82
Sara
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Peter asks for the tenth time as we approach Esguerra’s mansion after dinner, and I nod, looking up at his concerned expression.
“Don’t worry. I will be just fine.”
For the first time in a week and a half, I’m not lying. My eyes feel like I’ve been rubbing them with sandpaper, and I have a pounding headache from all the crying—not to mention some soreness from our living room lovemaking—but all of that is minor. The worst of the pain—the grief and guilt I’d been unable to face all these days—is lessening, though it may never be fully gone.
Of course, there’s still the matter of the nineteen dead hostages, but I’m trying not to think about it. Because what would be the point?
My husband might be a monster, but I can’t live without him any more than he can live without me.
“I don’t have to go,” Peter repeats again. “We can just turn around and go back home.”
“You mean back to the house Esguerra’s letting us crash in? The same Esguerra whose hospitality is predicated on you helping him get Henderson in a speedy manner?”
Peter lifts his broad shoulders in a shrug, looking unconcerned. “He’ll understand if I can’t make it to the meeting.”
I smile up at him, my chest flooding with glowing warmth. My dark knight—always willing to go into battle on my behalf. “Maybe—but there’s no need. I’ll be fine. And to be honest, I really want to hang out with Nora and Lizzie.”
“All right, my love. If you’re sure,” he says as we stop by the front door of the mansion. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I won’t be far.” He points at a small building nearby—must be the office Esguerra was referring to.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you soon.” Placing my hands on his broad shoulders, I rise up on tiptoes and press my lips to his. I meant it to be a goodbye peck, but he loops one arm around my waist and slides a hand into my hair, holding me still as he deepens the kiss, plundering my mouth as if we hadn’t had sex in months, instead of mere hours. My heart rate speeds up, a warmth curling low in my core as his cock hardens against my belly, and for a moment, I’m tempted to agree to his unspoken proposition.
To bail on our commitments tonight, so we can go back to the house and spend the next two hours in bed.
It’s only when Peter breaks the kiss to drag in air that my head clears enough to realize we’re making out on Esguerra’s front porch—and that the curtain on the nearby window is twitching, as if someone’s peeking out.
“Wait…” Breathing heavily, I twist out of his hold and step back. “We can’t—we shouldn’t here.”
He stares at me, his powerful chest rising and falling, and I know that if we weren’t in public, he’d be on me already.
“All right,” he says gutturally, his big hands flexing at his sides. “But don’t stay here too long… Remember, first and foremost, you’re mine.”
And with that atavistic statement, he turns around and strides away.
If Nora has noticed my red-rimmed, swollen eyes, she’s tactful enough not to say anything as I accompany her to Lizzie’s room. Instead, she entertains me with a story about a scarlet macaw she’d spotted on her morning run today, and other interesting encounters with the local wildlife.
“It sounds like you love it here,” I say, smiling as she bends over the crib to pick up her daughter. The baby makes a disgruntled sound, but then she settles into her mother’s arms, laying her tiny head on Nora’s slender shoulder.
“I do love it.” Nora beams at me as she sits down in a rocking chair, gently patting Lizzie’s back. “I have from the beginning.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I take a seat on the small sofa next to the chair. Dark curiosity is gnawing at me, but I don’t know if I should get that personal with this young woman. “Do you love everything about it?” I finally venture.
I’m not talking about the weather or local nature, and I see that Nora understands. Still, my question is vague enough that she could answer it like that if she chooses—I don’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way.
Her eyes are dark and thoughtful as she studies me. “No,” she says quietly. “Not everything—though I do love him.”
Of course she does. I saw it at the dinner. And he loves her… though some might say a man like that isn’t capable of that depth of feeling.
Before meeting Peter, I would’ve agreed with them, but like everything else in my life, my views on the topic have shifted and evolved over the past two years.
I now know that ruthless killers can love, and that the heart can lack a moral compass.