16. Dave
16
Dave
T he warm steam from our recent shower is still swirling lazily in the air around us as I step away from the armchair.
“Don’t move. Be right back,” I promise her and dash into the bathroom for a washcloth.
I turn on the tap to dampen the soft fabric and go back. I wipe away the mess on Alexia’s perfect skin, rubbing her ass cheeks and hips.
“Thank you,” she whispers before taking the cloth from me and returning the favor, cleaning my cock.
I inhale sharply and chuckle, “We’d better not get carried away again. I bet you’re hungry.”
She hands me the washcloth, and I throw it in the hamper in the corner of the bedroom.
“Starving,” Alexia replies, glancing around. Her face turns red, and she covers her mouth with one hand. “Oh, shoot! Dave, I can’t go downstairs wearing the same dress I had yesterday.”
“Put it on and go to your room to change while I put on some clothes. We’ll meet in the hall and go down together.”
She smooches my lips, slips the dress on, and leaves. I watch her go until the door closes behind her with a loud click in the silence of the early morning. For a second, I just stand there, caught in the aftermath of the intimate moments that we shared since last night.
The bedroom is peaceful. So fucking peaceful that it almost feels unreal, like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. The high, vaulted ceiling makes the room feel open; the white wooden beams stretch above me like a sanctuary. I glance around at the muted tones of the walls, the luxurious bedding, and the clean lines of the furniture. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos that’s constantly lurking at the edges of my life, of Alexia’s life.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I run my fingers through my damp hair. I go into the walk-in closet and select a black pair of jeans and a black polo shirt. My heart is still racing, not only from the heat of having sex with Alexia, but from the weight of what I’m feeling. The realization has hit me like a fucking freight train.
I want her. Not just in my bed. Not just for a night. I want her in my life. I want her in a way that feels deeper than anything I’ve ever known. And it scares the hell out of me.
As I put the clothes on, I look out of the arched windows. I let my eyes drift over the sprawling landscape. The safehouse sits on the edge of the woods, isolated, protected. It’s supposed to be a fortress—a place where no one can get to her, where I can keep her safe from Igor. Now, I realize that bringing her here wasn’t just about that. It wasn’t just about keeping her safe.
It was about giving her a space to heal.
If I were to be honest with myself, it was also about creating an opportunity to win her back.
Her scars were never a part of my plan, though. I had no idea until I saw them. Now they haunt me with their reminder that I wasn’t there to protect her. I let her slip through my fingers once. Now I can’t shake the fear that once she’s truly safe, she’ll walk out of my life.
The thought makes my chest tighten, a cold knot forming in my gut. I won’t survive losing her again.
I turn my gaze away from the window, shifting to the bed. The rumpled sheets are evidence of the passion we shared last night. I run a hand over the back of my neck, trying to clear my head, but the thoughts keep coming, raging out of control like a fucking tornado.
What if she doesn’t want this? What if she doesn’t want me?
I’ve built this bubble for her where she can be free from the horrors of her past—but what if that’s not enough? What if safety, for her, means something different? Something I can’t give her? Something that involves walking away from me?
I clench my fists, trying to steady the emotions crashing through me. I’m not good at this. I’ve never been good at it. I can lead men into battle, I can run a fucking criminal empire, but when it comes to the woman I love—the woman I’ve always loved—I feel like I’m on unsteady ground.
Because if Alexia decides that freedom means leaving me, I don’t think I have the right to try to stop her.
The thought sends a wave of dread through me. I don’t want to be the reason she feels trapped. I don’t want to be the one who cages her after everything she’s been through. I also can’t bear the thought of losing her again.
Shaking my head to get rid of these thoughts, I slip my shoes on and step into the corridor. Alexia leaves her room down the corridor and our gazes meet.
I watch her approach as she adjusts her silk top on her shoulders. She keeps her eyes on mine. There’s a softness in her gaze, laced with something unreadable. I feel the ground slipping out from under me. I’ve spent my whole life in control, always knowing what my next move would be, always having a plan. But with her? There’s no plan. No strategy. Just hope.
And hope fucking terrifies me.
T he smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air as I guide Alexia down the wide wooden staircase, her hand lightly resting in mine. The quiet hum of the mansion surrounds us, a calm that feels foreign but necessary after everything we’ve been through. For now, this is our sanctuary, a world apart from the danger waiting just outside these walls.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, the sound of excited voices floats through the hall. It isn’t coming from the kitchen. Curious, I follow the sound, leading Alexia toward the sunroom—a bright, airy space at the far end of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let the sunlight flood in, painting the room in golden hues.
Inside, Rose and Pete are already seated at the round wrought-iron table, their small hands clutching cups of chocolate milk as they eagerly wait for breakfast. Fran is bustling about, placing plates of fresh fruit and waffles onto the table, while Nadya sits nearby, sipping her coffee with a soft smile. Judy, one of the newer members of the house staff, hovers close by, setting down a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice with care.
“Morning, boss,” Fran greets, glancing over her shoulder at me with a knowing smile. “The kids insisted on having breakfast in the sunroom today. They said it’s too pretty not to use.”
I raise an eyebrow at that and glance at Alexia beside me. The sunroom serves as a retreat for quiet moments, not a place for meals, but I can’t deny the appeal. The sunlight streaming through the arched windows, the view of the sprawling garden just beyond—it feels peaceful. And peaceful is a rare commodity we can use right now.
“More work for you, Fran,” I start, my voice cautious. “We could have just eaten in the dining room.”
Fran waves away my concern, already reaching for the coffee pot. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m delighted to do it. Besides, I’ve got Judy to help.” She shoots a warm smile at Judy. The younger woman blushes and tucks a stray strand of black hair that has escaped the tight bun on her nape.
“No trouble at all, Mr. Boyle,” Judy adds softly as she places a basket of warm croissants on the table.
Alexia squeezes my arm, her eyes drifting toward Rose, who beams up at her mother from her seat. The sight of Rose’s pure, unrestrained joy eases the tension in my chest. It’s heartwarming to see her so carefree, simply being a child.
“All right,” I relent, my voice softer. “The sunroom it is.”
Alexia takes the seat next to Rose, her hand automatically brushing a lock of blonde hair from her daughter’s face as she settles in. I sit beside Alexia, my knee brushing against hers as I reach for my coffee. That small touch—a fleeting brush of skin—sends a high-voltage current through me, though I try to ignore it.
“Mama, look!” Rose squeals, her emerald eyes shining with excitement as they sweep the place. “We’re having breakfast in the sunroom! Isn’t it pretty?”
Alexia smiles, her expression soft and maternal. “It is, moy zaychik,” she replies, her voice warm and loving. “It’s very beautiful.”
Across from Rose, Nadya is pouring syrup over Pete’s waffles. The little boy laughs as the golden liquid overflows and pools around his plate.
Nadya shakes her head in feigned seriousness. “Pete loves his waffles drowned in syrup.”
Pete grins, clearly undeterred. “But that’s the best way to eat them, right, Rose?”
Rose giggles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! Lots of syrup!” She leans toward Nadya, eyes wide and earnest. “Nadya, do you think we’ll see butterflies in the garden today? Pete says they’re his friends!”
Nadya guffaws, reaching to ruffle Rose’s hair. “With friends like Pete, I’d bet on it.”
Standing opposite me while holding a jar of orange juice, Fran chuckles. Her gaze has turned even softer as she watches the kids interact. “These two are a pair of troublemakers, I swear.” She sets the jar on the table before retreating to the kitchen, with a wide grin still on her lips.
As the kids dig into their breakfast, the mood in the room becomes more relaxed. Alexia’s shoulders loosen up, the usual tension lifting from her posture. She isn’t constantly flinching at every sound. For the first time since I rescued her four days ago, she looks totally at ease.
I take a sip of my coffee, the rich bitterness grounding me as I watch her. The sunlight catches in her hair, making it glow like a halo. The cliché fits her to perfection, though, with her delicate features and the gentleness in her expression. I haven’t seen that in too long, and it stirs something deep inside me. I’ve spent years burying my emotions, locking them away behind walls of indifference and cold calculation. But now, sitting here with Alexia and Rose, those walls feel like they’re crumbling, piece by piece.
I can’t help but let my gaze wander, tracing the soft curves of her face, the way her fingers cradle the mug of piping hot latte, the faint laugh lines around her eyes that still charm me. Memories of the past flood my mind. Before everything went to hell. I’ve been good at pretending I’ve moved on. But in moments like this, with her just inches away from me, it’s hard to deny the pull toward her that has never really died.
“You seem more comfortable this morning,” I murmur, careful not to push too hard. I don’t want to break the fragile peace we’ve found.
Alexia glances at me, her hazel eyes still guarded. “I think…” She hesitates, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug. “I feel… safer here.”
Safer. Not safe. It’s a small difference, but it hits me hard. She doesn’t feel completely secure with me. Not with everything Igor has done. And I can’t blame her for that. But I will change it. I have to.
The kids’ laughter fills the air, but my attention is focused solely on Alexia. She’s letting her guard down, just a little, and that’s a victory. A small one, but it’s a start. Physical protection is one thing. Emotional security—that’s a different battle entirely.
“Rose seems happy,” I say, my voice low, testing the waters.
Alexia’s lips curve into a soft smile as she looks over at her daughter. Rose is chattering away, her voice full of excitement as she tells Pete about the adventures they’ll have after breakfast. “She is,” Alexia murmurs. “She doesn’t feel like she has to look over her shoulder all the time.”
I nod, understanding the weight behind her words. Rose has been through too much. She’s been forced to grow up too fast, to be aware of dangers no child should have to face. But here, in this sun-drenched room, surrounded by people who care about her, she can just be a kid again.
And that’s what Alexia wants more than anything—for Rose to be safe, to be happy. I am aware of that.
As the conversation flows around us, I let my mind drift to what comes next. The safehouse is well-guarded, the security measures in place are solid, but I can’t afford to become complacent. I need to strengthen the perimeter, bring in more guards, upgrade the technology. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this place impenetrable, to make sure no one—not even Igor—can get close to them.
However, Alexia needs to feel safe in more than just a physical sense. She needs emotional security, a sense of stability. And that’s going to take time. And trust.
I glance at her again, watching as she wipes a crumb from Rose’s cheek with her thumb, the tenderness in her movements undeniable. She’s a good mother. Fiercely protective, even though she’s scared herself. And that stirs something in me. Something deeper than just the desire to protect her, to protect them both.
I take another sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through me as I consider my next steps. There’s one card I haven’t played yet. I want to keep that card close to my chest for now. It’ll be a surprise. Something to show Alexia that I’m thinking ahead, that I’m anticipating her needs before she even voices them.
As the kids begin to grow restless, Nadya stands and motions for them to follow her. “Come on, you two rascals. Let’s explore the garden before it gets too hot.”
Rose’s face lights up at the mention of the garden, and she quickly jumps out of her chair, her excitement contagious. “Can we go see the flowers, Mama?”
Alexia smiles, nodding. “Of course, bunny. Go have fun.”
Rose bounces on her heels, eager to play. “Let’s go, Pete! We have to find those butterflies for our adventure!” She glances back at Alexia with a grin. “Mama, we’ll find the biggest one just for you!”
Pete is already halfway to the door, and Rose hurries after him, her laughter trailing behind her. Nadya follows at a more leisurely pace, casting a knowing glance at me before disappearing out the door.
Rose rushes back in to give Alexia a quick hug while flashing me a proud grin. “Mama, Dave, don’t worry! We’ll protect the garden from all the grumpy bugs!”
Alexia laughs softly, a faint sparkle in her eyes as she smooths Rose’s hair. “You’re the bravest bug-buster I know.”
Rose darts out of the sunroom, and as her laughter fades down, the room feels quieter, more intimate. Alexia’s eyes follow her daughter until she’s out of sight, her expression softening. But I can see the tension creeping back into her posture, her shoulders stiffening once more.
“You don’t have to worry,” I say quietly, reaching out to rest my hand over hers, brushing her knuckles with a thumb. “I’ve got top-notch security here. Rose is safe.”
Alexia looks down at our hands for a long moment before meeting my gaze. “I know,” she says, placing her other hand over mine. Her voice trembles slightly when she adds, “It’s just hard not to worry.”
I squeeze her hand gently before leaning until my nose is a breath away from hers. “I get it. That’s conditioned behavior stemming from the horrors you’ve experienced. Believe me, I understand,” I say, my voice low and steady. “But I promise you. No one’s going to hurt her or you. Not here.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged with everything we haven’t said. She doesn’t have to trust me completely yet. But she will. I’ll make sure of it.
I press a brief, searing kiss to her lips because I can’t help myself. Then, I sit up again and take another sip of coffee. I offer her a reassuring smile. “I’ve got to work at the study for a while.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, drinking from her mug but keeping her gaze trained on my face.
We both know this isn’t over. The world outside is still waiting, with all its dangers and threats. But for now, in this sunlit room, we’re in this together.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone take that away from us.