Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I’ll get you something,” I say. “There are extra robes around. I can go now.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” She loosens her fingers on the towel. “I don’t want a robe. I’d rather sleep naked.”
23
ROBIN
Cruz’s jaw drops.
Actually drops.
For one perfect second, the man who kidnapped me, guarded me, threatened me, helped me escape, and then walked me through a brothel forgets how to close his mouth.
The pink towel falls in a puddle around my feet.
He’s already seen me nearly naked, but not like this. Not with lamplight spilling over my skin. Not with clean sheets behind me and drops of water still clinging to me from the shower. Not with my hair damp around my shoulders and my body warm and bare and free of the disgusting grime from that cell.
I’m not vain enough to think beauty makes a woman safe, but I’m not stupid enough to pretend it isn’t power either. I’ve been looked at by men my entire adult life. Dismissed because of it. Underestimated because of it. Wanted because of it. Sometimes hated because of it.
I know what desire does to men.
It makes them careless when they’re usually careful.
And Cruz is careful.
Too careful.
That’s one of the reasons I need to do this.
No lie, I want him.
I hate that I want him, but I can’t deny my feelings. I want the weight of him against me again. I want his hands. His mouth.
But wanting him isn’t the whole reason. It might not even be the biggest reason.
The biggest reason is simple.
I need him close.
Cruz is the only thing standing between me and Vega’s men right now. He can dress it up as guilt or honor or some sudden moral resurrection, but I’m not naïve.
Men change their minds. Men get scared. Men will choose themselves when the bullets start flying.
If Cruz wants me badly enough, maybe he won’t.
If Cruz thinks I might choose him, maybe he’ll keep choosing me.
That’s how I survive. It’s how I survived in Romania, and it’s how I’ll survive now.
I know how to turn a man’s attention into armor. That’s not the problem.
The problem is that I’m not usually stupid enough to want the armor.
Cruz swallows.
I step away from the towel, toward him. “What?” I ask.
His jaw goes rigid. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
His eyes flash.
He knows exactly what.
“You don’t have to,” he says.
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Instead, I look at him. Catalog him. His shirt is rumpled with dried blood near one sleeve. His black hair is unruly, and his full lips are slightly parted. And his expression? Unreadable. Something between guilt, desire, and possibly fear.
God, what a mess.
A beautiful, dangerous, morally compromised mess.
It should repulse me.
It doesn’t.
“I know I don’t have to,” I say.
“Do you?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Cruz. I understand the concept of choice.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” I say. “You’re very interested in my defense for a man who helped lock me behind bars.”
Pain moves across his face. “You’re right,” he says. “I did.”
I wanted him to deny it. To excuse it. To tell me he had orders, that he had no choice, that he didn’t know Vega’s true plans.
I wanted him to give me something easy to hate.
Damn him.
I turn and walk to the bed before he can see too much on my face.
I sit on the edge and let the mattress dip beneath me. I stretch one leg out along the quilt and lean back on my hands.
Cruz doesn’t move.
I tilt my head. “Are you going to stand there all night?”
He locks his gaze on to mine. “Maybe.”
“Suit yourself.”
I shift on the bed, just enough for the lamplight to move across me.
He curls his hands into fists.
And I’m fucking thrilled.
It would be so easy to pretend this is all part of the plan. That I’m perfectly calm. That every breath I take is measured, every movement calculated.
But the truth is my pulse is racing. My skin feels too tight. I want him closer.
The last time we did this, after the belly dancing, was reckless.
This is different.
This is me making sure he doesn’t walk out that door and decide saving me is too expensive.
This is me keeping the ball in my court.
And if I happen to fall in love with him in the process?
Oh, well. I’ll get over it.
Damn him.
Damn him for making this complicated.
I raise my hand and crook one finger. “Come here.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says.
“I didn’t ask if it was a good idea.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I told you to come here.”
His mouth twitches. “Bossy.”
“You say that like you’re surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Then come here.”
Still, he hesitates. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He looks to the door, to the bathroom, to the towel on the floor, to my face.
“Robin,” he says.
I lean back farther, letting my hair slide over one shoulder. “Cruz.”
His nostrils flare. He takes one step. Then another. When he reaches the foot of the bed, he stops.