Page 51 of Bratva Hunter

“That’s nice, baby. I’m glad you have friends visiting. You’re welcome to invite them to New York anytime.”

His offer surprises me. Would they come if I invited them? I’ll have to ask at the party.

A little later, we sit around the dining table. Mrs. Martin’s corned beef dinner reminds me of my childhood when we stayed here. Conversations bounce around the room like we’ve always been together.

Roric answers my mother. “My mother made corned beef every Saint Patrick’s Day. She was British with an Irish grandmother.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes. She died a while ago.”

I get up to clear the table with Roric as he asks. “Take a walk after?”

“Sure.”

We’re walking around the grounds. I point to the tennis court. “Do you play?”

“No. Do you?”

“Yeah. I was pretty good, too. My father forbade me to play in school, but Mama got me lessons. My tennis instructor is the one who suggested I model.”

Roric reaches up and touches the ends of my hair. “I’m so glad your hair is dark again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. You were beautiful with brown or blonde hair, but I love it best with its natural color.”

His compliment seems so genuine. Goosebumps rise on my arms as he wraps his arms around me.

“Let’s get back. You’re cold.”

Nodding, we head into the house.

My mother smiles at us from the sofa. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

Nodding, I yawn. “We’re heading upstairs.”

We’re silent as we use the bathroom to get ready for bed. I stare at Roric lying against the headrest messing on his phone. “What?”

“Nothing.” I turn the light off on my side of the bed and climb under the covers. I’m wearing panties and a t-shirt because the sweats at night are too warm. “Don’t take my change in clothing as an invitation.”

The corner lifts on his beautiful mouth as he pulls the covers over me. “Sleep well, baby.”

His words continue to break through the concrete walls around my heart. The heat from his body beckons me to back up against him, but I force myself to move to my stomach to sleep.

I’m running down a dark street with dark figures chasing me. Bile sits at the top of my throat as I run around a corner. It’s a dead end. Please save me. Please save me. The mantra repeats in my head. A hand touches my shoulder as I cry out.

“Rosa. Sweetheart. You’re okay.”

I startle out of the nightmare. Roric rubs his hand down my bare shoulder, around the silky straps of the camisole. “Oh, God.” Without thinking, I roll over and curl myself into his arms, sobbing.

“Tell me about the dream.” He continues to brush his gentle fingers across my skin. The feeling is magical.

I babble about running and bad guys. “I’ve never been so scared.”

“Shhh. I’m sorry. You’re here with me.”

A big part of me wants to pull away, but I snuggle in. Just for tonight.

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