Chapter 12
Donatello
What in God’s name was the woman doing?
Driving me absolutely crazy.
Maybe the better question of the evening was why had I already tossed out every bit of protocol, every nuance of training?
The answer was easy, far too much so.
Because of her.
One beautiful creature who refused to allow my presence to bother her in any way. Other than physically.
As we walked along the street returning to the house she’d rented, she was not only noticed by every male who walked by, there were a half dozen brazen enough to dare flirt with her, even though I was standing right by her side.
When another asshole approached, this time offering a white rose, my involuntary behavior shocked the hell out of me.
I growled along with almost ripping the flower from his hand.
While sighing, she said nothing, but I could tell she was apologizing with her body movements. With the unblemished flower in her hand, she waited until the guy with one too many earrings walked away before spinning on her heel to face me.
“What is wrong with you?” Her demand was met with a toss of her head.
“Nothing is wrong with me.”
“Then why did you act as if you were going to beat that poor guy to death?”
“I didn’t like the look of him.” The half-truth obviously didn’t sit well with her. She decided to annoy me given my false answer, bringing the rose to her nose and taking a deep whiff.
When I’d purchased three dozen for her birthday. Well, fuck. Jealousy didn’t look good on me, especially since the jerk who’d offered the flower couldn’t have been more than twenty-four tops.
And me? I was an old guy, at least likely according to my dinner companion.
“You can’t simply set a target based on how they look. That’s called profiling.”
“I can do what I want to keep you protected.” Wow. Now I sounded like an impetuous five-year-old. “Remember that danger comes in all shapes and sizes, ages as well.”
She settled in beside me, nodding as she did.
I could tell by the faraway look in her eyes a memory had surfaced.
“I know you’re right. When Daddy died, I think it was truly the first time I had to face the truth about my family.
At least a hard truth. Up until then, I obviously pretended to live in a fairytale.
I know you must think me reckless for coming here, but unless I break free of certain familial chains, I’ll never manage to enjoy my life.
Sometimes I just need to think and regroup. You know?”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing to find your own space, Emmeline. You just need to temper how you handle the decisions you make.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” She chuckled, taking another whiff of the rose as she did. I would crush the flower as soon as I had the chance. “How did you enjoy your dinner?”
“The stew was okay.” I’d hoped for a thick steak. She’d convinced me otherwise.
“Moqueca, a local seafood delicacy. You don’t get out much. Do you?”
“I’m not Brazilian.”
“No, but you’re Italian. Didn’t you grow up in Sicily?”
“For the most part.”
“Then what happened?”
She’d never asked me anything about my family, including when my brother died of an overdose. Maybe because up until now, we’d had little more than fractured conversations, bouts of banter instead of discussions. “Then my parents were taken away from me and my brother.”
Baptiste Prince knew the details of the story, but even Jaxon only knew the abridged version. The tragedy was difficult to think about even now.
She stopped walking, turning toward me. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine. I know I’ve lived a sheltered life and I’m complaining.”
“You’re not complaining. You’re like a spectacular white bird in a locked gilded cage with a voice belonging to the angels. The sound always mournful yet beautiful. An incredible little creature drawing attention for her angelic voice until one day, she can no longer sing.”
“Maybe you do understand.”
We arrived at the base of the curved stairs where she was staying.
I could still hear music from some unknown source and in the various lights of the surrounding homes, she was illuminated, a dazzling shimmer of opalescence keeping my attention.
She started to walk up the stairs, realizing a few seconds later I wasn’t following.
“Why aren’t you coming with me?”
Her question was complicated in ways she couldn’t understand. “I’m going to keep watch outside for a couple hours.”
Emmeline slowly walked down the stairs, holding out her hand. “Don’t do that. Come with me inside. It’s still my birthday and we need to have cake.”
Cake.
I looked away, trying to break the connection I felt with her. No matter the choice I made tonight or during the time spent with the mafia princess, I could feel in my bones that I would end up going to hell for the way I felt about her.
As a woman, she was seductive, alluring in every move she made, every brush of her long fingers through her hair. Even her voice was a clear indication of the level of passion she held in the darkest recesses of her mind. Some might consider her vulnerable or even soft.
I knew better.
As a warrior, she was more than simply formidable or highly trained. She held the kind of manipulative abilities that could bring an emperor to his knees, taking his entire kingdom before he knew what was occurring.
She also had certain characteristics I carried. She refused to take no for an answer.
That’s why when she jutted out her arm again, the action was followed by the kind of look an elementary school teacher would give her naughtiest student.
Against my better judgment, I took her hand, allowing her to lead me inside. When my first instinct was to search the premises, she shook her head.
“Don’t ruin the rest of the night.” She flicked on a light, backing away with purposeful steps.
While still studying me with a wry smile on her face, she tugged off her stunning high heels that had made her calves as mouthwatering as the rest of her.
Tossing them aside with her usual flair, she continued backing toward the kitchen, disappearing into the room.
Meanwhile, I removed my jacket, tossing it across the back of the couch.
As I unfastened my sleeves, rolling them over my elbows, I concentrated on the outline of her shoes.
Maybe I was using the technique to calm myself.
After the cold-blooded murder of my parents, I’d been forced to find something to calm both my fear and my anger.
Of all the shrinks I’d been forced to endure, only one had provided a helpful suggestion. Stare at an inanimate object and take deep breaths while allowing the round of emotions to fade. The activity was meant to be used with rage, so I didn’t rip apart some unsuspecting human with my bare hands.
Tonight, the safeguard was being used for an entirely different reason. This time the hope was to squelch the increasing longing to violate every inch of her luscious body.
I longed to use the same hands others were terrified of to control her. To stroke her.
To possess her.
With both shaking, I held my hands up into the light, staring at the scars on my palms from harsh punishment received so long again. The inflictions had left rough patches of skin, completely unsuitable to caress something so beautiful.
Sighing, I fisted my hands, surprised to hear her hum.
I moved silently toward the door, settling against the doorjamb, watching her as she placed several candles into the cake.
The fact there was already a slender piece missing was somehow appropriate to the moment. This wasn’t normal by any reasoning.
From somewhere, she’d found matches, striking the small carton and staring at the flame in her hand for several seconds. With the matchstick still in her fingers, she lifted her gaze toward me. Her expression was unreadable, but I sensed she was daring me to protect her against the flame.
As the bright orange fire drifted closer to her hands, the strange tug of war between us continued. But she won, my advance taking less than two seconds.
Yet by then, she’d already lit one of the candles, snuffing out the flame with her fingers before using the single candle to light the others.
She’d been testing me and I’d failed. The reason was clear. My honor was all I had left. However, the need to protect went far beyond the order given. We both knew it.
As she stared at the flickering tiny flames, I could see a strangled volley of emotions in her wide eyes. Annoyance and anger, sadness drifting into despair. Loneliness. Every emotion possible with the exception of one.
Joy.
“Happy birthday to me,” she sang quietly, the words barely audible. She’d already grabbed two small plates and a knife. As she lifted the cutting implement into her hand, the sharp blade was illuminated by the light over the table.
She wavered, staring into the flames for a few seconds before leaning over. With the knife still in her hand, she held her hair away and with a single puff, blew out the candles.
Now an expression of disappointment replaced all other emotions.
The lady was as complicated as she was beautiful.
As she stared at what I could tell was the razor-sharp edge, she twisted it back and forth.
Her odd behavior had me taking a few steps closer.
Sensing my presence, she lifted the knife, pointing the blade in my direction. Seconds ticked by and after I refused to drop my gaze, she finally did with hers, studying the ink on my one arm.
When she finally eased the implement into the cake, she chuckled. “You appeared worried about me but not about yourself.”
I didn’t validate her dangerous little game at first, doing nothing more than watching as she cut two slices, gingerly placing them on the plates. Her eyes flitted in my direction while rubbing her finger down the edge, gathering icing.