Page 103 of Vicious Games

“Huh?” she says, her tone lighter than it was a minute ago. “No cute, witty line for me? Like this is what I should always expect from the Lucky Luciano experiment?”

I lift my head, resting my chin in the indent between her breasts, staring deep into her eyes. “How do you feel?” I ask, sidestepping the landmine she just threw at me.

“Honestly?” she says, running the pad of her finger over my jaw, my cheek, until it traces the seam of my bottom lip. “I never realized how intimate it would be.”

I don’t say anything to that since that’s probably why my head is so fucked right now. Usually, sex is just that—sex. But this… what we just did… it’s just as she said—it’s intimacy in its purest form. She laid down her walls and was vulnerable with me while I gave her… Fuck, I don’t even want to think about what I just gave her.

When my eyes catch the flicker of a gold medallion on a bracelet wrapped around her wrist, I use it as an excuse to not go further down the rabbit hole I already find myself tumbling through.

“What’s this?” I ask, nodding at her bracelet.

“This?” she says, rubbing her fingers around what looks to be a small St. Peter medallion. “It was my parents’ parting gift before they abandoned me.”

My eyebrows pull together as I watch her tenderly rub her thumb over it before discarding it completely.

Hmm.

I always assumed that people gave their kids up for adoption because they had no financial means to raise them. However, that doesn’t seem to have been the case with Frankie. I’ve been around enough expensive jewelry to know her bracelet is pure-grade gold. If her parents were strapped for cash, I doubt they would leave such a treasure with an infant they were never going to lay eyes on again.

I’m about to ask her what else she knows about her parents when her phone starts ringing on the coffee table.

“Time’s up,” she mutters, unable to hide the sadness in her voice. “I have to go home.”

An orphanage is not a home. Neither is a fucking convent. And if there’s anyone who deserves a loving home, it’s Frankie.

“Lucky?” she giggles softly. “I’m going to need you to move so I can get up and get dressed.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I want to stay right here, exactly where I am?” I say, brushing my fingers ever so lightly over her nipple.

She bites her bottom lip before shaking her head and replies, “It’s almost seven, Lucky. Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

Too late for that,I think to myself, but I get up off her anyway, entangling my hands in hers and pulling her up.

Before she has time to say anything, I lean in and kiss her—sweet and tender—the complete opposite of the man I am. But exactly the man I believe she deserves.

She breaks the kiss first, rests her head against my chest, hugs me tightly, and softly says, “Thank you… forseeingme.”

I lower my head, place a kiss on the top of her head, and reply, “Thank you for letting me.”

I don’t say anything else. I can’t. Because if I open my mouth, I’m pretty sure I’m going to tell her something I’m not ready to say out loud yet. Something absolutely absurd like, ‘You’re mine now, and I don’t ever want to let you go.’ Instead, I just hold her tighter, memorizing the way she feels pressed against me, how she fits so perfectly in my arms as if she were made for me and no one else.

Her phone buzzes again, a sharp reminder that reality is waiting for us, clawing to pull her away from me.

I loosen my arms reluctantly, letting her pull back. She gives me a little, shy smile, the kind that claws under the skin and sinks its teeth into a man’s heart.

I watch as she gathers her clothes, slipping her blouse back on, fumbling a little with the buttons as her hands are still trembling.

I know, deep in my gut, that what we just did wasn’t just part of an experiment for her either. It was more. It was everything.

When she finally stands, ready to leave, she hesitates, biting her lip as if trying to find the right words to say to me. But she doesn’t need to say anything. I already know.

Without thinking, I reach out, snagging her hand and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, right over that tiny St. Peter’s medallion.

A silent promise—I’m not done with you, Frankie O’Malley. Not even close.

As she kneels down to start packing up her books, I know two things for sure. Firstly, I’m going to miss her like hell the second she leaves my side. Secondly, no matter what it takes or what stands in my way, I’m going to make damn sure she never feels abandoned again. Not while I’m still breathing.

These thoughts run rampant through my head when I hear a loud thump from the hallway outside. Frankie also freezes once she hears the loud commotion. Before either of us realize what the sound is, the door to the apartment bursts open, and in stumble my brother, Jude, and his wife, Mina, so entangled with each other they don’t even realize we’re standing in their living room.

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