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“Look at me,” I say, the instruction gentle.
Her gaze snaps back to mine.
“It wasn’t loaded.” I advance cautiously, reaching for her. “The chamber was empty.”
She shakes her head, making her hair fly around her face. She doesn’t want to believe what’s right in front of her eyes, let alone trust me.
I take another step. “They’d never let me carry a loaded gun in the airport.”
Her eyes clear a little as the logic gets through to her.
“It’s over.” I close the last distance between us and trap her in my arms. “Nothing would’ve happened.”
All that wildness caught inside her erupts. She fights me like a lioness, kicking and clawing and screaming. It doesn’t take much to hold her in the vise of my arms and lift her off her feet. Pressing our naked chests together, I let her carry on until she’s tired herself enough to sag like a rag doll in my hold. Dry sobs rack her shoulders.
“Shh.” I brush my lips over her forehead. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
“I hate you,” she says, her voice raw and broken. “However much you hate me, I’ll always hate you more.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I hook an arm beneath her knees, lift her into my arms, and carry her to the bathroom.
She continues to fight, but her effort is feeble, her strength spent. “Put me down.”
“In a minute.”
When I deposit her on her feet, she wraps her arms around herself and stands there shivering. I turn on the tap in the shower, letting the water run warm while I make quick work of undressing. After testing the temperature, I pick her up and put her under the spray. She hisses as the water runs over her ass.
I don’t linger. I only take as much time as necessary to wash her clean and rinse her hair. That wild look on her does things to me, things I don’t like. I prefer her better like this, looking whole and normal. Not broken and unraveled. Not ugly inside. That’s me. That’s reserved for the monsters.
She’s gone from shivering and crazed to numb and vacant when I’m finished. I dry her off before taking a towel for myself. Making her sit on the closed lid of the toilet, I use the hairdryer to dry her hair. She lets me, not saying a word or looking at me or herself in the mirror.
She remains quiet while I dry my own hair, accepting whatever fate I choose for her. That’s all right. Now isn’t the time for talking.
I carry her to the bed, pull back the covers, and lay her down. She curls into a ball like Pirate used to do. Maybe I should get her another cat when we get home. Ryan informed me about what happened. Knowing how much she loved that cat, I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been for her.
When I’ve tucked her in, I pull down the shutters in front of the windows to shut out the daylight. Casting a glance at her, I pick up the gun. She’s not looking at me. She’s staring with non-seeing eyes at the wall.
I lock the gun in the safe—I’ll clean it later—and get into bed beside her. She doesn’t protest as I spoon her from behind and wrap my arms around her. Her body is soft and warm, the curve of her back and ass fitting perfectly against my chest and groin. I’ve never held a woman like this, and I take a moment to revel in the warmth that seeps from her skin.
I wait until her breathing changes to a slow, even rhythm before untangling myself from her. Taking care not to wake her, I make sure she’s covered before I get dressed. Then I go to the lounge to make arrangements for when we’ll land in Marseille.
Half an hour before the pilot announces our descent, I go back to the cabin. I stop at the side of the bed and study the sleeping form of my wife. Even under a heap of fluffy goose feathers, her shape is slender and fragile. With her palms pressed together and forming a cushion for her cheek, she looks innocent.
Blameless.
Sheisinnocent, but she’s also guilty. She’s always been guilty, even before she pulled the trigger. The mere fact that she breathes earned her the liability that comes with the blood of her family name. That very name, the name of my enemy, is the means to recognition and honor, to opening the doors that have been closed to me until now. Her father may have turned us into the rivals we became, but she’s mine. She’s always been mine. For as long as I live, she’ll belong to me.
Wiping the hair from her face, I say in a quiet voice, “Wake up,cara.”
She stirs but fights consciousness, no doubt preferring to hide in the dark.
I give her shoulder a gentle shake. “Open your eyes,bella.”
She lifts her eyelids and blinks. Her gaze is soft and hazy, and then it becomes shuttered as reality sets in.
“We’re landing soon,” I say. “You better get dressed. Your suitcase is next to the closet. Do you want me to help you?”
