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“That’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s a dangerous thing for me.”
At that, he pulls me from my hiding spot to face him. “What are you afraid of? I’d never hurt you.”
“My family—”
“Has no place in this conversation, London. It’s about me and you.” He leans in and presses a featherlight kiss to my right cheek and then left. To my forehead and then chin. “Don’t fight me, baby. Don’t fight us. Let me take care of you.”
Christ, I don’t know what to do.
I’m attracted to him. Feel safe.
“This is crazy. I don’t know you, have no idea how any of this will work.” Everything he says is exactly what I want to hear, but is it the truth? Or is it what he thinks I want? Because I feel a little caught in the middle of whatever is going on between him and Alton. “Give me a little bit of time. Give me a reason to stay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, a little confused at how easily he gives in. “Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.” Malcolm taps my thigh, signaling for me to get up. Immediately, I panic that he’s leaving. It comes out of nowhere, overwhelming me as I stand with shaking knees. He sees this and follows me up, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me steady. “I’ll give you what you want, but I’m always going to be one step behind. Chasing you. I’m not giving up, just letting you catch up.” His head dips down, lips brushing my own, once, twice, before he nips the sensitive skin. “Now get dressed. I’m taking you to pick up your car.”
“How do you know my car isn’t here?”
“Better question is whose building are you parking at?”
There’s noise coming from the kitchen area when I enter the house a few hours later. It’s past my usual time of return—the sun is up and the streets full of people on their way to church for Sunday mass.
Blaming Malcolm for this would be easy. For taking me to breakfast and spending an hour and a half doing nothing more than sitting beside me at some small café inside his building, but I won’t. Truthfully, I don’t remember the last time someone made me feel this way.
At peace. Comfortable.
I ate while he watched, a sinful smirk playing on his lips each time I bit into the heavenly strawberry pancakes the cook made. The one instance he spoke outside of crooning about my beauty or to tell me he hasn’t been with anyone in more than a year—his refusal to accept mediocrity—was to ask if my family said anything after we left.
Did they give you crap over me? Question you? He worries, and I find that sweet.
No one so much as looked at me when we got home. I was told to disappear.
That didn’t relax him. Instead, he grew pensive. Picking up his phone a few minutes after, he sent out a text before returning his attention to me. And even as we said goodbye beside my car, because of his refusal to let me walk in alone, there was something in his eyes that made me shiver.
Not because I fear him. Not at all.
It’s more of an I see him. Know that he’s capable of anything to be the victor in the end.
My ears are on high alert as I close the door with a muted thud. So low, I doubt they know I’m home. No one’s yelling, which is a good sign, but for some reason my defenses are on high alert.
I know them. Know how they function.
Last Saturday’s brunch with the Asher family is still on their minds. How he made them look weak, churning within their gut as hatred flows through their veins.
Toeing off my shoes, I pick the sandals up and walk toward the staircase. I don’t want them—Alton—to come and find me; avoiding him is for the best right now. What I did a few hours ago with Malcolm is dangerous for me—I’m playing with fire—and I don’t know if I can hide it. The unadulterated happiness he brings.
Because he does. He’s giving me a small semblance of hope.
Tells me that I am not alone anymore.
My bare foot hits the landing when a hand grabs my arm. “What the?”
“About time you showed up to make breakfast,” a woman I’ve never seen before says, her acrylic fingernails digging into my skin right where my father’s marks are fresh. “Hurry up. We’ve been waiting.”
