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He tilts his head to the side as if he’s trying to figure something out. Like whether he’d be willing to let me go or not.
“Since we’ll be sharing Joseph’s empire, we would still be seeing each other a lot. I’d always be keeping an eye on you, but–” A muscle ripples in his jaw. “But I would let you go and live somewhere else.”
I swallow against the constriction in my throat, taking in the exquisite work of art that is his face. It feels like this is the most important decision I’ll ever make.
“And if I say yes?” I whisper.
“Then you’re stuck with me.”
“What does that mean?”
He strolls closer. “It means that you would have to move in with me for good.”
A thousand thoughts scramble in my head, my neurons firing to latch on to them until one catches.
“And what about the times when you receive visits from your lady friends, such as Kelly? Would I need to go back to my hotel then?”
The corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s devoid of any amusement. “With a squad of bodyguards to watch you at all times.”
“And why is that?” I spit out, secretly enraged that he didn’t reassure me about Kelly. “Because you think the first thing I’ll do out there is leak out your secrets? Let me remind you that my best friend is one of the most famous journalists in New York.” I put my palms up and hurry to add, “I wouldn’t tell her anything, or talk to anyone, but still, the risk is there.”
A couple of more issues come to the forefront of my mind–Mia is investigating the orphanage, while I’m supposed to find out anything I can at Zayne’s place. I can’t use any more restrictions around our relationship.
“You wouldn’t tell anyone,” Zayne croons. “Because the slightest hint I get that they might know something, they die.” His ability to make good on that oozes out of his words. I shudder visibly.
My eyes hang on his as his legs brush my knees. This close, he can peer into the cleavage of my tank top. He could reach down and grab my breasts in those large hands, but his eyes keep mine prisoner. I feel like a convict with a noose around their neck, just waiting for the executioner to kick the chair from under their feet. Only it’s my decision whether that chair stays put or not. But the noose...the noose isn’t going anywhere. Like, ever.
I rub my neck against the phantom hold I feel on it.
“Then why keep me chained to you forever if you can ensure that I won’t talk by other means?” I say hoarsely.
“Because this isn’t about telling. It’s about what you’ll feel for me. Once you know the truth, you’ll think I’m a monster. An abomination you’ll run away from and, eventually, you’ll fall in love with a man who’s everything I’m not. And I can’t have that, wild flame.”
My eyes search his as I sit here on the sofa, him towering over me, hands still in his pockets. If it weren’t for the muscles in his forearms working, I wouldn’t know he’s curling and relaxing his fingers behind the fabric. Whatever he’s feeling, he controls it well.
One last question takes over–is there anything that he could say that would put a stop to the feelings roiling inside of me? I remember the burn scars behind his shirt, the rough, punishing way he fucks.
“I’ll take the deal.” The words are faint when they leave my mouth, but I mean every one of them. Zayne’s dark eyebrows dip over those shattering blue eyes. He doesn’t seem convinced, or he just can’t believe it, so I repeat, this time louder. “I’ll take the deal.”
“Sirenna, I know that curiosity can be a powerful driver, but these kinds of decisions–”
“I mean it, Zayne.” I push out my chin, even though I’m wringing my hands on my knees. “I know what I’m doing.”
His frown stays on but, slowly, he starts unbuttoning his shirt. My mouth pops open as I look at his hands.
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. He keeps going until he shuffles the shirt off his body, and he’s standing bare-chested in front of me.
I lick my lips as my eyes roam all over the god-like sculpture of his body. His scent of freshness and citrus wafts around me, and all I want to do is run my fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, then down his abs, to his happy trail, down into his pants. I fucking thirst for the burn scars woven into his flesh.
Zayne holds out his hand for mine, and I place it in his palm. God, how I’m shaking!
He takes my hand cautiously to the scar right next to his belly button. My fingers twitch before they connect with the leathery skin.
Allowing me to prod carefully, he says, “This was the first one. The other boys at the orphanage usually got the shell of their ears slashed, a notch for every transgression, but I got the special treatment because I tried to defend myself.”
I stop breathing.
