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Ares
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mygood girllooks around the apartment curiously, while I, in turn, observe her.
The property I chose for her, one floor below mine, is about five hundred square meters. I have already arranged, just as Serenity did in Louisiana, and as I had ordered Elmer to do in the other property that I had previously chosen for her to live in, that a studio be installed so that she can practice her beloved ballet at home.
The duplex has four bedrooms, but now, watching Serenity's small figure move through each room, it seems too big for a young woman in her twenties and living alone.
She hasn’t brought up the subject of JeAnne's withdrawal from coming to New York, which makes me think my ward is a contradiction. Young and inexperienced, but on the other hand, she seems to have learned to keep her emotions to herself.
Not all of them, a demonic voice says, invading my thoughts.
On the plane, when we were in the suite, she told me what she was feeling. If it weren't for Hades, I probably would havechased her into the small bathroom and tasted that delicious mouth.
Hell, I need to get out of here.
I'm about to tell her this when she asks, "Could you unpack my bags with me?" There is no impertinence in her tone, only insecurity.
"Why?"
"Never mind."
I walk to where she is, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t. "Answer me," I command, holding her chin and forcing her to look at me.
"I'm not going to give you a reason to think I'm a brat."
"I haven't labeled you yet. I haven't decided whether you're a girl or a woman. Now, tell me the reason for this strange request."
"What if they put another animal in my luggage? Another scorpion, or perhaps a snake?"
From what little I know of Serenity, she doesn't feel comfortable showing such a vulnerable side of herself. She forces herself to be strong.
Anyone her age who had been stung by a potentially lethal scorpion would have panicked. She handled the situation well. Of course, I noticed that she felt afraid, but it was a controlled fear.
Something about this “obligation to be strong” with which she acts is moving. Like an innocent angel trying to face the world.
Without giving it a second thought, I pull her into my arms.
I don't know what her reaction will be. Serenity is unpredictable. She never says what I think she will; she doesn't flinch when I push her buttons.
Not long ago, on the plane, she was challenging me, teasing me, but to prove once again that she was right, that I can'tpredict her movements, she puts her delicate arms around my back, increasing the proximity.
A controlled hug—that's what I try to give her.
Comfort. Protection.
I swear to God, there wasn't even a dirty thought in my mind when I initiated the hug.
The problem is that there is an overwhelming fucking chemistry between us, as if the girl's body emits some kind of seductive hormone that stokes my hunger and need.
We both feel the change when our bodies stiffen as we tighten our embrace.
We don't move apart, however, and only the sound of heavy breathing fills the room.
I've touched her a few times, but right now, I feel completely connected to her. I realize that this feeling could become addictive in just a few seconds.
I slide my hand, which was flat on her back, to her waist. Serenity is so small that I can reach her hips, too. The other hand, which I kept at the back of her head, tangles in the mass of brown hair, soft as strands of silk.