Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(81)

My heart starts to thud. My mouth goes dry. I slowly set the glass back down on the countertop and turn to him, trembling.

“It’s after midnight.”

“Yes. I apologize for the hour. I was delayed by work.”

I glance at his knuckles, but they’re not covered in blood. Licking my lips, I look into his eyes again.

“How did you get in? The front door is locked.”

“Was locked. And I’m going to install a deadbolt. That lock isn’t safe.”

My laugh is small and only slightly hysterical. “You picked it. Are you a professional burglar too?”

“Amateur.” From his back pocket, he pulls out a credit card and holds it up between two fingers. “Not very sophisticated, but it does the trick.”

“Evidently.”

He doesn’t move closer, he only watches me with smoldering intensity as he slips the credit card back into his pocket, and I try to calm down by gulping air.

“You’re hyperventilating.”

“Seems reasonable under the circumstances, don’t you think? I’m surprised I’m not bleeding from my eyes.”

“How much wine have you had?”

“Not nearly enough to help me cope with the fact that you made Bob disappear. I think I’ll need a few cases of wine before I can handle that.”

“You’re fine. It’s just fresh.”

“I’m going to sit at the kitchen table now. Don’t make any quick moves, or I might pass out from nerves.”

“No, stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”

He moves toward me slowly and with caution, like he’s approaching a wild animal who might bite.

Tonight is the first time I’ve seen him wearing anything but a suit. He’s in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, all black. He looks ridiculously handsome. And normal, like he’s just an average guy, and not the morally gray vigilante billionaire unaliver-of-bad-guys he actually is.

I remember how I replied “All the most dangerous creatures do” when he remarked that Chelsea looked innocent the first night we met, and marvel that the universe so enjoys playing its little jokes on me.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, reaching out and caressing my face. “You’re okay, baby. Just breathe.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply as he takes me into his arms. We stand together silently for a while, our bodies pressed together, until he decides it’s time to pick me up.

He carries me out of the kitchen and down the hallway into my bedroom, then kicks off his boots and lays next to me on the bed so we’re facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

“Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi.”

“Talk to me.”

“I was hoping you’d start.”

“What do you want to know?”

I study his features for a moment, admiring how fine and symmetrical they are and wondering how a rich guy who looks like a GQ model winds up doing what he does.

“How much leeway do I have? Because I know you’re Mr. Secrecy, and you don’t normally answer questions.”

Looking contemplative, he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth over my cheek. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Yes.”

“Are you mine?”

My throat closes. My chest tightens. If I cry, I’m going to beat myself up. “You know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I thought you didn’t do relationships?”

“I don’t. But you stole my heart the first night we met, and I finally realized it’s hopeless to keep trying to resist you. Every time I see you, it’s like the first time I’m seeing the sun.”

I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe. He strokes my hair until I’m calm enough to speak again.

“I’d be lying if I said I wanted anyone else other than you. Or can think about anything else. You’ve taken my brain hostage.”

“Hostage is good.”

“No, it isn’t. Hostage is bad. Hostage is when something’s held against its will.”

“Open your eyes.”

When I do, he’s gazing at me with a look of such adoration, my heart skips a beat.

Eyes shining, he says quietly, “I meant it’s good because you’ve taken my brain hostage too. And my heart. And my soul. What’s left of it anyway. It’s all yours, if you’ll have it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut again. When I speak, my voice is choked. “Goddammit.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with Tony Soprano, and everybody knows what happened to him in the end.”

He pulls me against his body and hugs me tightly, sliding an arm underneath me so I’m cradled. Then he throws a leg over both of mine so I’m completely surrounded by his warmth and strength.

Inhaling against my neck, he sighs.

“I dream about your smell,” he whispers. “I wish I could replicate it from eating cologne and flowers like that idiot Florentino did.”

I raise my head and look at him with lifted brows. He rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I read Love in the Time of Cholera. Emery said it was your favorite book. But I have to tell you, baby, I’ve never read such depressing bullshit in my entire life. I needed a prescription for Xanax by the time I finished. ”