Page 115 of Under Your Scars

“Hey. Don’t go there.Nothingabout what happened to you is your fault. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t fight back. You were scared and injured. The only people responsible for this are Frank and Neil.”

And me.

I take a deep breath. “Elena, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. The moment I found out about that car accident I was going insane trying to find you. I would have torn apart Meridian City brick by brick if that’s what it took.”

“How long did it take you to find me after I pressed the button?”

“Forty-nine minutes. I was at the scene of the accident when the alarm went off. I had to go home and get weapons, gear, anything and everything I could get my hands on. I came into that club ready for war. Every second after you pressed that button was fucking agony for me. I can’t imagine what it was like for you.”

She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her palm. “I’m sorry about your McLaren.”

“Fuck the McLaren. I couldn’t give less of a shit about that stupid car. All I cared about when I saw it was the fact thatyou weren’t in it.”

“How did you even know about it?”

“All of my cars have trackers on them. When one leaves the property, its location is tracked by my security team. Gavin said the GPS went dead and police were responding to a major accident in the area. I put two and two together.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Elena’s fingers tap nervously against the leather seat.

“Do you think I’m…dirtynow?”

My face twists, offended at the suggestion. “No. You’re not dirty. I can prove it if you’ll let me.”

Her eyes find mine with a curious gaze. I stand up and make my way to the bedroom in the back of the jet. Elena follows close on my heels and when we’re both in the room, I lock the door behind us. I lean against the thin door and put my hands in my pocket, pulling out my cigarette case and lighting one of them. Elena looks shocked.

“Are you nuts? You can’t smoke on a plane!”

“You can’t smoke on acommercialplane,” I point out. “This ismyplane. Now I need you to look into my eyes and tell me that you trust me.” She nods and I shake my head back. “I need to hear you say it.”

She gulps. “I trust you.”

I take a drag of my cigarette and lean my head back against the door. “I’m making you a promise that I won’t touch you, but I want you to take off everything except your panties.”

She doesn’t move, suddenly looking like a cornered rabbit waiting for escape. “You won’t touch me? No tricks?”

I shake my head. “Swear on my life.”

She hesitates. “Do you want a strip tease or something? Turn around.”

“No, angel. I want to watch.”

All the curiosity falls from her face, and her skin turns a shade lighter with nerves. “Please turn around.”

“You said you trusted me. Go as slow as you need to, but I’m not turning around.” I continue to slowly smoke, one hand holding the stick and the other tucked into my pocket.

She takes a deep breath and with unsteady hands, she hooks her fingers into her jeans and tugs them down her legs. Her shirt comes next.

She’s standing in her lacy bralette and panties, both a peachy pink shade. Her cheeks turn red, and I can see the exact moment she begins to reconsider this whole thing. I hold her stare and wait patiently to see what she does. If she tells me to fuck off, I will, but I don’t think that’s what she wants. She’s just nervous. Embarrassed. Shy.

Her shaky hands unhook the bralette from the back, and she pauses for a long time before letting it fall to the floor. Her arms fall slack at her side, and she watches me intently, like she’s waiting for me to become predatory at the sight of her body. But I don’t. She’s a beautiful woman and I love her body, but this isn’t about me and my desires. This is about making her feel wanted.

“Now what?”

“Now get on the bed and wait for me to finish this.” I wiggle the cigarette between my teeth. She frowns but lies down on the bed to wait for me. I finish the cigarette so slowly it’s agonizing for me, and infuriating for her.

I place the nub into the ashtray in the small bathroom, and then approach the bed. Her eyes stay glued to my hands like she expects me to break my promise. I kneel on the bed and then lean over her, propping myself up on an elbow. Her breathing becomes erratic.

“Relax, angel. Relax,” I coo. “I’m going to move around the bed, but I’m not going to touch you. I’ll get close, but I promise, I’ll keep my hands and mouth to myself.”