Page 96 of Relentless Sinner
It was nice to feel important in that way. Now the day is over and reality has snuck in like the first drop of rain before a storm.
Apart from our driver, Jaxon and I are on our own now. We’re in the back seat of a Rolls Royce, heading home.
I’ve been hyper aware of Jaxon’s presence. A lump formed in my throat the moment he slid in next to me and all my senses went into overdrive. Suddenly he seemed so colossal with those wide shoulders and his muscular body that he took up all the space around us.
Taking slow, shallow breaths and inhaling the crisp night air through the half-open window has been the only thing to steady my mind.
As the car speeds down the road I stare at the shadowy landscape blending in with the night and my thoughts switch back to what we’ll do when we reach home. I know we won’t be going to bed—as in sleeping.
I’ve been thinking about this part of the night since Jaxon left for Italy. Today, as the time drew closer to its end, it played on my mind like an infomercial stuck on repeat.
My end of the deal is to comply with whatever he wants. Just thinking that word—comply—in regard to sex twists my stomach and makes me feel like some kind of whore.
Especially when I know that whatever I do with Jaxon tonight will confuse my emotions and conflict my heart even more than it already is.
Some people claim to be able to switch off their emotions and completely shut down so they can act like they never existed. I need to do that.
Given the angst-filled life I had with my father, Ishouldbe able to switch off effortlessly. Natasha and I automatically shut down the entire time we lived with Dad.
How else did we manage to deal with his constant abuse and abrasive personality? I know this situation is different because Jaxon is myhusband,but I have to find a way.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to pounce on you in here,” Jaxon says, his voice sounding so wispy it could be a thought in my head. “Unless you want me to.”
My nerves tingle but I look across at him, finding he’s already staring at me with those unforgiving sharp blue eyes. His stare probes into me like a pole with a spike on the tip, and I actually feel it pressing into my heart.
Realizing he’s waiting for an answer, I gather my senses and think of a response. “No. I’m fine, thank you.”
The quiver of a smile tips his lips. “Maybe I will, whether you want me to or not. You seemed to enjoy my last compulsive decision.”
“Threatening me with my sister’s life was hardly enjoyable.”
He raises a brow and sharpens his stare. “I wasn’t talking about that.Thatwasn’t me being compulsive. That was me dealing with a situationyoucreated when you tried to screw me over. Be grateful I was so forgiving. I’ve killed for less.”
A shudder slithers down my spine and wriggles into my stomach. Just when I try to forget how dangerous this man is, he gives me a reminder that throws me off kilter and completely out of sync.
“How am I supposed to be grateful when I don’t know what you’ll do with my secret?”
“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.” He hits me with a knowing smile and I realize he must know trusting him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
“You think it’s that easy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m supposed to just trust you because you say so?”
“Yes.” He drops his voice lower. “If your sister wasn’t safe you’d know about it by now. Especially after seeing your father today. He wouldn’t have even come to the wedding.”
My heart beats a little faster, grateful for some hope to hold on to. Despite making those assumptions myself about Natasha’s safety, it still feels reassuring to hear him say it.
As I stare at him I try to look past the mafia boss and pray he has a heart. And that he won’t change his mind.
Maybe I’m desperate to find some good in him. Maybe part of me wants to believe he isn’t like my father or as vile as the dark and dangerous men in my world. Maybe I just want him to be different for me.
Dare I hope?
I’m about to look away and cast my thoughts off as foolishness when he reaches out and cups my face. His fingers slide over my cheek and he presses into my skin, then his gaze darkens with a mixture of heat and desire.
He leans closer and mutters something in Russian I don’t understand. As he speaks I know he knows I don’t have a clue about any of it.