Chapter 16
Darcy approaches wearing gray pajama pants and a matching long-sleeve button-down.
Her face is free of any makeup and the ends of her long blonde hair are still a little damp from her shower.
I do my best to avoid tracing the curves of her body with my eyes and remain focused solely on her beautiful face.
As she gently places my cup of hot tea on the edge of the wooden table, she skillfully avoids eye contact with me, prompting me to shift my attention from her to the teacup.
As I do, I inhale the herbal scents of the brew, which are perfectly complimented by the sweet scent of her skin.
God, she smells amazing. Feeling saliva pool in my mouth from her mere proximity, I quickly swallow and thank her for the tea.
“You’re welcome,” she says, her voice mild and meek.
Then, with the same shyness, she sets her own teacup down and slides onto the booth bench directly across from me.
Finally, as she settles in, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I’m not sure if I should hold her gaze or redirect my attention to the chessboard in front of me.
I could look at her for hours, forever, but I don’t want to risk making her uncomfortable.
And the longer I hold her gaze, the more nervous I notice her become.
Her lips part and she fidgets with her fingers in her lap. So, I shift my attention to my teacup and take a sip of the warm, soothing liquid, prompting her to do the same. “It’s very good,” I say, after taking a few sips. “Perfect for a night like this.”
“A night like this?” she asks as she continues to sip from her cream-colored cup.
I wave her off and redirect my focus to the chess pieces in front of me, knowing I can’t tell her much.
I can’t tell her I’m worried about a former hookup and leader of one of the world’s most dangerous criminal organizations potentially breaking her alliance with my equally formidable—although somewhat fractured and unstable—criminal organization.
And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t.
A man shouldn’t burden a woman with such things.
It’s my job, any man’s job, to eliminate the stress in his woman’s life, to free her from worry, and to make sure she is calm, comfortable, and happy at all times.
At least, that’s what I hope I can do for Darcy.
I want her to be able to exist in a bubble of protection and pleasure, a bubble I will personally safeguard.
“Just a lot on my mind—work related,” I finally say. “I’m struggling to put my mind to rest.” It’s then that I make my next move and click the timer.
“Oh, I see,” she responds, and something in her voice draws my attention. As I lift my eyes from the board to Darcy, I notice her grip on her teacup becomes shaky. She quickly places the cup on the table and lowers her eyes to the board.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“Hmm?” She looks up at me then and I’m not sure if she heard me or if she’s just eager to avoid the question.
“Your hands were shaking, same as this morning. Did something I say upset you?” Perhaps I shouldn’t push her, but I want to know.
It then occurs to me that her very presence suggests she’s having just as hard of a time falling asleep as I am.
Is her bed uncomfortable? Is she having second thoughts about staying here?
Is it something else entirely, something from her past?
As my mind races with a new worry, different from the thoughts that brought me to the board, I refocus on the chess pieces in front of me and move the pawn nearest Darcy.
When I have a lot on my mind, I play myself in chess.
Depending on how I’m feeling, I either use the game time to think through my stressors and strategize, or I use the mental focus required to distract myself completely from my worry.
By the end of the game, I either have a solution or I’ve disassociated enough that I can sleep and revisit my thoughts in the morning.
Tonight, I was hoping for the second option—a distraction.
With Darcy sitting in front of me, I’ve certainly got one. Though, now I’m worried about her.
“No, well, maybe,” Darcy admits. She lets out a long sigh and once again, my attention is on her. “I just don’t want to bother you if you’re stressed. I don’t want to add to it or make you mad.”
Ah, now it makes sense. I sit up straight to look at her head-on.
I want to command all her attention as these next words cross my lips.
Feeling I have it, I say, “Darcy, I’m not him.
I’ve said it before, and I will continue to say it and prove it to you as many times as you need.
I’m not your ex, assuming he is the one that sent you fleeing from Montana. ”
Lowering my voice so that she can feel the gentleness and sincerity of my words, I say, “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me or be afraid of upsetting me.
I’m a grown man. I know how to control my emotions and my body.
I won’t misplace my anger or my fists, not that I’m even angry.
I don’t really get angry, I just…” I become focused and deadly, but that’s in a different context.
“You’re safe here.” Feeling myself ramble, I end my bout of reassurance with that statement.
And it’s the truth, and it’s also true that I will continue to reassure her as long as she needs me to.
I won’t run out of patience. I won’t get angry.
I’ve spent years developing my signature calm demeanor and I can’t think of a better reason to put it to use.
As my words settle on her, her shoulders droop and she lowers her eyes to her lap, where I find her fidgeting with her fingers once again.
I can’t tell if she believes me or not. Though, something about her body does seem a bit more relaxed than before.
Perhaps her lack of eye contact isn’t so much her avoiding me as it is her remembering things she’d rather forget. That’s a feeling I know all too well.
Giving her a moment, I move a chess piece on my side, hit the timer, and direct my attention to her side of the board.
Though, just as I decide on the piece to move, Darcy surprises me by reaching for it.
My eyes flit between her and the board as I watch her make a spectacular move, the same move I was going to make.
After finishing her move, she hits the timer and looks at me.
I hold her gaze as she works up the courage to say, “It’s just hard to…
to retrain my mind, my body, to get used to something new.
” She shakes her head as she shifts her attention to the window to her right.
“It’s going to take a while.” As Darcy opens up, showing just a sliver of her heart, I feel my own heart squeeze in my chest. My insides become warm and I fight the urge to smile.
What we’re talking about is serious and hard, but her vulnerability makes me happy.
As my time to make a move approaches its limit, I quickly adjust one of my pieces on the board.
It wasn’t the best move, but I don’t care.
I look at Darcy then. “I know, and it’s okay.
You can take all the time you need.” She meets my gaze, this time with less timidity, and her lips draw up into a small smile.
She slowly nods and then shifts her focus to the board once more. “Have you played chess much?” I ask.
“It’s one of mine and Delilah’s favorites.
” She makes her next move. “We played a lot of board games and card games back home. Where we lived, we didn’t have any internet and there’s only so much on television, especially for kids.
So, we’d play games and do different things outside.
We both enjoyed story time too. I’d read to her and then, when she was asleep and I had the free time, I’d read by myself. ”
“Hmm, sounds like you both enjoy the simple things. What kinds of books do you like?” I ask as we continue our game.
“Mostly romance.” I lift my eyes to see a shy smile spread across her lips and her cheeks blush.
Her blushing has me smiling. And the thought of her enjoying romance novels so much has me thinking of other things.
As pressure builds in my groin, I force myself to look away from her and take another sip of my tea.
“But occasionally, I’ll read a mystery,” she continues.
“Really just whatever we had. My husband, ex, inherited a trunk of books from one of his relatives. I probably read each one two or three times.”
At the mention of her ex, who she’s been careful not to name, all the pressure in my loins releases. I feel my smile drift away and my shoulders become tense. “He didn’t buy you your own books?” My question steals Darcy’s glow, and I suddenly regret asking it.
“No. He wasn’t the gift-giving-type unless you count black eyes and broken ribs.” Her words suck the air out of the room, leaving us both still and silent as the timer for our game rings. I can’t even remember whose turn it is or was. But now it doesn’t matter.
I watch her closely as her eyes glaze over, doing my best to contain my emotions.
Perhaps I was incorrect to say I don’t get angry.
Hearing of her past abuse makes me angry, deadly.
It has my fists balling beneath the table.
It has my jaw tightening and my legs restless.
Oh, the things I would do to that sorry excuse of a man if I had him in my sights.