Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I slung my arm around her and led her to the elevator. A part of me wanted her to trust me, to lean on my strength. While another part of me admired her spunk.
The elevator doors opened, and she stole a glance at me, and I tightened my arm around her.
I wouldn’t put it past her to try to run.
Even now.
Even after what had just happened.
How could someone so young and innocent be so headstrong and unreasonable? My body tensed at the spoken objections in her words.
“This doesn’t change anything.”
Didn’t change anything, my ass. What just happened changed everything.
Every single thing.
The way she’d come apart in my arms had been perfection. She’d been tight. I could even feel her reflexively tighten when I pushed a single finger inside. I’d had my fair share of virgins, and I bet everything Jemma Donnelly was still a virgin.
And drunk.
Fuck.
I sighed. Every time she glared at me, when she faced me without an ounce of fear or respect, I temporarily forgot how fucking young and inexperienced she was, how utterly ill-equipped she was to handle someone like me.
I should’ve stayed as far away from her as possible after that kiss. Should stop this.
I laughed at myself, and the self-deprecating sound made her give me a sideways glance before she averted her eyes again.
Should. Should. Should. As if I didn’t know myself well enough to know I wouldn’t.
This marked the end of me dicking around. It was the end of pretending I would ever allow my brother to marry my little punk.
A surge of indignation battled inside of me. I made a mess of things—a miscalculation on my part. Though, in all fairness, I’d settled on this plan before I met her.
Before I got to know her.
Before I got obsessed with her.
Before I recognized she was mine.
It would take some time for her to accept that I would never let her go.
Never.
The elevator ride was a silent, tense affair. She avoided looking at me, which was infuriating.
When we reached my floor, she side-eyed me again.
“Come on,” I said.
She hesitated, and I caught a glimpse of worry flickering in her eyes. It was quickly replaced by her usual bratty defiance, but it left me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I tightened my jaw. I was a dominant asshole. I’d earned my reputation by being more ruthless, dangerous, calculated, and colder than anyone else.
But the look of fear in her eyes—no matter if it was just a flicker—was enough to bring me to my knees. “I’m not gonna touch you again if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have touched her in the car. Not right now. Not when she was drunk.
She never gave me permission. I just took what I wanted. And what I wanted was her.
I slipped my arm off her waist and waited until she stepped out of the elevator.
I took in the sleek, modern decor and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the twinkling city lights below.
My apartment had always been my sanctuary. Apart from my siblings, nobody was allowed in here.
I broke that rule for Jemma. Broke all the rules for her.
I looked down at the crown of her head. I could’ve brought her anywhere when I fake-kidnapped her—one of the warehouses, the company building had a soundproof basement, or even a hotel room.
Why did I bring her here? Why did I carry her unconscious ass on the elevator ride? How could I ever think having her alone in my apartment wouldn’t lead to disaster?
I chuckled, and her head snapped to me. “What?”
She wobbled slightly.
I slung my arm around her, then shook my head. “Nothing.”
She nodded, then swayed again.
I turned to face her, narrowed my eyes, then grabbed her chin.
Dark circles under her eyes marked her face, and she suddenly looked ready to crumble. She must be too drunk or too exhausted to hide her weakness because there was no way she would show me if she could hide it. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, but even her voice sounded weak.
“You need some shut-eye,” I growled, angry at myself for having exploited her vulnerable state.
I led her towards my sister’s room, my hand on the small of her back.
When we reached the door, she stumbled slightly, alarmingly unsteady on her feet. Then she looked inside, her movements sluggish. “I thought this was your girlfriend’s room when I was in here last time,” she mumbled.
I froze and clenched my jaw. She thought this was my girlfriend’s room? I stared down at her. The thought of another woman in my space, in my life, was absurd. There was only her. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said gruffly.
She nodded slowly.
Looking at the exhaustion etched on her face, I made a split-second decision. I wanted her in my bed, nowhere else. “Come on,” I said, turned, and guided her toward my bedroom instead.
Her eyes widened as we entered.
No other woman had ever set foot in my bedroom before her, before I kidnapped her and brought her in here. “Bad memories?”
She shook her head.
I exhaled. “Arms up,” I instructed, reaching for the hem of her shirt.
She complied without argument, too tired to protest.
I swallowed hard as I lifted the fabric, revealing smooth skin. I grabbed my sleep shirt from under my pillow and slipped it over her head, letting it fall to her thighs. Seeing her in my clothes felt absolutely perfect. Right. Natural.
“Can you manage the rest?” I asked, my voice rough.
She nodded sleepily, fumbling with her pants.
I turned away, giving her privacy, which was ridiculous when I’d just had my hand shoved in there, getting her off. But right now, every instinct screamed to protect her and take care of her.
When I heard the rustle of sheets, I turned back.
Jemma was curled up in my bed, looking small and vulnerable. I tucked the covers around her, my fingers lingering on her shoulder.
“Sleep,” I murmured, fighting the urge to climb in beside her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, her breathing evened out. I stood there, watching her. She looked even younger with her guard down. Soft and vulnerable. No wonder she’d burrowed her way under my skin.
I turned, opened the door, stepped out onto the terrace, and closed the door behind me. The cool night air hit my face, a necessary slap I needed to clear my head. Instead of obsessing over my little punk, I’d better focus on what my father was up to—and with that Russian asshole, no less.
I moved to the outdoor fireplace, methodically stacked logs and kindling. The familiar motions helped calm my racing thoughts.
As the flames flickered to life, I found myself staring into the fire. I didn’t like to be surprised. It wasn’t something that happened often. But tonight, I got blindsided. Because I focused too much on Jemma?
Or was there something else going on I wasn’t seeing? My father would’ve never entered into a business relationship without gaining something significant.
What was it that bastard Zotov promised him? And what was Zotov’s agenda?
My eyes drifted to the hammock nearby. I’d spent countless nights out here when sleep eluded me when the weight of family obligations and business decisions was too heavy.
Tonight would likely be another one of those nights.
I settled into the hammock, and my mind turned to the uncomfortable conversations ahead. I shot Matt a text to come to the apartment first thing in the morning. Would he be furious if I ran off and left him to fend for me?
I sighed. I’d never put anything above the family business—until now.
He would probably be more pissed off about that than about the fact that I would marry Jemma instead of him.
Alex would probably want to have a say in that, as well, and Jemma’s father was another matter entirely.
Craig Donnelly was old school, set in his ways. He probably wouldn’t react too kindly to me changing the terms of our agreement. I’d have to tread carefully and find a way to smooth things over without weakening my position.
As I lay there, the warmth of the fire washing over me, I couldn’t shake the image of Jemma curled up in my bed. She looked so peaceful, so trusting. It made something twist in my chest—a feeling I wasn’t used to.
Possessiveness.
From here on out, she was mine. Only mine.
Mine to keep. Mine to protect. Mine to possess.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the practical matters at hand. Ivan Zotov. What was his plan?
“You’re still not ready to hear what I have to say.”
That’s what he said when he shadowed Jemma and me on our walk.
What was it I wasn’t ready to hear?
I sure was ready to listen now.
I shot a quick text to Hawk, asking him to establish contact between Zotov and me and act as an intermediary.
If things with Jemma were different, I would’ve probably asked Donnelly. But with things as they were, Hawk would be the best choice to facilitate a meeting between Zotov and me. Because there was no guarantee I wouldn’t break Zotov’s neck the next time I saw him if I met him alone.
I chuckled. Even a couple of months ago, I would’ve never asked for outside help for anything. I faced my problems alone, and I solved them alone. I’d never trusted anyone. Not even my own people—apart from Michele and Marco—since technically, they all still swore loyalty to my father.
When did I begin to rely on other people? Gabe, my brothers, the guys from Raptor Security?
Was it a weakness to rely on others?
Or was it just a necessary step to grow into a true leader, a man worthy to be the head of the Salvini family?
I was lost in thought when a soft movement caught my eye. There she was, my little punk, standing in the doorway. The sight of her took my breath away.
She wore nothing but my white T-shirt, which hung loosely on her small frame, dwarfing her. She had a blanket around her shoulders, which made her look even more frail.
She walked closer, then stopped in front of the fire.
In the firelight, the fabric of my tee seemed almost translucent, hinting at the curves beneath.
A sudden memory flashed into my mind—Jemma, fierce and determined, pointing a gun at Gabe and me when we broke into the Donnelly house to get Sophie back.
Holy shit.
How could I forget? She’d looked ethereal then, too. Was that when I first felt drawn to her? I pushed the thought away. I didn’t know her then; why would I’ve felt drawn to her? “What are you doing out here?” I asked, my voice more gruff than necessary.
“I can’t sleep,” she said, barely above a whisper, and turned to me.
I sighed, then studied her face, noting the vulnerability in her eyes I could make out in the flickering light. “What can I do to make it better?” I expected her to tell me to drive her home. My stomach tightened at the thought of letting her go.
She held my gaze for a long moment, then moved towards me. Without a word, she climbed into the hammock next to me and nestled against my side. “Just stay next to me,” she murmured.
And stole my breath.
Just stay next to me.
I never thought I would hear those words out of her mouth. Never thought those simple words would have such an impact on me either. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled the blanket over us both.
She cuddled closer and rested her head on my chest.
The scent of her hair filled my senses, and I found myself relaxing despite the turmoil of my thoughts.
She fit perfectly in my arms—as if she was made for me.
I froze. The realization both thrilled and terrified me. How strange that life had brought us together like this.
Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
I glanced down at her and watched as her breathing began to even out.
She nestled herself against me in the hammock like a little kitten, searching for even more contact.
The firelight danced across her short hair and face and softened her usually sharp features. She was a study in contrasts—fierce and vulnerable, strong and delicate. Utterly intoxicating.
Her earlier breakdown had caught me off guard. Jemma always presented such a tough exterior. Seeing her exhaustion, seeing her walls come down, even for a moment, felt like a rare gift. It made me want to protect her even more fiercely.
I tightened my arms around her, marveling at how perfectly she fit against me. Her steady breathing and the warmth of her body were lulling me into a peaceful state. My eyelids grew heavy as I breathed in her scent.
Just as I was about to drift off, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I tensed, instantly alert. I pulled it out carefully so as not to disturb Jemma.
The screen showed an unknown number, but somehow I had the feeling it was Zotov.
Carefully, I extricated myself from Jemma’s embrace and flopped out of the hammock while keeping it from rocking.
She stirred slightly but didn’t wake up. I tucked the blanket snugly around her and made sure she was as warm and comfortable as possible.
I added another log to the fire, watched the flames leap higher. This should keep her warm enough for a while.
With one last look at her peaceful form, I stepped inside to call back.
Hawk had come through quicker than I’d anticipated. And whatever Zotov wanted, it was time to lay the cards on the table.