Page 35 of Wicked Mistletoe

“Shh,” I hush him as I carefully slip my hands around her back and under her legs, lifting her warm weight into my arms. She murmurs sleepily, and then she does this thing—this tiny thing—that just wrecks me. She curls deeper into my chest, nuzzling her face into my neck, and my heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest.Fuck.This woman. It’s unsettling how close she is, but at the same time, it’s right.This feels right.She feels right in my arms, with me.

Romero clears his throat. “We need to talk about why we’re here. Michael found something about the case.”

I nod curtly. “Give me a moment.” My voice is steady, but my mind is reeling. Thank fuck they had the sense to keep quiet around her. The things we have uncovered… no way in hell could she handle knowing about it. The brutal murders. Those poor girls. It would break her, and I want to shield her from that for as long as I can.

With my woman nestled in my arms, I make my way into my bedroom and, for a heartbeat I just stand still, absorbing the significance of this moment. No other woman has ever crossed this threshold before. It’s my space; my private world. The women I fuck I take elsewhere—but here she is.Right where she belongs.

I lower her onto my king-sized bed, careful not to wake her. She whimpers as she rolls over, but then she turns back to face me, eyes snapping open.Oh, shit.I freeze, covers bunched in my hands, not sure what to do next. Slowly, I start to pull them over her, hoping she’ll drift off again so I can slip away. But no—as I’m getting to my feet, her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.

“Rafael. Don’t go.” Her voice is thick with sleep, but there’s a need there that hooks me.

Fuck me. At that moment, I swear she could ask me to fetch her the sun, and I would’ve been halfway out the door to go grab it, even if it meant the whole world would be in perpetual darkness.

Instead, I lace our fingers together. “Scoot over.”

She does, and suddenly I’m lying next to her, trying to ignore the tension coiling in my gut as she wraps herself around me like a vine—her thigh draped over my legs, arms across my torso, head on my chest.

My spine goes rigid, every muscle locking up as if on command. Phantom needles skitter across my skin, that familiar crawling sensation I’ve fought with for years.Breathe.I inhale through my nose, pulse roaring in my ears as I fight the instinct to shove her off me.This is Emilia. This is different.I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the onslaught of panic that always follows.

But it doesn’t come.

Just like in the car earlier, her touch doesn’t send me spiraling into that dark place. And slowly, slowly, the needles skittering over my skin fade away, giving way to the warmth of her solid weight over me.

What the actual fuck?

My lips part, and my eyes fly open in disbelief. I glance down at her, but she’s back asleep. My heart pounds, but not out of panic—this time, it’s something else entirely. I had chalked upthe car incident to being so focused on driving that my body didn’t have the chance to react to her touching me. But now? Here she is, touching me again, and I’m not losing my shit.It wasn’t a one-off thing.

I’ve never been able to withstand anyone’s touch after what went down six years ago with my father—after the guys and I burnt down his warehouse for what his men did to Emilia. Since then, a simple touch has been enough to catapult me back to that hellish moment, and it’s a constant battle to keep myself from lashing out at whoever dares to get too close.

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at the irony. She’s wrapped around me, blissfully unaware of how this moment is shaking the very foundation of my reality. But then the gravity of it hits me, and a twinge of worry starts building in my chest. I'm in deeper than I thought.

I wanted her, and so I went out of my way to have her. I want her to be my wife, and shewillbe. But I never really considered how much she’d worm her way into my heart or the wild implications of having real feelings for her. The depth of the power she’d hold over me... it scares the fuck out of me.

Time bleeds away as I watch her sleep, my mind racing a mile a minute, trying to make sense of the chaos she has stirred up inside me.

My phone beeps in my pocket—once, twice—but I don’t dare move to check it. I’m not about to disturb her for anything short of the apocalypse.

Eventually though, she stretches and rolls away from me. Only then do I carefully get up from the bed, rolling my neck and easing my stiff muscles as I leave the room.

Back in the living room, Maximo’s impatience is palpable. “What took so long? I’ve texted you twice.”

“My attention was otherwise engaged, so I couldn’t get to my phone,” I shoot back. Their faces twist in disgust, and it hits me—they think Emilia and I were having sex. I smirk, not bothering to correct their wrong assumptions. It’s way more fun this way. “What’s up?”

Michael pipes up. “I’ve traced our guy’s pattern. I know where and when the next kidnapping will happen.”

Romero chimes in, mentioning an orphanage about an hour’s drive from my penthouse, and adds. “We think he might hit the spot soon—tonight or tomorrow. So we need to act fast if we want to catch this sick fuck.”

Adrenaline rushes through me at the thought of finally putting an end to this.It’s about damn time that monster gets what he deserves.I hold up a hand, signaling them to hang tight, then make my way to the study where I tear out a sheet of paper and scribble a quick note for Emilia, just in case she wakes up before I’m back. The thought of her waking up alone, confused and possibly scared, twists something inside me.

I take the note to the bedroom, careful not to make a sound, and place it on the nightstand before stealing one last look at her sleeping form.She looks so peaceful; I can’t help myself. Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss on her temple. “Sleep tight and without nightmares,amorina,” I murmur, then leave her side silently.

When I get back to the living room, the TV is off, and my brothers are on their feet, faces set in grim determination. “Let’s go,” I growl.

Instead of taking our separate cars, we pile into one of my vans—one that Michael already rigged up with his computers, wires, and all that tech shit I can’t be bothered to understand. As we climb in, we all slip on our earpieces, ready for when we need to split up at the site.

Maximo takes the wheel, fingers drumming like he can’t wait to gun it. Romero slides into shotgun, his expression a musk, but his whole body tense, like he’s mentally running through everypossible scenario. Michael’s already buried behind his monitors, tapping away with that geeky focus only he gets. I drop into the seat next to him, frowning at the jumble of numbers and letters flying across the screens. How the hell he makes sense of that, I have no clue. But I trust him. To me, it’s just noise. To him, it’s life.

“Let’s go over our plan one last time.” Romero throws out, glancing back at me and Michael. We already went over it a dozen times yesterday when Michael told us he was getting close, but Romero’s always the cautious one.

---