Page 17 of Brutal Mercy

“Luna,mi dea luna.”

I lift my gaze and am struck again by the stark beauty of his ice-blue eyes. They pierce through my flimsy armor to the very heart of me. Because he sees me. The real me, the one who is overwhelmed and exhausted, the one who struggles to keep moving forward every day because it’s all too much, and I’m buckling under the weight of my responsibilities. And none of it repulses him or sends him running for the hills.

“It’s not a problem. I’m not worried about the money because I have plenty. I’m going to make sure everything is okay for you. Understood?”

I want to melt into him. Because he doesn’t even have an ulterior motive that I can figure out. “How?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. Let’s go get your sister. For now, it’s best if you both stay with me.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly—”

“I insist. No more arguing.” At the stern set to his features, I know better than to disagree.

Over the next ten minutes, I blush my way through him helping me dress. I don’t miss the way his eyes linger over my naked breasts as he pulls a soft ivory cashmere sweater over my head. I have no idea what happened to my bra, but I don’t really care. The sweater is bulky enough that I can go without. The sleeves are too long, and he rolls them up. I don’t fight him as he pulls the leggings up my legs.

I’m so tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done daily these past four years.

And it’s blissfully nice to be taken care of for a change. It’s been so long since anyone has taken care of me. I lean into him and absorb every ounce of it.

And while I shouldn’t continue down this reckless path, I like the way he looks at me. That direct hypnotic gaze holds me prisoner while he zips up the coat he put on me. It’s way too big, but it is incredibly warm, and bonus, it smells like him.

There’s such a dichotomy between the two men I’ve been up close and personal with in the last twenty-four hours.

Diego made my skin crawl, whereas Hades lights my body up like a fireworks display grand finale. Every part of my being is engaged and eager for more of his touches, more of his heated glances, more of everything. I ache to be kissed by him.

The embarrassment I felt when he found me on the bedroom floor has morphed into a desire to strip and watch his reaction. Will he touch me if I take my clothes off? Will he run those strong, meaty hands over my body?

But he doesn’t speak as he fits a pair of his socks over my feet, being infinitely tender with my injured left ankle. They’re terribly big, like the sweater, but my toes are toasty warm.

He hands me my purse and phone. “Put your arms around my neck, and I will carry you down to my car.”

I open my mouth to argue. All I need is some crutches.

“Don’t waste your breath, babe. You won’t win.”

Sighing at his overbearing attitude, which ironically enough turns me on, I hold my arms up. “I’m going to wrinkle your suit.”

With a smirk, he scoops me up, and I wrap my arms around his corded neck. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’re a nice armful.”

“That’s not what most guys think.” I’m curvy with tits and an ass. My thighs touch. And some days, because of my height and fleshier size, I’ve felt like an ogre watching men I’ve flirted with wind up dating much shorter, size two chicks with a thigh gap. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m describing my sister. But it still makes me feel like dirt.

“I’m not like most guys.” He pegs me with a hard stare full of admiration for my body. No one has ever looked at me this way before. Shivers radiate through me, and I wonder again what it would be like to have this man make love to me, have him show me what it’s all about. Because I bet it would be amazing.

“No, you’re unlike any man I’ve ever met.” I let myself sink into him as he carries me from the bedroom, leaning my head against his strong shoulder and going fluid in his arms.

It’s the first time I’ve been outside the bedroom and seen the rest of the house. It does not disappoint.

Wow! Just how loaded is this guy?

It’s exceptional. The nicest home I’ve ever been in. Damn thing looks like a museum. The bedroom we exited is on the second floor. Dark red mahogany floors are polished to a glossy finish. At the top of the stairs, I glance up. There are two more floors above this one.

And Hades doesn’t flinch as he carries me down a flight of stairs that even Scarlett O’Hara would envy. The grand staircase is straight out of a fairytale. It opens into a large foyer with marble flooring and a massive crystal chandelier hanging from a towering ceiling.

I try taking it all in, but there are too many hallways and archways leading away from the foyer. I bet it would take me hours to go through the entire house. And the artwork and marble statues on display look authentic.

There’s nary a speck of dust anywhere.

“I can’t believe you live here,” I murmur as we exit the house.

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