt to many others over the years—but he fascinates me in a way that no other man ever has.
Rio is a beautiful, fascinating monster, and I’m like a moth to the proverbial monster flame.
One morning, as Rio is about to slip out of my bed, the craziness of our situation explodes out of nowhere and fills my head and my heart.
I grab for his arm, not even sure what I’m doing or why. “Please, Rio.”
The sun is cresting the horizon, and golden rays are beginning to tiptoe across the landscape outside. This time, he has stayed longer than usual, and his obvious reluctance to leave me each morning is perhaps what has emboldened me this time.
He stills at my plea, then his back muscles ripple as he straightens and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raised quizzically.
“Please what?”
I sit up, drawing my knees toward my chest and clutching at the sheet to cover my naked breasts. “I can’t live like this anymore!”
The words burst out of me, and his raised eyebrows lower into a scowl. His eyes darken, his displeasure momentarily obvious even in the shadows of the early morning light. Then the frightening “nothingness” that he displayed when I first knew him descends over his face.
I swallow hard. I hate that “nothing” look.
I’d almost forgotten about it because I haven’t seen it for several days. It scares me more than his anger, that look, because it turns him back into a detached monster who can make life-and-death decisions without seeming to care about any consequences.
I squeeze the edges of the sheet in my clenched fists. I may be afraid, but for the sake of my sanity, I have to ask my next question.
“I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing, Rio. Having people pamper me. It’s not my style. I need todosomething with my life. A job, some form of contact with the outside world—a phone? Access to the internet? Even a newspaper would be a start. I’m going crazy from the boredom. From the disconnect with everything and everyone. Except you.”
“Am I not enough for you?”
I open my mouth to lie and say “yes, of course you are,” but the truth pops out instead. “No. You’re not.”
He blinks as if I’ve shocked him in some way.
“You asked me always to be honest with you.”
“I did.” He stills as if thinking before he adds, “You’re asking for contact with the outside world.”
At my nod, he studies me a moment longer, then rises and pulls on his clothing. There is no hurry in his actions; there rarely is. He is always in control, methodical, and emotionless, and right now appears to be no exception.
“We both know what will happen if I allow that,” he says at last, when he’s fully dressed.
He moves to the door and looks at me with an unreadable expression.
“I won’t.” I shake my head and can’t seem to stop shaking it. “I promise. I won’t run. If I promise on my life—and on the lives of my friends and work colleagues—not to run, will you please just give mesomething? Please!”
Eventually, he lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug. “I will consider it. There is a gala event tomorrow evening I am expected to attend…”
His eyes narrow as if he’s considering and discarding the idea that I might attend alongside him. I try to make myself look as nonthreatening as possible, deliberately allowing the sheet to drop and expose my naked breasts. Subtly, I arch my back a little, pushing them forward into his view.
God, what has he turned me into?
