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‘Don’t go,’ I pleaded. ‘He’s in there and I can’t— I just— Please don’t leave me here with him.’ My voice rose higher with each word until I was begging. Pleading.
I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. I started to gasp for air again, panicking.
‘Are you going to tell Dornan?’ I asked, clawing at the front of his jacket. ‘Are you going to tell Emilio?’ I couldn’t breathe. ‘They’ll kill me. Jesus, they’re going to kill me, aren’t they?’
‘Hey,’ he said firmly. ‘Calm. Down.’
He cupped my face with his palm, not afraid to touch me, even though I was a dirty murdering whore with the blood of a dead DEA agent all over her. I could see myself in the mirror beyond John, and I didn’t look pretty. I looked like I’d just stepped out of a warzone.
‘You have blood on your face,’ he said, his tone lower, gentler this time. ‘Here, close your eyes.’
With his hands still cupping my face, he guided me back slightly. I closed my eyes as the warm jets of water hit my cheeks, and smelled soap as his fingers rubbed the blood away.
He had to scrub hard in some places, his rough fingertips moving urgently against my skin.
‘Sorry,’ he apologised.
I didn’t move. I was like putty in his hands, ready to fall to the floor the moment he let go of me.
‘Okay,’ he said finally, pulling me slightly so my face was out of the water.
I was out of the direct stream, but water continued to dribble down my face and into my eyes. I wiped at them with my fingertips, feeling clumps of mascara come away on my skin. John’s hands were still around my wrists from where he’d pulled me out of the water, and they tightened when I met his gaze.
His eyes flicked down to my lips, ever so subtly, and then back to my eyes, pinning me in place. One stolen glance at my mouth.
My heart started to race.
A second stolen glance.
The breath in my lungs started to not be enough, and I needed to breathe faster.
I dared a look at his mouth. His teeth bit down into his lip, as though he was causing himself pain to stop himself from doing something.
Mesmerised, almost as if I were in a daze, I reached my hand up and brushed my thumb over the lip he was biting down on.
He tore his head to the side and ripped my hand away, pressing it back to my side. Wrong move, Ana. He looked angry. I had read it all wrong. I might have wanted to kiss him, but it was clear by the way he was regarding me that he didn’t feel the same way.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, turning my head to the side.
I felt his eyes on me. They burned into my skin, but I refused to look at him again. I’d just very, very narrowly escaped making a fool of myself. Touching his lip might be forgivable, but if I’d kissed him? Jesus Christ. He’d probably kill me.
‘What do you want from me?’ he asked finally. I stole a glance at his face, saw the stricken expression of a man who had seen too much suffering in his life.
‘Is that a trick question?’ I asked quietly. ‘Maybe you should tell me what you want, John Portland.’
He tipped his head back and let out a frustrated sigh. Dropping his gaze back to mine, he took a step forward, forcing me back against the cold tiles of the wall. His hands were like cuffs on my wrists, but I wasn’t struggling to break free.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something. I could tell he didn’t trust me, and I didn’t trust him either. I mean, he could be setting me up.
I could be setting him up.
This could all be one giant set-up that went far wider than the two of us.
You never could trust anyone in this Gypsy Brothers world.
He shifted slightly, and my cheeks flushed with blood as I felt hard steel against my hip. He wants me. The shock must have been written across my face, plain as day, because he moved back, averted his eyes. He dropped my wrists and went to turn away.
‘Stop,’ I said, my tone cutting through the tension like sharp glass through flesh. I darted my hand out and grabbed the front of his jacket, yanking so he was forced back around to face me. Poker calm descended upon his expression, and I fixed mine to match.
