Page 51 of Vendetta

I raise my hands in a calming gesture. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

Settling down, she looks me over from head to toe. Then she lets her head fall back and covers her eyes with her arm. “Can you go put on some clothes?”

“Sure,” I say, walking out and looking for my boxers. I pull them on, then go back into the bathroom and sit down and lean my chest against the tub, my fingers playing with the hot water. I raise my head in her direction. “Are you okay?”

She snorts, splashing me with water. “Yeah, just sore.” She laughs, a melodious sound that makes my heart skip a beat. “I'll be fine.”

Well, that explains it. If it wasn't me, it was her waking me up for more. We fucked, we made love, then fucked again.

I'm not a possessive man by nature. I don't put claim on things or assume they belong to me, people included. Growing up, after my whole family disappeared, I never felt like anything belonged to me, or like I belonged to someone. I was Devon Andre, the son of Rebecca and Joe Andre, and then I was nobody. The title of the son, the heir to this mobster empire, it didn't belong to me. They were gone, and so was I.

And the only thing I had left was revenge.

Until Leighton. I knew, the second I touched her in that dark alley, that I had finally found someone to belong to. Too bad it was the one woman I wasn't allowed. Even if things weren't the way they were, even if I didn't want to wipe out every one of her family members from this planet, I wouldn't be allowed near her. Because I am an Andre, and she is a Moore, and we don't mix. Her father would castrate me if I came anywhere near his only daughter. My father, if he were alive, would probably send me far away, just to keep us apart.

In a different world, a different story, in any universe, we aren't meant for each other.

And I belong to her wholly. Completely.

“So, random question.” Thankfully she breaks my thoughts, leaning over the edge of the tub. Droplets of water cascade down her body. I wet my lips, but really I want to lick each and every one of those drops of water off her skin. She quickly sits back down, giving me a reprimanding look. “Don't even think about it, I'm not kidding.”

I shrug. It's not my fault she's sexy as hell, and I can finally touch her after all this time. “I missed you,” I tell her, looking straight ahead. There's a moment of silence. “What's your question?” I finally ask after she doesn't say anything to my admission.

It stings, but I ignore it. What did I expect?

“What's with the iron bars on the windows in this room? Were your parents worried about your safety, or something?” She whispers the wordsparents, like I'll break down crying if she says it any louder.

“Not really. After... after it happened, my uncle came to take over. He had them installed.”

She ponders this for a second. “But only in your room?”

“Yeah, maybe he was afraid whoever took them would come back for me?” I make it sound like a question because I really have no idea why he did that. When he had them installed in my room, I thought it was just that my room goes first, and then all the others would get the bars, too. Then I just forgot about the whole thing.

“I guess. That man gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah, he can be intimidating,” I say, laughing. I remember a time or two when he had come over to see us, and he was definitely not the man he is now. He never said much, but there was a lightness, a warmness in his eyes. Something he doesn't have now, not even when it comes to me, his only remaining family.

Or maybe that's just the thing. Maybe he thinks I'm not supposed to be here, either.

Water sloshes as she stands up. I get up from the cold travertine and she extends her hand to me to help her out. I take the towel she left on the vanity then dry her off carefully, inspecting the two hickeys on her neck and then frowning at the red and purple finger-shaped bruises on her collarbone. She tilts my chin up with her finger, then leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips, forgiving me. It doesn't make me feel any better, but I let her kiss me, enjoying the way her soft lips mold to mine.

She pulls away and smiles, putting her hands around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. I press myself against her warm body, skimming my hands down her waist but going no further.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers. I try to ignore the sense of relief I feel when she says it, but find myself squeezing her even tighter against me. “I kept asking myself if it was something I did, if you heard something from someone to just pull away like that. All I needed was for you to talk to me.” She brings her head up, searching my eyes. “I just needed to know why,” she continues when I don't say anything. “The night I came after you, that's all I wanted to ask.”

“What night?” I ask, confused. She never came after me, not that I remember. If she ever did, if she ever said a word, I wouldn't have been able to stay away from her. I hated her for not saying it, and I was grateful at the same time.

“The night you met up with that asshole, George.” She says it slowly, like she's explaining something to a child.

And for good reason, because my face must tell her I had no idea she was there for me. I thought she’d followed George, or maybe she saw us talking and wanted to see what it was about.

The last thing I expected was to hear this. If she didn't follow me that night, she wouldn't be here.

We finally separate and she walks over to the door, where her robe and my jacket are hanging. She puts her arms through the sleeves of the silky robe. This time I appreciate how sexy the whole package is. Tying the sash around her waist, she gives me one last smile and walks out of the bathroom.

“So, was it him?” she asks when I follow her out and sit on the bed, pulling the sweatshirt over my head.

“Was it who?”

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