Chapter 42

I can’t help it.

I melt and nuzzle more warmly against Christian. I ignore everything, forcing all the thoughts of how this could result in disaster, how this could ruin our friendship, how he’s not even awake, out of my mind.

And instead I let myself indulge, even for the briefest moment, in the fantasy that Christian has his arms wrapped around me because…because he wants me. Because I’m his, and he’s mine, and this is our bed, and we wake up like this every day.

God, something about that idea fills me with warmth, curling around me like a cat, insistent and purring.

Christian murmurs something indistinct, his arms tightening around me again, and I turn my head half into him, wanting to hear, wanting to be close.

His words are half from a dream. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling me flush against his chest, his hips moving forward, grinding himself slow against me like he wants me, even in his sleep.

I bite my lip, knowing I should wake him, knowing –

I go completely still at the sound of the door opening.

“Boss!” It’s Frankie’s voice, frantic. “She’s not in her room – she’s –“

Christian sits up in a split second, pulled from sleep roughly by panic. I turn, anxious, to look up at his face and am shocked by how alert he is already – this, too, must be something he learned in his years in a mafia house.

“What?” Christian snaps, forcing himself back to consciousness.

“Iris! She’s…” but Frankie’s mouth forms into a shocked, silent little “o” as he takes a better look at the room, sees the lump of me beneath the covers, close at Christian’s side.

Christian blinks at Frankie for a second, putting things together, and then he looks down at me just laying in his bed, peering up at him, not knowing what to do.

“Okay, sorry!” Frankie calls, his voice light and sing-song from the doorway. “I, um, didn’t know! I didn’t mean to interrupt! I’m sorry!” I sit up halfway, watching him as he turns out of the room, starting to take the door with him.

“Frank!” Christian barks, making him pause. Then Christian scowls at me one more time, like this is my fault, before whipping the duvet off and turning away to put his feet on the floor. “Stop freaking out, nothing happened.”

Frankie does indeed pause in the doorway, as told, but he does nothing but raise his eyebrows, carefully keeping any and all opinions off of his face.

Christian sighs once, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “Get Nico up,” he snaps, standing and turning towards the bathroom. I don’t miss, at all, that Christian stands and turns in such a way that he angles his hips – and the clear bulge in his pajama pants – away from the bedroom door so that Frankie can’t see it. “Have him get the car ready. We’re heading out.”

“We are?” Frankie asks, confused.

“We are,” Christian calls over his shoulder as he disappears into the bathroom. “You’re staying with Iris.” The bathroom door slams shut. Frankie and I are silent for a long moment.

“Soooo…” Frankie’s voice is cool and desperately pleased. I turn my head to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. A wicked smile plays on his lips. “Nothing…happened?”

“No, Frankie,” I sigh, starting to sit up. “Nothing happened.” When I, too, push the duvet off of me Frankie gives a shriek, covering his eyes.

“Iris! I can’t see you naked – the sight will blind me – and if it doesn’t, Christian will!”

“You asshole,” I growl, crossing the room and grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand down from his eyes. He grins at me and then quickly looks me over, taking in the pajama pants and t-shirt I borrowed from Christian last night mid-movie-marathon instead of going back to my room for my own set.

“Soooo,” he says, grinning again, a little surprise in it this time. “Nothing really happened?”

“No,” I sigh, half frustration half…well. I won’t let myself acknowledge the disappointment there. “I was upset, he put on some old movies we used to love, we drank a lot of wine and ate Chinese.”

“Sounds like a date,” Frankie quips, his grin deepening.

“Sounds like two old friends comforting each other after a long day,” I return, glaring a little as I move past him into the living room, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

“Wish I had an old friend who was a hot stripper who would drink wine in bed with me and give me comfort –“

“I bet you do!” I call over my shoulder, heading into the kitchen to start the coffee. “Don’t you have a job to do, Frank?”

“Hmm?” he says, peering after me into the kitchen, and then he stands up straight, looking down the hall to where the other bedrooms are. “Oh, yeah.”

“How you made it to a number-two position in the Mafia King’s personal bodyguard,” I murmur, shaking my head but smiling anyway, “I will never know.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen my very particular set of skills yet, Bambi,” Frankie says. And when I turn to him, surprised, he just gives me a wink. “Will you warm a muffin for me?” he calls, grinning and heading off down the hall.

I assure him that I will and quickly flick the oven on, thinking that it’s not a bad idea. But all the while, my mind turns to the master bedroom, and the shower that I can vaguely hear running in there.

And the thoughts that must be running through Christian’s head.

Because…what does he make of all this?

And what would have happened if Frankie hadn’t barged in, worried that I was gone?

Christian groans, panting a little, one hand still wrapped around his hard cock, and the other bracing himself against the tiled wall. The last shudders of his orgasm pulse through him, making his shoulders twitch, his ass tighten as the steaming water pulses all around him.

God, fuck, but it had taken about thirty seconds for him to cum – an embarrassing timeline, even if he hadn’t…well. Even if he hadn’t jerked off or fucked anyone in a few days.

But it had been her, the vague, half-dream memory of her ass pressed tight against him in his bed. He didn’t even know if he’d been asleep or awake, but he’d known it had been her, and he’d known that it would have taken about four seconds to do what he actually wanted to do – which was slip his thumb beneath the waistband of her pajama pants and shove them roughly down.

And then her bare ass would have been his, and he could have pulled his cock out, and two second later been buried –

Christian groans, gritting his teeth as his dick starts to go hard again in his hand. So he presses his eyes shut and forces himself to think about other things – about what needs to be done today, about the fucking nightmare of a situation that her damn ex’s revelation of all the mob family’s financial data had been, what he’s going to do now that he has that data at his fingertips –

But again, his mind turns to her face.

Her perfect. Fucking. Face.

Frustrated, Christian grabs his bar of soap and quickly begins to lather up, knowing that he needs to get out of the shower and out of this apartment.

Because nothing has changed – Iris is still off-limits. As much as he wants her –

And he has to admit, now, finally, that he fucking wants her –

She’s too dangerous – for him and for herself. He still does not want her tied up in this world, wants her gone from it as soon as possible. Gone for her own safety, even if it means he’ll never see her again. And it will absolutely shatter his heart to say goodbye to her forever but…

She’ll die if she stays here. She’s too good, too innocent for this world.

And if he did keep her, as he so desperately wants to? If she became, what, his girlfriend? That, too, would be a disaster. Not only would this world eat her alive, but she would become an immediate target for kidnapping, a way to hurt him through hurting her.

No, Iris…

Iris is a problem he has to solve. He has to harden him heart against her, make it absolutely impossible for anything to happen.

And, as horrible as the prospect sounds…

He knows just how to do it.