10. Jazz
10
JAZZ
H is fingers trace along my jaw, tilting my face up. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my breath catch. His gray eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that pins me in place as he watches my reaction.
But I'm struggling to process what he's said. I press my palms against his chest, feeling his heart beating steady and strong beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. My own pulse races like a frightened rabbit.
I go ahead and say the first thing that's made me nervous. "The things you said about—about killing them..." The words catch in my throat.
"I meant every word." His voice drops lower, dangerous. "As soon as I find them, they are dead." His thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
I should be terrified. The casual way he talks about murder, about claiming me, should send me running for the door. But there's something intoxicating about his presence, about finally having someone powerful enough to face the shadows that have been stalking me.
"I'm not used to needing protection." My voice comes out shakier than I'd like. But I don't know how to trust people, especially like him. "I've always handled things on my own."
"And now you don't have to." His arm tightens around my waist, drawing me closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Let me take care of the threats. Let me handle the ones watching you."
"Just like that? You'll eliminate anyone who comes near me?"
"Without hesitation."
The certainty in his voice makes me shiver. I've lived with fear for so long, always looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. With Nerio, the danger isn't hiding in shadows—it's right here, wrapped around me, promising both protection and possession.
"This is crazy," I whisper, even as my fingers curl into his shirt. "You're dangerous."
"Yes." His lips brush against my temple. "But you don't hate that, do you?"
The strange thing is, I don't. Maybe I'm losing my mind, but in his arms, with his promises of violence and protection wrapping around me like a shield, I feel safer than I have in years.
He pulls back to look me in the eyes, his lips curling. "Though a little fear isn't a bad thing."
I lift my chin. "I already told you fear isn't my style."
His hand twines in my hair, wrenching my head back. "No?" That grin turns vicious. "Too bad because it's mine."
And I can see that because fear does start to pound through my body. Fear of what he'll do to me. Fear of not being able to come after he's worked my body up. Fear of giving into this.
And all that fear and tension builds until I am aching for him again,
Too bad, he lets me go, dragging his hand back down to my jaw so he can talk to me. I have a feeling he was about to snap, too.
"Your apartment isn't secure enough, though." Nerio's fingers trail down my neck, making my skin tingle. "I have a better option."
"I like my place." I try to step back, needing space to think clearly. "The rooftop garden-"
"Can be replaced." He pulls me tighter against him, and I don't protest. I keep thinking about when he said we weren't done and wonder if he'll make good on that promise. "I own a penthouse downtown. Top floor. Private elevator access. Security system that would make the Pentagon jealous."
"You want me to move in with you?" The words come out sharp. The last time I lived with a guy… Well, it didn't go so well.
"Not with me. It's a separate property." He brushes his fingers along my skin, distracting my thoughts. It's like he knows what he's doing. "Three bedrooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows. And yes, space for your precious plants."
I tilt my head back, needing to think and I can't do that with the heat in his eyes as he stares down at me. "I don't need-"
"They are following you."
I freeze at that reminder. "I know."
"They know where you live. Where you go. You aren't safe, and I want to keep you away from anyone that can hurt you." He leans in, his lips coming to my ear like he knows it's my weakness. "Let me do this."
I chew on my bottom lip, trying to think of any reason I shouldn't. He's offering me protection, a home. What's wrong with that? That I give him easy access to me? I'm about two seconds away from spreading out on his desk and begging him to take me so maybe it'll just be convenient.
And I wouldn't be locked up with him. If anything were to happen, which I don't think it will, I have an easy out.
"The penthouse has a private garage entrance." Nerio pushes. I'm honestly surprised he's trying to convince me and not just forcing me there. "No one sees you come or go. No paper trail connecting you to the property."
"And what's the catch?"
"The catch?" His eyes darken. "The catch is you stay alive."
"There's always strings with you."
"Fine. Here's your string - you let my security team drive you to and from work." He steps closer, towering over me. "You stop taking unnecessary risks."
I wrap my arms around myself. The Morrison has been my sanctuary, my fresh start. But he's right - the security is basic, the locks standard. Anyone determined enough...
"Show me the place first."
His lips curve. "Keys are in my car. We can go now."
"I haven't said yes."
"But you will." He cups my face. "Because under all that stubbornness, you're smart. And smart women know when to accept help."
As it turns out, that's true.
Because an hour later, I stand in the center of what is now apparently my living room, turning in a slow circle. It took one look at how hard it was to get into the apartment for me to agree.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch from one end to the other, offering a panoramic view of the city that makes my old apartment feel like a shoebox. The furniture is all clean lines and modern luxury - a massive sectional in butter-soft leather, abstract art pieces that probably cost more than I make in a year.
"Your face." Nerio's voice carries amusement as he crosses the room to me. "Like you've never seen a decent apartment before."
"Decent?" I run my hand along the marble countertop separating the living room from a kitchen that would make professional chefs weep. "This place is insane. These appliances alone must have cost-"
"Money isn't relevant." He moves behind me, his hands settling on my hips. "What matters is you're safe here."
I lean back against his chest despite myself. I've already let him put his hands all over me tonight so why hold back? Tomorrow, I can put distance between us, but tonight, it's not a new mistake to make. And I want the warmth of his touch. "The security system really that good?"
"Better." His breath tickles my ear. "Triple-encrypted access codes. Bulletproof glass. Motion sensors. Heat mapping. If someone so much as breathes wrong within fifty feet of this place, I know about it."
"Seems excessive."
"Not when it comes to protecting you."
I should bristle at the possessiveness in his voice. Instead, warmth blooms in my chest. After years of looking over my shoulder, of triple-checking locks that felt paper-thin, the solid weight of security wraps around me like a blanket.
"Come here." He turns me toward the windows. "Best part of the place."
The sun is starting to come up, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold. City lights flicker off below us, a sea of diamonds spread out at our feet. From up here, everything feels distant, contained. Safe.
"And look." He guides me to a set of glass doors leading to a massive terrace. "Plenty of space for your garden. Better than that cramped rooftop."
My fingers press against the glass. The terrace stretches the length of the penthouse, already equipped with built-in planters and a sophisticated irrigation system.
"You really thought of everything."
"I take care of what matters." His arms wrap around my waist from behind. "Get used to it."
What I don't get used to is the nightly check-ins. They should be simple, innocent. But every night it gets harder and harder to resist the man.
Like when I don't expect him to be coming.
Steam curls around me as I step out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel around my body. But a knock at the front door makes me freeze.
I check the security panel - it's Nerio. Of course.
"One minute!" I call out, searching frantically for my robe. Empty hooks mock me — it's still in the dryer.
Another knock, more insistent. "Jazz."
"I said one-" The words die in my throat as the door opens.
Nerio fills the doorframe, a bag of takeout in one hand. His eyes drag over me, lingering on the drops of water trailing down my neck, the way the towel clings to my curves.
"Bad timing?" His voice comes out rough.
"I was just-" I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom, very aware of how little this towel covers. "You could have called first."
"And miss this view?" He steps inside, setting the food down without taking his eyes off me. "I brought dinner."
"I can see that." I back up, clutching the towel tighter. "Let me get dressed."
"If you insist." His lips curve into that dangerous smile. "Though I prefer this outfit."
Heat crawls up my neck. "You're impossible."
"And you're beautiful when you're flustered." He advances slowly, like a predator stalking prey. "All that soft skin on display..."
My back hits the wall. He plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Nerio..." My voice wavers.
"Yes?" His fingers trace my collarbone, following a water droplet down.
"The food's getting cold."
He chuckles, dark and rich. "Let it." His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "I'm suddenly hungry for something else."
The intensity in his eyes makes my knees weak. Just as he leans in, his phone buzzes. He growls, checking the screen.
"Saved by business." He steps back, adjusting his jacket. "Get dressed, little dove. But know this isn't over."
He turns, taking the call and leaving me breathless and aching. These encounters are going to be the death of me.
The next night is no different.
Thunder cracks overhead as I curl up on the couch with a book. Rain pelts against the windows, turning the city lights into watery smears. The security panel chimes, and I check the display to see Nerio standing in the private elevator, water dripping from his clothes.
I buzz him in, meeting him at the door. "What happened to you?"
"Meeting ran late. Storm hit on the walk over." His white dress shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, outlining every muscle. Water drips from his dark hair onto his face.
"You're soaked through." I tug him inside. "You'll catch pneumonia."
"Worried about me?" That familiar smirk appears despite his drenched state.
"I'm worried about… the floors." I gesture to the puddle forming around his expensive shoes. But in reality, yes. I do care about him. "Strip."
His eyebrow arches. "Demanding."
"Not like that." Heat creeps up my neck. "I can throw your clothes in the dryer."
"If you insist." He shrugs off his jacket, then starts unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. Each newly exposed inch of skin draws my eyes like a magnet.
The shirt hits the floor with a wet slap. My mouth goes dry. His chest and abs look like they were carved from marble, all defined planes and hard ridges. A tattoo I never knew about snakes across his ribs - something in Italian script.
"See something you like?" His hands move to his belt.
I snap my eyes up to his face. "Just... cataloging the artwork."
"Sure." His pants join the pile, leaving him in black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. "The dryer? I'd do it myself, but you claim you don't want water everywhere."
"Right." I gather his clothes quickly, trying not to stare at the way water trails down his chest. "There are towels in the bathroom."
When I return from the laundry room, he's rubbing his hair with one of my fluffy white towels, muscles flexing with each movement. He catches me watching and grins.
"You know if you wanted me to undress, all you had to do was ask."
"Shut up." I throw another towel at his face. "You did this on purpose."
"Getting caught in the rain? I'm good, but I can't control the weather." He drapes the towel around his shoulders. "Though I'm not complaining about the results."
Neither am I, but I'll never admit it out loud.