Page 172 of Love Me in the Dark

It’s like I know her, like she’s invaded my dreams.

Fuck, even a stint in a cushy prison can screw a man up. She’s a pretty girl, nothing more and I need to do my job, wash my hands of both her father and the asshole she’s marrying, the asshole whose track record with women isn’t?—

I clench the handle of the pot.

Any of my business.

I lean against the counter next to the stove. “My stories aren’t for innocent ears.”

“I’m not innocent.” Hellena—Hellie—frowns in a way that tells me precisely how innocent she is.

“Yeah, you are.”

She gets up and goes to the fridge. She pulls out a bottle of white wine, studies the label a moment, then twists off the cap. “Glasses?” she asks.

Silently, I open a cabinet and hand her two glasses. She fill them and hands one to me.

The organization that owns this place is one I’ve done work for. It’s faceless—to me, nameless and powerful and I’m trusted enough to use some of their safehouses.

I don’t think I need one to get her to Dowd. But my diligence and making sure all possibilities are taken into consideration are one reason mafia like using me.

My one reason for them to use me…the situation that got me into the mess, into prison, into the here and now and having favors owed me…well, that situation is dead.

Hellie takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving my face. “I’m not innocent.”

“Not talking about your virginity or lack thereof, kid.”

“Kid?” She huffs. “You’re what? A few years older than me? And I’m not a virgin.”

“You might not be a virgin but you’re still fucking innocent. As for age? In experience, in darkness, I’m decades older than you.”

Hellie laughs and places her hand on my chest. It’s a deliberate move and it works because every nerve ending wakes and my cock stirs. She’s close, too close, and it’s been too long.

Another fucking lie.

A lack of sex due to time behind bars has nothing to do with my physical reaction to her hand. It’s her. The lonely little girl, the fire of her, the lust for life that wants freedom. Everything I heard today screams it.

She wants to fight against her fate, she wants a taste of something that I want to give, a taste before she’s locked up by another man.

It’s not my place.

Not my fight.

Not my anything.

So I squash it dead.

“I was in prison, Hellie.” I put down the wine and scoop the soup into a bowl in front of her. “I did things for your father, your future husband, others. I’ve killed. Lied. Betrayed. So trust me when I say I’m decades beyond you, and I’m also not your salvation. Eat up and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then I turn and walk away from Hellie even though every last cell in my body is on fire with pent-up lust and need to strip that sweet innocence from her.

5

HELLIE

We’re in Ohio. It’s been another day of driving, another day closer to sealing my fate. The time is filled with the dark, warm clove and bergamot scent of him, one that lingers and weaves spells.

It’s a hint in the closed air of the car, the thickening of awareness that seems to be building between us. That, or it’s the desperation and unanswered questions about my soon-to-be husband.