Chapter 6 Scarred pt I #2
Her gaze had drifted away again, as if she was uncomfortable holding his stare while she talked to another man.
Or perhaps it was the subject of the call that made her self-conscious again.
“Yes, I understand,” she said. “I appreciate you explaining everything, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. ” She paused one more time. “You, too.”
Santino watched impatiently as she disconnected and tucked her phone away. “No luck?”
She scrunched up her face, giving herself an adorable little button nose for several seconds.
“Apparently the listing I applied for had a ‘small error’. The company’s opening a whole new branch in Indianapolis of all places, and they’re hiring for that office.
” She gave a small laugh. “Which they were more than happy to offer me an interview for.”
He fought to keep his expression straight.
He’d dropped enough on her, and he suspected she would route them back to some unavoidable bombs before day’s end.
The least he could do was spare her one more for the time being by overreacting to something inconsequential.
No fucking way was she moving to, or even working in, another man’s territory. “Glad you declined that.”
Her next attempt at a laugh was a bit too derisive. “I probably will wind up needing to move soon, but I’m not desperate enough to look out of state just yet.” Her lips bent in a frown. “Although … maybe that’s relevant.”
It didn’t take a genius to guess where she was going with that train of thought.
Santino took her hand once more and guided her deeper into the house.
For sanity’s sake, he avoided taking her upstairs.
She’d asked for somewhere they could speak privately because she wanted an actual conversation.
His dick was going to have stay in his pants a little longer.
“It’s not relevant,” Santino said as they walked.
“If finding a job and keeping an independent income means that much to you, we can make that happen. But regardless, there’s no ‘probably’ about whether or not you’re gonna have to move in the future, beautiful.
” He shoved open the double-wide doors to the downstairs library, arguably his most underused room and surely best for a quiet talk, and guided her inside.
He glanced over, watching Reiko’s faintly narrowed eyes go wide as she turned her attention to taking in the room.
He’d paid an outrageously expensive interior designer to capitalize on its potential in all the ways a book-lover might prefer, at the time figuring such a retreat may one day appeal to him or someone in his family.
The floor-to-ceiling built-in shelving had more slowly filled up with books randomly collected.
One tall, pristine window let in the perfect amount of sunlight while smaller windows allowed for filtered angles at other times and strategically placed crystal chandeliers reflected everything, always.
The fireplace was fake, but still offered yet more light and a bit of heat when in use.
The majority of the walls were occupied by the shelves, and the floorspace was carefully marked with furniture.
He even had one of those rolling ladders.
Santino pulled Reiko over to a curved sofa that took up most of the space along one side. There was a low table in front of it, which would be perfect for the food Guiseppi would bring them later.
Reiko dropped onto the sofa as if still in a trance. “This room is magnificent,” she finally said. “You could probably charge more for renting out just this space than what I pay for my entire apartment.”
Santino snorted. “That’s true.” He tucked a finger under her chin and tugged her closer. “But for you, beautiful, the rent’s real cheap.”
Her face flushed a pretty shade of red once more. “You’re going to make me move in and charge me rent?”
He chuckled. “Ah, so you were paying attention.”
She pouted.
Fuck me. Santino let his thumb stretch up to graze across those alluring lips, then dropped his hand altogether before he could forget himself.
“The only one who will bother us in here is Guiseppi when he delivers our lunch,” he said after a beat.
“I had the room soundproofed for a better reading experience, and I can tint the windows for privacy, too. It’s just you and me in here, beautiful. Tell me anything.”
Reiko glanced around, licked her lips again, and finally nodded. “Can you … do that? Tint the windows, I mean? Please.”
A gut-churning combination of curiosity and concern began to twist inside him, but Santino obligingly dug out his phone and queued up the app.
There was a switch on one of the walls, too, but using that would have required stepping away.
A couple taps of his thumb later and the windows had darkened, while the interior lights and artificial fireplace flared to life, creating a moody ambiance.
It might have been romantic if he weren’t convinced he was half a conversation away from a murderous rage.
Reiko let her gaze bounce from the tall window to the largest of the chandeliers and back to him, a twitch of her lips revealing her nerves.
Then, with a heavy exhale, she set her purse on the floor and stood.
Her hands clenched briefly at her sides before she angled herself so her back was to him and set to work … stripping.
There was no preventing the heat that boiled inside him when Santino realized she was loosening her belt and tugging her shirt free. No stopping his cock from thickening at the prospect that he’d vastly misinterpreted her intentions.
Was she awkward about sex? Had she never been made to feel good enough about herself to even be comfortable acknowledging desire?
Fuck, was she somehow a virgin?
Santino cut his eyes around the room again, suddenly second-guessing his choices.
The library was fine for what he’d thought she had wanted.
It was fine for a private, intimate lunch.
It was really not ideal for an underappreciated woman’s first time.
He never would have brought her there if that was what was happening.
Reiko made a sound of muted distress, like she was struggling with her emotions and fighting to hide the fact, and his focus snapped back to her.
She still had her back to him. Her arms were curled around herself, though it was clear her pants had loosened and her shirt looked rumpled, as if it had come free of the waistband. A faint, subtle tremor shook her frame.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat. If she was that scared of sex, she shouldn’t have been pushing herself.
So, he stepped up behind her and folded his arms carefully, deliberately, over the top of hers as he tugged her back into his chest. He bent forward until his nose was buried in her soft black hair.
“Not sure what you’re trying to build up to, beautiful,” he murmured, holding her tight enough that she would feel the words rumbling through his chest as he spoke them.
“But you don’t have anything to fear from me.
You don’t have to push yourself past your limits.
I’m here when you’re ready.” He pressed a harder kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll be here, regardless.”
Reiko trembled with her next deep breath. “I might never be ready,” she whispered. “It’ll always be hard.” She rotated a wrist from beneath his crushing grip in order to hook her fingers over his forearm. “But I also … I also like you.”
Santino grinned. “You like me, huh?”
She ignored his deliberately juvenile response and said, “So you need to know.” Her grip tightened. “I want you to know.”
Letting his attempted levity drop, Santino tilted his head to brush a kiss over her temple. “Know what, beautiful?”
She pulled in another hard breath, practically leaning into him in a tangible effort to steel herself, and suddenly tugged his arm from its position around her waist. He unlocked his hold and allowed her to guide him, following with his eyes as she moved only his right arm down, almost awkwardly low and across her smaller body.
Then she used their joined hands to push the hem of her blouse up and he felt skin—warm, soft, smooth skin—beneath his fingertips.
Santino bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to hold in an ill-timed groan.
The pain and coppery tang of blood did little to subdue his erection, but at least that was pre-existing.
For a moment that seared into his brain, it was the strangest, most innocent seduction as she slowly guided his touch up over her hip.
Then the texture of her skin changed and cold reality slammed into him like a baseball bat. Of fucking course. Her scar. She had mentioned telling him about her scar.
Her touch receded as his fingers settled more thoroughly over the raised, roughened area of flesh that seemed to slice through her midsection. That was where she wanted him, then. That was what she was trying to do—she had been trying to work up the courage to show him her scar.
He choked on an angry curse.
It was so much fucking worse than if she’d just been a nervous, skittish virgin. And he felt like a goddamn ass.
Slowly, carefully, reverently, Santino splayed his fingers along the blemished area until he found the extent of it.
Its height, its length, its width. He gingerly stroked his fingers from one faded corner, along the edge to the opposite corner, then back again.
It was a sweeping curve of a scar, like a bad blade wound.
He could tell just from the feel of it. And it hadn’t healed well.
Reiko continued to tremble against him, as though she were barely breathing while she waited for his response.
But he’d just about determined the length of the thing, and she probably didn’t want his response. Because if her father was in any way attached to the scar that was nearly the length of his fucking hand, he was going to slice her father to tiny pieces. Starting with the bastard’s dick.
Her shaky voice cut through his building bloodlust. “It-it’s worse to look at.”
He couldn’t quite contain his growl. “Take your shirt off.”
She gasped. “What?”
Santino pressed his whole palm flat over the scar, noting how it felt like he was cupping her nearly from belly button to hip, and bent lower to press a kiss beneath her ear.
He slipped his other hand beneath her shirt and teased just the tips of his fingers over her skin, his lips moving lower to taste more of her. “Take it off, beautiful. Let me see.”
Her next gasp sounded breathier, and he knew his extra touches were affecting her. She hummed and nodded, then reached for her shirt.
Santino took a half-step back to give her the room she needed.
He tracked her movement as she peeled off the blouse and tossed it aside, his focus quickly recaptured by the nude-colored fabric wrapped tight around her upper torso.
Of course, she wasn’t wearing seductive lingerie.
He hadn’t really expected different. In a strange way, he liked the realness of her everyday bra more.
He particularly liked the way it cupped and elevated her perfect tits, practically offering them to him. The damn thing was a tease. No lace, no sheer, just solid material holding her nicely in place and obscuring the detail of her nipples from view.
Santino gave himself a mental kick. This was not the time to be ogling Reiko’s tits, as impossible as that felt.
His gaze flicked up and he bit back another groan.
The woman was fucking elegance even half naked and tense with anxious anticipation.
Her posture was perfect and somehow he found he even wanted to run his tongue along the length of her goddamn collarbone.
When the hell had he ever been turned on by a collarbone?
He lifted his gaze higher and met, and held, her stare.
He offered her a smile. She would see the lust in his eyes.
There was no hiding it, just as there was no hiding the bulge in his pants.
Neither mattered. This moment was not about his desire or any sexual gratification.
He held her searching, still nervous gaze long enough that he hoped he conveyed some of that understanding—hoped he at least reassured her he wasn’t trying to turn her vulnerable moment into a self-centered opportunity.
Then he let his focus drop, beneath her chest, and his stare snagged on the scar that marred her naturally paler skin tone.
It was obviously old, which meant that for as bad as it looked, it had been much worse at its prime.
The sight of it derailed his sexually distracted haze, transforming the heat in his blood from arousal to rage.
The scar was narrow near the middle of her abdomen and widened as it curved down toward her hip.
As he’d already felt, it was not a smooth curve.
There had been no precision, no skill, no care in the injury.
Santino didn’t know how long ago she’d received the wound, or the story behind it, but the mere thought—the image in his mind—ripped the air from his lungs.
He dropped to his knees as emotion consumed him and raised his hands, cradling her hips so his thumb grazed the underside of the scar.
He was angry for her. He hurt for her. He wanted to howl in sympathy of the pain she had to have endured, the pain he imagined just from the way she was so afraid of her own body.
Whatever had happened, whoever was responsible … he would get justice for her.
True justice. The kind that bled red and left its victims blue.