23. Chapter 23 #3
“It is, but I’ll give you another.” My thumbs moved absently against her sides. “She reminded me there are years of your life I know nothing about. I want those answers from you, when you choose to give them. I don’t want her version.”
“She was right that I went into the dungeon because I thought you were my only means of escape.”
“I know.”
“At first, you were an opportunity. You were valuable enough that powerful men would search for you, and strong enough that you might get through the compound if I kept you alive.”
“You don’t need to apologize for wanting to survive.”
“I was using you, though.”
“And I was using you.”
The remaining light disappeared, leaving the hollow completely dark and me unable to read her face.
“I needed water, information, and the key to my restraints,” I said. “I paid attention to every breath you took and every movement you made. I chose every word carefully, because if I frightened you—you might decide helping me wasn’t worth the risk.”
“You make that sound very calculating.”
“It was.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m telling you the truth because neither of us needs to make the circumstances we met under anything more than they were.”
Her fingertips drew patterns on my chest while she thought about that.
“What I wanted from you changed,” she said finally.
“Not all at once. But when you refused to trade those women for your life, I stopped thinking of you as only another prisoner Ciro had brought below. And when you let me put the cuffs back on you…” Her voice caught.
“You handed me your freedom because keeping me safe mattered more than holding on to it. After that, I couldn’t leave without you. ”
“I wasn’t letting you leave without me either.”
She settled a little more of her weight against me.
“I used every advantage I had because I wanted out,” I said. “Then you stopped being only the way out.”
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
“What if I don’t want to choose somewhere else?” she asked. “What if I want to stay with you?”
The image came too easily: Isabella in Manhattan, barefoot in my kitchen, books spread across my table, her hair covering my pillow while she rolled those pale eyes at something I said.
I wanted it so badly that it scared me.
She had been free for less than a couple of hours. Rafael was dead. Her entire life had collapsed in one afternoon, and I was the only future she could see clearly from the middle of it.
Every selfish part of me wanted to tell her she was already mine.
But I refused to use the worst day of her life to decide the rest of it for her.
“Then you stay,” I said. “For as long as it’s what you want.”
“But what does that make me?” she asked. “Someone you have to take care of now? An obligation?”
“No.”
“Because you promised Rafael—”
“No.” The answer came before she finished the question. “Rafael didn’t make me choose you. I chose you before he asked. He put honor behind the decision. He didn’t create it.”
Her breathing deepened between us.
“When you told Marcela I was yours to protect, what did you mean by yours?”
“No one owns you. But anyone who comes for you answers to me.”
“That sounds a little like ownership.”
“You can walk away from me once you’re safe. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t think I mind being yours in that way.” A hint of amusement warmed her voice.
She gave a small shiver as the night air cooled around us.
Then another.
That settled it.
I slid one hand from her waist to her shoulder and rolled us onto our sides, taking her with me until her back was tucked against my bare chest. I bent my lower arm and tucked my hand beneath my head, leaving the curve of my bicep beneath hers as a pillow, then wrapped my free arm around her waist and pulled her snug against me.
Every soft inch of her fit against me far too well.
Her back rested against my chest, her hips nestled into mine, and her hair tickled my skin. Beneath the blood, sweat, and mountain dirt, that faint orange-blossom scent was still there.
My body responded to her closeness immediately.
I hardened against the curve of her ass and eased my hips back. She was warm, beautiful, and tucked against me as if she belonged there. Couldn’t exactly blame my cock for noticing, but I wasn’t going to turn that into something else.
So I held her.
Wanting her was mine to deal with.
Isabella went still for a second.
Then instead of pulling away, she caught my free hand and drew my arm tighter around her waist. Her fingers threaded through mine before she pulled our joined hands up against her chest and held them there.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
“More than I probably should be.”
“Me too.”
Her breathing hitched a few minutes later, followed by a quiet sniff.
I tightened my arm around her.
“No one is taking you back to that compound,” I said against her hair. “Ciro is dead. Rafael got you out. Marcela is bleeding, and I’m getting you home. I can’t promise the rest of this mountain will be easy, but you’re not facing it alone.”
She hugged my hand more tightly against her chest.
“Cry if you need to, Mouse. No one’s getting through me to get to you.”
“Don’t let go.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Whatever daylight brought, I’d deal with it. For now, no one was taking my Mouse out of my arms.