Chapter 6 Scarred pt I
Chapter six
Scarred pt I
His words knocked the air from her lungs.
Again.
Reiko really needed to stop letting him do that, but the man kept over-delivering.
The harder she looked for signs that he was playing her, manipulating her in any way, the clearer he made it that he was not.
That, or he’d missed his calling. She rolled her lips between her teeth.
He could be lying about saying he won’t lie to me.
Objectively, it wasn’t like putting the words out into the universe held him magically accountable. She just didn’t believe he was playing that deep a mind-game. For one thing, she could not comprehend why he would.
She only wished she could comprehend why he would do any of it.
Guerra pressed his thumb to her lip and pried it gently from the grip of her teeth. “I’m teetering on the brink, here, beautiful. Don’t torture me like that.”
Reiko blinked at him as his warm, faintly calloused touch fell away once more. Her heart was beating too loudly. His eyes were too bright.
Since when was she anyone’s treasure?
She swallowed, too many questions rolling around in her head.
She still wanted to know the answers to the questions she’d tried asking as they’d left the parking lot.
But perhaps it was more important to ask something else first. Even if that only helped her to find her psychological footing.
“Help me understand,” she said, her voice too soft at first, “what it is you’re after? ”
His pale brow pinched at the question.
Reiko hurried to elaborate. “What kind of ‘treasure’ do I represent? You said you aren’t interested in my father’s company, but I don’t have any value, and I’m struggling to understand what else—why else—” Her throat constricted at the crucial words.
What could a man like him, with his resources, his charisma, and apparently even the ability to casually stroll away from a dead body in broad daylight, possibly have to gain from spending any time with her? What could he want from her?
Why would he need her?
Every one of those questions felt poised to do nothing but rip apart the fragile hope she’d only started to build. She didn’t even know how she always did that to herself.
Guerra exhaled, the sound loud enough to carry but not quite achieving a negative tone. “Since you refuse to accept that you are ‘what I’m after’,” he said, “I’ll be more … explicit.” Something in his eyes sparked. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
For a split-second, she had the wild urge to retract every question she’d ever asked him.
He didn’t give her the chance, reaching out and pulling her nearest hand into his larger one just to curl his fingers around her hand as he spoke.
“I want you in my life, in my bed, and in my future for every single moment that remains of it. I want you wearing my ring, signing my name, and I can’t fucking wait to see you pregnant with my babies.
Little Japanese-Italian hellraisers. You’ll teach them public manners and I’ll teach them how to conquer the goddamn world.
They’ll love you and respect you because family fucking matters in my house—which will be our house by then.
” He paused, and his stare remained unyielding.
“So, when I say I want you, and you are my treasure, I mean exactly that. Every goddamn word.” He tightened his hold on her hand as if she might disappear otherwise.
She might. She was fairly sure she was on the verge of fainting, just as soon as the blood stopped cascading through her ears.
His smile widening as if he’d been struck by inspiration, then, and he added more when she had thought he was finally done with the bizarre poetry he’d been speaking.
“You have kanji, right? I know you were born in the states, but you’re first-generation, so I assume your parents assigned specific kanji to your name?
Or however that works. I should have looked it up. ”
Reiko blinked, the oddly simple question and endearing muttering at the end helping her brain restart. “Yes, of course,” she said. “It’s tradition.”
He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “When we get the chance, I’ll have you draw me the characters of your name. Your given name.”
“Why?”
Guerra raised their joined hands, adjusted his grip, and pressed her palm over his heart. “So I can get the most important tattoo of my life, right here.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You want … my name … tattooed on your skin? In a language you don’t even read?”
“I’ll learn it,” he said. “And yes.”
She didn’t realize she was crying again until she heard the sob that choked out of her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and she clapped her other hand over her mouth, emotion rushing through her and making her skin burn.
Why that was what convinced her, she couldn’t say. But she believed him.
All her life, she’d been unwanted. Tossed aside in every way and in every way treated as though she were horrendously unlovable and it was, somehow, her fault.
It was hard not to internalize that after three decades of consistent, all-encompassing treatment.
So hard that, in a twisted way, it actually kind of hurt to hear someone say words that meant anything else. Let alone with such fierce emphasis.
There was just one problem, she realized.
I have to tell him… No. She would have to show him. He wouldn’t be pacified, or convinced, any other way.
“Shit, beautiful,” Guerra was saying somewhere above her while her mind scrambled. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s not like I expect all of that to happen today. I’m not that irrational, I promise.”
When had her head landed on his shoulder?
When had she migrated to his lap?
Reiko dragged in an unsteady breath and was mortified to realize she’d entirely zoned out in her overwhelmed emotional state. It was a bad habit she’d developed, but she was usually good at restricting herself to only losing such control of herself when she was in a safe and contained environment.
She refused to consider that there might be any implications in that.
She closed her eyes again for a moment and gave herself another second to breathe him in. His arms were around her. He was so strong and warm and sturdy, and she could hear his heart beating beneath her ear. “Your heart’s racing.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Can you blame it?” He gave her a gentle squeeze.
Reiko flushed but didn’t sit up. “I’m usually much more composed than this, I’m sorry…” He had no reason to believe her. She hadn’t shown him her best sides.
“I threw a lot at you, beautiful,” he said, keeping his tone at a whisper. “I think it’s okay for you to feel overwhelmed. I should’ve known better.”
Slowly, Reiko shook her head before pushing herself up enough to meet his gaze again.
It was more intimidating, looking into those eyes while sitting in his lap, but also more exciting.
For a deranged second, she found herself wondering if he would lean in and lick her tears away again—and she refused to worry about why she was disappointed when he didn’t.
Instead, she pushed forward. “Can we go somewhere private?”
Both of his brows arched up his forehead.
That was fair. She heard it as soon as she said it. “If you’re serious—”
“I am.”
She smiled on some reflex she couldn’t identify. “I can’t accept promises like those … without making sure you know what you’re signing up for.” She swallowed and pushed the words out, knowing full well he would never let her take them back. “I need to tell you about my scar.”
Guerra’s expression settled into something more somber. “Okay.” He pulled one arm from her and she heard the faint click of a button before he spoke again. “Home, and tell Guiseppi to prepare lunch for two. Something light.”
Reiko looked to the side as his arm returned to her. He’d hit a button on the side console. She turned her gaze to his again.
His smile returned. “I did promise you lunch.”
It hadn’t been his plan to bring Reiko home on their first date.
More precisely, when he’d left the house that morning, he hadn’t yet known for certain he would succeed in getting her out on a date with him that day at all. So, he hadn’t taken for granted that he might be bringing her back with him.
He wasn’t worried about the state of the house or behavior of the staff, and anything she didn’t seem to like could easily be replaced.
The strange struggle he found himself facing as he led her through the foyer was the idea that he would have to let her leave. She was there for a visit, essentially.
Not to stay.
He wanted her to stay.
He wanted to just smile and declare he was sending men to her apartment to pack up her things, and did she want to go shopping for a new wardrobe after lunch?
Because actually, come to think of it, no way in hell could he let his men rifle through her clothes.
He’d have to kill them all. And he tried to not be that guy.
Not that it mattered, because if he made such a statement, Reiko would panic. He’d overwhelmed her enough when he’d confessed the vision that had been keeping him awake at night since they’d met. She needed time to catch up to him.
None of which was going to happen if he couldn’t first get her off the phone.
Her gaze met his as she listened to whatever was being said in her ear and offered a sheepish, apologetic smile. The smile was pretty and he wanted to kiss it off her lips. While he crushed her phone beneath his shoe.
No. She needed a phone. They couldn’t always be in the same spaces.
He didn’t even want her in every space he had to be in, come to think of it.
And he would absolutely want her to have the ability to call for help if she needed to when he wasn’t there.
So, what she needed, then, was a new phone—and a new phone number.
One her so-called prospective employers didn’t have.