Page 34 of Forgotten Vows

The rest of the afternoon passes slowly. We watch an animated movie in the media room that Matteo picks out that's bright and cheerful, completely at odds with the darkness I feel pressing in around us. I sit beside him in the comfortable reclining seats and try to focus on the screen, but my mind keeps wandering. It keeps circling back to Lachlan and the way he looked at me this morning, the hurt in his eyes when I compared him to Gio. The restraint I could see in every line of his body when he wanted to touch me but didn't.

I think about the boy he used to be, who touched me with reverence and desire and gentleness. I think about the man he's become, scarred and tattooed and dangerous, who rules an empire built on violence and fear. I try to reconcile the two and find the boy I loved in the man who kidnapped me, but the distance between them feels impossible to cross.

I don't know who he is anymore. I don't know if I want to know.

By early evening, Matteo is exhausted, and I put him to bed in his room, tucking him in. I kiss his forehead, smooth his hair back from his face, and promise him that everything will be okay, even though I'm not sure I believe it myself.

I learned a long time ago that promises are just words. Words can't stop bullets, or fists, or the inevitable moment when Gio finds us.

I stand there for a long moment, watching him.I'll keep you safe,I promise silently, a desperate plea to whatever god might be listening.No matter what it takes. No matter what I have to do.

Even if it means staying here. Even if it means?—

I don't let myself finish the thought. I leave his room quietly, my body aching from the tension I've been carrying all day. The penthouse is quiet again, most of Lachlan's men gone or out of sight, and I'm grateful for the solitude. I need some time alone with my thoughts without having to pretend that things are normal for Matteo's sake, or deal with the tension of being around Lachlan.

I go downstairs to get some water, and then head to the stairs to go up to my room. Halfway there, I hear a door close and footsteps coming closer, and I turn before I can stop myself.

Lachlan is walking toward me from the direction of the gym, and the sight of him makes my breath stop in my throat. Every thought in my head scatters like leaves in the wind.

He's shirtless, his skin gleaming with sweat, his muscles thicker than usual from his workout. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face, and I can see every line of muscle, every ridge of his abdomen, every inch of tattooed skin that covers his arms and shoulders and chest. He looks devastatingly handsome and terrifyingly dangerous.

The last time I saw him shirtless, he had the taut stomach of a young man, with divots at the sides of his abdomen and those deep cuts leading down into his jeans. His skin was smooth and mostly unmarked. He was beautiful and sexy beyond belief, butthis…

This man has carved himself into a weapon. I can barely even imagine running my hands over him, seeing that powerful body drawn toward mine with desire. The thought is dizzying, and I can feel the blood rushing from my face as I stare at him, my pulse throbbing in my throat.

He sees me, and he stops. The air between us is instantly charged, and he makes no effort to shrink back or hide any part of himself. And why would he? He wants me… and he wants me to want him. There's no better way to make me remember the parts of myself that used to want than to show me what I'm looking at right now.

Even if there's no way I'm going to allow myself to be drawn close enough to be burned.

I can see the surprise in his eyes at seeing me here, feel his awarenessof me, the same sudden tension that's flooding through my own body like fire through dry grass. For a moment, neither of us moves or speaks. I can feel my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he must be able to hear it as heat spreads through my body.

"Adriana." His voice is rough and low. It sends a shiver down my spine that I can't suppress. "I didn't know you were still up."

"I was just putting Matteo to bed," I manage. My voice sounds breathless, like I've been running instead of just standing here. "I'm going to my room now."

"Okay." He doesn't move or look away. I can see the tension in his body, like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for me. "Did you... did you have a good day? With Matteo?"

The question is so normal and domestic, so completely at odds with everything else that I almost laugh. But there's something genuine in his expression that makes the laughter die in my throat. He seems like he actually cares about the answer—actually wants to know if we were okay today, if we were happy. It softens me.

"He liked the pool." I swallow hard, licking my lips nervously, and I see his gaze drop to my mouth. "Thank you for... for having that. For letting us use it."

"You don't have to thank me." He takes a step closer, and suddenly I can smell the warm, masculine scent of sweat on his skin. My entire body tightens, my blood rushing in my veins. "This is your home, Adriana. Yours and Matteo's. You can use anything you want, go anywhere you want. I want you to be comfortable here."

"It's not my home." The words come out edged with all the fear and anger and confusion I've been holding back all day. "It's your home. I'm just... I'm just here because you brought me here and didn't give me a choice."

A flicker of hurt flashes across his face, but he doesn't argue or try to justify what he's done. He just nods slowly, his jaw tight.

"I should shower," he says finally, and his voice is strained. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I'll let you get to your room."

He moves past me, and as he does, his arm brushes against mine—just the barest touch of skin against skin, but it feels like fire. Thecontact is brief and accidental, but it sends a jolt through my entire body and makes every nerve ending come alive. I'm suddenly viscerally aware of how close he is, how easy it would be to reach out and touch him, and close the distance between us.

I freeze.

He freezes.

For a heartbeat, we're both perfectly still, and I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. I can feel the restraint it's taking for him not to reach for me and pull me against him, to not do all the things I can see in his eyes that he wants to. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his whole body rigid with the effort of holding himself back, and I realize that he's giving me a choice. He's waiting for me to make the first move, and he won't touch me unless I want him to.

And God help me, part of me wants him to.