Page 49 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Forty-One

Dimitri

Scarlett was a mess. Her head lolled against her shoulders, her unfocused gaze drifting somewhere beyond me. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, and I’d washed away every trace of blood. She was as clean as I could get her while keeping my wits about me.

I couldn’t look at her for too long.

Because the moment I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I wanted her. Badly. Painfully. Jaw clenched, I adjusted myself as I carried her into the bedroom.

“Pajamas,” I murmured, more to myself than to her. “You said they were in the nightstand?”

She hummed something incoherent, her body limp in my arms.

I didn’t buy it. No woman kept pajamas in a nightstand. But women were strange creatures, and Scarlett was the strangest of them all.

I pulled the drawer open slowly, half expecting something to jump out and bite me.

Instead, I nearly choked. Pajamas, all right.

Buried beneath four dildos, two vibrators, and what looked like soft play bondage.

Heat licked up my spine. The painfully hard boner I’d been sporting? Yeah. Now it was unbearable.

Scarlett’s head lolled toward me, her lips curling into a lazy, drugged-out smile and then she giggled.

“I keep pajamas in my closet too,” she mused, voice soft and syrupy. “But I thought this would be more fun.”

She wanted to play? Fine. I could play.

I reached into the drawer, taking my time as I pulled out each toy—slow, conscious movements, letting the air stretch between us. One by one, I laid them out beside her on the bed, watching the color creep up her neck, pink deepening into red, then something darker.

Her gaze flicked from the toys to me, her breathing unsteady.

I smirked.

“Do you think of me when you fuck yourself?” My voice was low and quiet.

She swallowed hard, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “Um.”

I leaned in, brushing my knuckles over her flushed cheek. “Two can play that game, Scarlett.”

My control was slipping.

I forced myself to focus, digging past the arsenal of toys until my fingers found something soft—black lace. The negligee was nearly transparent, delicate in a way that mocked the situation we were in. But it didn’t matter. I’d already seen everything. Right now, she just needed to be covered.

Her gaze never left me as I carefully slid the garment over her head, my movements slow and calculated.

She winced a few times, her body stiff with pain, but she didn’t fight me.

When the fabric finally settled around her, she sagged back against the bed, red hair fanning around her like something out of a painting.

I was so fucked.

I should have pulled out a button-down pajama set from her closet. Something that didn’t leave her soft curves exposed and didn’t cling to her like temptation itself. I was going to have to check her wound in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t do that with her bare pussy staring back at me.

Exhaling sharply, I dragged a hand down my face. This was all my fault. I should have let her have her little game and walked away. Instead, I was stuck here, painfully aware that there was no turning back.

Muttering a curse, I stalked into her massive walk-in closet and yanked open the top drawer. Desperate times. I rifled through the silks and lace until I found the most basic pair of panties buried at the bottom—plain cotton, something I could pretend didn’t make my life even harder.

When I returned to the bedroom, she was already asleep, snoring softly. I stared at her for a long beat, then sighed.

Yeah. This was going to be a long fucking night.

Grabbing her ankles, I expected her to stir and to mumble something snarky. She didn’t. So I carefully pulled the panties up her legs, adjusting them as best as I could before tugging the blankets over her.

I stepped back, rubbing the ache in my jaw. Her brows pinched together as she rolled over onto the opposite side of the bullet wound. I grabbed one of the towels and finished drying myself off, all while not taking my eyes off of her.

I’d planned to leave, I really had, but then she pouted and I was a goner.

I pulled my slacks over my legs and settled into the deep armchair in the sitting area on the other side of the room.

It had a magnificent view of the city, but that didn’t interest me.

It was the redhead softly smiling in her sleep that kept my focus.

I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees as I watched her.

“Scarlett,” I began. “I should have apologized to you a long time ago, and I know it doesn’t really count since you’re sleeping, but I can’t stay here all night without at least starting.

I’m so sorry. Your secrets should remain your secrets but damn it,” I raked my fingers through my hair.

“I just want to know why you get under my skin the way you do. I figured if I found you out, I wouldn’t have this pull to you like I do.

I wouldn’t feel so compelled to be near you every damn second of the day.

And you know what? That’s dangerous, for the both of us.

I can’t protect you.” My voice shook, and I leaned back.

“I failed to protect the first woman I loved, and if this keeps going the way it is—I could fail you too. I mean, look at you, with the bullet wound and all. This never should have happened.”

I let out a bitter chuckle, shaking my head. “You drive me insane, you know that?” My voice was barely a whisper, but the words felt heavy in the quiet room.

I found myself caught in her gravity and unable to escape. Scarlett Montrose wasn’t just a mystery—she was a damn addiction.

I leaned forward again, fingers laced together. “I should be anywhere but here. I should have let you deal with this mess on your own.” My lips pressed into a thin line. “But I can’t. And that’s the problem, Scarlett. I don’t want to leave.”

The confession sat between us.

I watched her for a long moment, memorizing the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks, the way her lips parted slightly as she sighed in her sleep.

So damn unaware of the war raging inside me.

I pushed to my feet, forcing myself to turn away. I’d let her rest, make sure she was okay, and then I’d walk away before this pull between us turned into something neither of us could survive.

Because if I failed her the way I failed before, I wouldn’t survive it either.

I stalked into her bathroom and began picking up.

I laughed to myself as I grabbed her ruined garments from the tile floor.

They left a streak of red as they left the ground.

There was a fireplace in what looked to be the library on the first floor.

I could burn these and get rid of another piece of her that could ruin us both. Was it the right call?

Yes.

I scooped up the rest of our things and began cleaning up the blood streaks when I saw the flash drives and the notebook.

There was nothing else on her when I was stripping her down.

I’d noticed when they’d fallen off her person.

I just knew her too well at this point to know that if I said anything, she would have run and hurt herself.

I crouched, my fingers hovering over the flash drives and the notebook. They obviously belonged to my father, and though I knew better than to snoop, I needed to know what she found.

I picked it up carefully, flipping it open. My eyes skimmed over the pages, my pulse hammering harder with every line I read. It wasn’t just notes. I recognized some of the names.

“Shit, Scarlett,” The words came out broken and hollow. She’d found something that was going to put a hit on her head. My father wouldn’t stop until he found out who she was, especially if he found out what she stole. But what was on the drives? Was this what we’d needed all along?

I tucked her ruined clothes under my arm and stole through her room quietly. A loud ring pierced the silence once I closed her door behind me. My plan was to let it ring, but it stopped. I pressed my ear against the door.

“Ello?” Scarlett’s groggy voice echoed around her room. “Was sleeping. Long night.”

I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation.

“Mmmmm, three flash drives and a notebook. Tell him we got it.”

Him? I frowned.

“Night, night, Ollie.”

More confused than ever before, I stalked back down the stairs and to the library on the first floor. The space seemed artificial. The rest of her home was lived in and had her character throughout it. A painting here, a sculpture there, but the library was just void of all personality.

Classics lined the shelves, and in the center of the room was a big oak desk.

There were two big comfortable chairs behind it, but they didn’t look like they’d been sat in.

Audrey would have a fit if she knew. She’d already managed to cover Alexei’s home in books and manuscripts.

From the first floor to the fourth, it was a collection of bright and interesting books.

These were old and drab. They’d never been touched.

On the mantle above the fireplace was a glass jar full of long matches. I tossed her clothes into the hearth and struck a match.

The flame flickered to life, dancing along the matchstick as I brought it to the pile of ruined fabric. The fire caught quickly, eating away at the bloodstained clothes, turning them to ash. One less thing for anyone to trace back to her.

But my mind wasn’t on the fire—it was on what I’d just heard.

I clenched my jaw as I watched the flames curl around the last remnants of what she’d been wearing, devouring the evidence, but not the questions clawing at the back of my mind. She was clearly working with Oliver, but what exactly did he do?