Page 59 of Roma King
The ghost of a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Zara,” he whispers. “You really think that’s true? You really think therehasn’tbeen a past life where we’ve loved each other before? You think we haven’t loved each other inallour past lives?”
I swallow thickly. How can his words sound so unbelievable and far-fetched, and yet so true at the same damn time? “There you go again, talking about reincarnation,” I murmur.
My attempt at easing the electric tension between us fails miserably when Pasha bumps the end of my nose with his, and says, “Again. It’s the only explanation I can think of for any of this. Itmustbe true. Get up, Zara. It’s time to go.”
My legs feel like Jell-O as I rise to my feet. I pray furiously that they’ll hold and keep me upright as I collect my jacket and my purse from the other bench, but I can feel them threatening to buckle as Pasha puts his empty whiskey glass down on a crisp hundred-dollar bill, places his hand in the small of my back, and he guides me out of the bar.
My heart skips, trips, stutters and backflips as the door closes behind us, and the cold winter night punches me right in the gut. I’m breathless and dizzy as Pasha pulls me into his side and throws his arm around me. I fit right into his side, my head cradled by his shoulder, and none of it is surprising; I feel like my body was built to correspond to his.
Pasha’s left hand cups the side of my face again. When I look up at him, the clouds from earlier have scattered, and a pristine night sky stretches on for eternity over his head. His eyes sparkle and flash, even brighter than the thousands of pin-prick diamond stars that interrupt the deep midnight blue, seeming to form the outline of his breathtaking crown. “I take it back,” he rumbles. “You’re no nightmare, Zara Llewelyn. You’re every single beautiful dream I’ve ever had. And I don’t plan on letting you go now.”
22
ZARA
BITTEN
Zara. My name on his lips is both a curse and prayer. I can’t stop the body-wide shudders that rock me to my core every time I hear him say it.
The walk back to the Bakersfield seems to take forever. My face burns from the cold, but the flame trapped inside my chest burns hotter still. Pasha glances at me out of the corner of his eye every two or three steps, as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still there. I get the feeling that he’s expecting me to vanish into thin air at any moment—ironic, really, since I’m expecting him to do the exact same thing.
At the start of the night, I might have evenhopedhe would vanish, but something’s happened between us since then. Something that neither of us can take back, and now the thought of him disappearing fills me with a panic and a dread that I can’t even begin to describe.
We don’t talk.
There’s nothing to say, at least not for now; we walk quickly in silence until we reach the front door of the apartment building, and I try to let us in, my hand shaking like crazy as I attempt to slide the key into the lock. Pasha’s hand covers mine, and the heat of his body soothes me as he takes the key from me. “Let me,” he says gruffly. “You look like you’re about to shiver yourself to death.”
Does he think I’m shivering from the cold? Or does he know how badly he’s affecting me right now? Hemustknow. He must have some idea. His hands are steady as he quickly unlocks the door and pushes it open, ushering me inside.
The faint buzz of the tequila I felt back in the bar is now gone, and I feel surreally present as we walk up the stairs to my apartment. We’re on the third floor, walking down the hallway, when I see the figure standing outside my door.
Oh,shit.
Garrett’s eyes harden as he turns and sees me walking toward him. As he sees the man behind me, following closely, with his hand pressing into the small of my back. Garrett’s body language is screaming loud enough to be heard at a distance. Pasha tenses—I can feel the irritation rolling off him as he moves to my side, and then places himself slightly in front of me as we arrive at my front door.
This situation has the potential to end so,sobadly. I grab Pasha by the hand, my fingernails digging into his skin, silently pleading for him not to do anything.
“Hi, Garrett. Everything okay?” I try to sound light and airy, but the embarrassment and panic that washes through me makes me feel like I just got busted by my parents, trying to sneak a boy into my room. Garrett’s eyes travel from me to Pasha, then he shakes his head. He points at Pasha, and then heviolentlyshakes his head. His meaning is clear as day.
A low, threatening growl fills the hallway, and I dig my nails even deeper into Pasha’s hand. “It’s okay. He’s fine, Garrett. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Garrett isn’t convinced by my words, though. He shakes his head again, harder still, and Pasha steps forward, urging me back behind him.
“Pasha, don’t. He’s just looking out for me. He’s my friend. If you hurt him, I’ll never forgive you.”
Pasha, towering over both me and Garrett, taking up all the room in the hallway, sighs. He nods his head, just once, and takes a step to the side. A stressful moment passes, where he and Garret glare at each other, a ridiculous amount of testosterone exchanged between the two, and then Pasha releases my hand. He holds it out to Garrett, offering it to him.
“We haven’t formally been introduced. I’m Pasha Rivin. I own the tattoo shop on Derringer. You know where that is?”
Garrett stares down at Pasha’s peace offering. Burns holes into his flesh with angry eyes, like he’s waiting for a deadly viper to appear in the palm of his hand and for it to strike at him. He nods—yes, he knows where the shop is.
“Good. I’m not going to hurt Zara. If she’ll let me, I’m going to make it my life’s work to make sure no oneeverhurts her. But now you know where I’ll be, five days a week. If I ever cause her even the slightest ounce of pain, physical or otherwise, you are more than welcome to come over to the shop and kick the living shit out of me. Or call the cops and have them arrest me. Or fucking kill me. I don’t care. I’m not a threat here. I swear it on my own life, whatever that might be worth to you.”
Garrett looks unmoved by Pasha’s promise. There’s so much hurt and pain in his eyes that I almost throw my arms around him and squeeze him to me. Never in a million years would I have predicted that he’d feel this way about me bringing a guy home. It’s painfully clear that I’ve hurt him right now, though, and my heart feels like it’s breaking in two.
Garrett’s expression remains hard and unhappy, but he takes Pasha’s hand and he shakes it. Releasing his grip a second later, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to me. He doesn’t hang around for me to open up the paper and read it. He spins on his heel and hurries off down the hallway, his shoulders hiked up around his ears as he makes his getaway.
Pasha leans back against the wall, arching an eyebrow at me. “I hate to say I told you so, but that man is madly in love with you.”
