CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SYLVIE
Being speechless is a rarity for me. But of all the things I expected from Cash, his willingness to so easily relinquish his duties at Magie Noire was not one of them.
I hadn’t planned on saying that. It just flew out of me because my head was such a mess, and insecurities I didn’t even realize I’d nurtured were rearing their ugly heads.
Maybe nothing Cash does has been expected though.
Not after we got past the suave playboy facade, which was knee-weakening, but not appealing for entertaining anything beyond butterflies.
But between chasing me across the US, spoiling me with personalized gifts, and showing up no matter how fucked up my life is, my first impression was far off base.
And the fact that he hasn’t slept with anyone since we met still has me in shock. I had a hard time believing it when the girls alluded to it, but his indignation about me missing the weight of his confession shouts authenticity.
The thing that’s had me undone all day though was him calling me his priceless art last night. My father had referred to my mother in similar ways, and I always dreamed of finding someone who would view me like that. It makes this all the more terrifying.
A breeze escorting the signature fragrances of New Orleans—magnolia and moss, Creole and cypress—also ushers my challenge. “You’re just going to get rid of any issues I pose?”
“Yes.” He stares at me from about twenty feet away, illuminated by the sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds and the glimmering cityscape, framing his godlike physique—chiseled and golden and inked to perfection.
Cash really is beautiful. It’s not simply his good looks.
It’s in how he moves, like whatever he’s doing, he becomes it.
He swims like he belongs in the water. He struts like he rules the universe.
He smiles like he holds others’ fate and joy in his quick-moving hands.
No matter the game, he’s the guy with all the cards. It’s mesmerizing.
Based on how he wrecked my body with his mouth, I can only imagine how he’d destroy me with a single thrust.
But all these grand gestures have me yearning for outcomes that I shouldn’t.
Not only would being with him plummet me into a morally bankrupt lifestyle—I steal art and valuables, not lives—but I’m still not sure he understands what he’s getting into.
And I’ve lost so much. If I get attached here and lose him, I’m not sure I’ll ever find myself again.
“You’re going all in when you haven’t seen the hand?” In case my euphemism isn’t clear, I arch an eyebrow and tack on, “We haven’t even …”
He jumps back in the pool, swims beneath the surface, and springs up right between my legs, doing a sexy two-handed swipe over his face and hair to clear the water.
Every sculpted muscle flexes with the act, somehow transforming a method of gaining clearer vision into a lewd display.
“You think I can’t know what I feel here because I haven’t fucked you? ”
I shrug one shoulder, keeping my focus firmly on his handsome face. “What if we don’t … click?”
It’s a real concern for me. I don’t dare imagine how many people he’s slept with, and while I’ve had my fun, I wouldn’t profess to be any type of expert. Based on my history, I’m inclined to believe I might be lacking.
When I came out here with the intent of letting him have his way with me, moving past my spiraling funk was my primary motive.
But maybe I wanted to see if his desire for me had shifted because of my reaction to him killing those men.
I didn’t think it through enough though.
I wouldn’t consider myself fragile, but everyone reaches their breaking point eventually.
If he ditches me because I don’t measure up there, I’m certain I’ll crash out.
“Not possible. The sparks between us could burn down a forest.” He glides his wet palms over my thighs, his thumbs dusting back and forth in enticement and his dimple fully committed to goading me.
“And I’ve tasted your pussy, baby. I already know I’ll be addicted to being inside you. But I want more than that from you.”
“More,” I repeat, wishing I could embrace whatever that looks like to him, but snagging on another concern that dawned on me earlier. “Does Axel know what I’m stealing?”
“He has a hunch, but I don’t know the specifics.”
That could mean so many things, and it’s doubtful that any of them are good.
I’m already avoiding and lying to E. I texted him about last night instead of calling and told him everything went smoothly.
I should’ve informed him someone was there for me, but I don’t know how to do that without divulging Cash’s presence or his help with cleanup.
And if Axel has a stake in this game, I honestly can’t see how I make it to the other side unscathed.
I exhale and peer at the starless sky. “So, this just got more complicated.”
“Not for me.” He squeezes my leg for emphasis. “You are my priority. We’ll figure the rest out.” When I shake my head, he clutches my chin, his pruney fingertips forcing my face back to him. “This is all bullshit, and you know it. Next objection?”
It is bullshit. Cash treats me like a queen and says all the right things. I want to believe him. Letting my past paralyze me or holding him prisoner to his isn’t fair to either of us.
“I’m …” It takes a beat for me to find the words because this feels like defeat. “I’m scared.”
He drops his hand, stepping back a few inches. “Of this or of me?”
My heart cracks because he referred to his father as a monster, and I can’t bear him thinking that’s what I see in him, so I reach for his face, relishing his overgrown scruff scraping against my palm. “Even when I was upset last night, I wasn’t afraid of you. I meant … I’m scared to want this.”
Relief washes over him. “Well, so am I. We’ll be scared together.”
All the intrusive thoughts in my head gang up on me.
Trust issues and apprehensiveness about the lifestyle here.
But most are drowned out by my mother’s assertion that I loaded the gun when I stole the Stanley Cup, so being pissed when someone shoots it on my behalf is hypocritical because this is the only way to survive.
During a call earlier, I merely alluded to what occurred last night, but she caught on easily. And she had a point.
“So, you’ll be okay tied down, telling available women I’m your girlfriend, that I—”
“No. I will not be telling anyone you’re my girlfriend.
” A line between his brow etches his ire before he turns away, splashing his face with water while my stomach cramps with anxiety.
Five agonizing seconds later, he spins back with conviction and motions to the city.
“I will be telling everyone that you’re mine.
My person. My woman. My whole fucking world. ”
It’s a declaration I’m desperate for, but unable to clutch.
“That’s ambitious.” I bark out a wry laugh. “What if it doesn’t work out? You’re making promises you know nothing about. You’ve never done this. And I’m not in a place to risk everything and get hur—”
“You’re right. I can’t see the future, Sly.
” His arms fly out of the water, showering us both with chlorinated pellets.
“I know jack shit about relationships or commitment or whatever label we slap on what I’m trying to do with you here.
And I’ll probably fuck up. I will say stupid things.
I will get it wrong sometimes. I will piss you off by killing assholes who absolutely had it coming.
” He slants his head in what appears to be a dare.
I don’t bite. I’m too captivated by his unhinged rant.
“I might hold on too tight because the thought of losing you—like I could have last night—or even the thought of you being scared or sad makes me feel insane. You challenge me like no one ever has, but I challenge you right back. So, for those reasons and others, we’ll probably fight.
And maybe that will hurt. But I will never hurt you intentionally.
Yes, it’s a risk. I’d bet everything on us though. ”
He smacks his chest, as if there’s a physical pain he’s pointing to.
“You are all I want. I know this because I don’t usually feel shit.
I don’t let myself. And for months … you’ve had me …
” His hand migrates to his throat, mimicking his admission.
“It’s like fucking choking or drowning in my need for you.
I am fucking in this. I will do whatever it takes to show you I am in this, but I need you to be in this with me. ”
This larger-than-life man, who I once believed couldn’t take anything seriously, poured more passion into that response than I’ve ever witnessed from anyone—certainly regarding me.
The awe from being on the receiving end of his reverence balls up at the base of my throat. Again, I’m at a loss for words. “I don’t …”
He mistakes my being stupefied for rejecting him, pressing his fingers to his forehead and giving me his back. “Christ, Sylvie, I’m … I’m on edge tonight, baby. Just go to bed.”
I knot the T-shirt at my waist, select a playlist on my phone that his brother sent me, and slip into the water, submerging myself up to my shoulders before standing tall again. “I’m not going anywhere. What happened to one moment at a time?”
“I wanted to give you that, but—” He breaks off abruptly when he turns to find his white T-shirt clinging to my curves like a second skin and my nipples poking through, leaving little to the imagination.
“Fuck, you’re … you are stunning.” His fervent gaze lingers on my breasts until it dips down to my thin red thong, setting me on fire, even while I’m immersed in the cool water.
He flexes his fist, his voice gruff and menacing.
“I’m trying to take care of you, Sylv, but if you keep taunting me, I’m going to snap. ”
He has been taking care of me. Even when I questioned his methods, that much was apparent. But I crave the man who takes what he wants too.