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As much as she needs to know in any case.
We’re both leaning against the headboard. I’ve got my knees pulled up and my hands hanging over them.
She’s tucked under the covers, so I can’t see her creamy skin and lose my damn mind. Still, her wavy blonde hair is flowing over her shoulders, and her permanently red plump lips are tempting me every time I glance at her.
I nod.
“And you work for Connor Barrett,”
I nod again.
“So he will come to save us,” she states, confident in her assumption.
Before I can stop it, a laugh escapes. “No, darlin’, it doesn’t work that way. This isn’t a Hollywood movie. We’re on our own.” I rub my face, then turn to her while forcing my eyes away from those lips. “I’m a Marine. Not a gangster. That’s all you need to know. I will get you home safe.”
“Then why didn’t you stop them before? Why did you... why did you do the things you did?”
To her, she means.
I rest my head back on the headboard and consider my words carefully while letting the guilt rush through me.
I do feel guilty, but only because I enjoyed what I did, even though I shouldn’t have.
But she needs the truth.
I see the desire in her eyes, and it matches mine. We’re going to be stuck together for as long as it takes to get out and cross the border, so I need her to trust me. But not.
“I’m not a good man, Izzy. I wanted to touch you. I still do.” I tell her. “And I wasn’t about to let anyone else get their hands on you.”
“So you were, what? Saving me?” Isabelle asks sarcastically. “Good one.”
I drop my eyes, glaring at her.
“Look, I know this has been traumatic for you, and I’m sorry. But I did what I had to do to get you away from those men. If you think you hate me, trust me, it would have been way worse with them. Once they’d been done with you, Pablo would have sold you to the highest bidder into a life of hell.”
Stop terrifying her.
Okay, so my patience is slipping. I climb off the bed.
“So, do I regret violating you for five goddamn minutes to save your life? Yes, I fucking do. But also, no, I don’t.”
Isabelle throws back the covers and stalks across the room away from me then spins around.
She’s too close to the door, and I don’t like it.
“How do I know you won’t do it again? Or that anything you said is true?”
I stalk across the room and grab her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from here. From you,” she seethes.
Jesus Christ. Have I just been talking to a wall? She’ll get herself killed.
I shake her. “Isabelle, Jesus, have you not heard a word I’ve said? You leave this room, and your life is taking a sharp turn into the sex slave trade.”
Damn.
I did not mean to say that.
