Sighing, I sit back against the sofa, refusing to turn my head. “We already discussed that the day we met. Luca’s party, remember?”
Elia scoffs, shoving his shirt open and off his broad shoulders. “Luca, right.” He’s quiet for a moment, and I try to focus on the contestant attempting to make fondue. They’re failing, miserably, but I’ll give them props for trying. “Do you ever think about what it was that brought you to me?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“I know what brought me to you, Elia. My bastard father. Not fate, or God, or any other sort of universal intervention.” Crossing my arms, I finally steal a glance, and when I do, the breath is knocked from my body.
He frowns, shaking his head. “I think it was something else. Somethinggrand. Spectacular. Earth-shattering, like you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Caroline, I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t know what it means, especially since we still hardly know each other, but I know these thoughts aren’t normal.”
I swallow, twiddling my thumbs, unsure of what to say to that.
“Does that scare you?”
“Nothing scares me.”
He watches me, eyes narrowed. “Nothing? Not even the fact that you might be developing feelings for me?”
“I barely know you.”
“We all have to start somewhere.” He sighs. “You remind me of my mother. Not in a creepy way, but with how strong you are. How proud, resilient. I know you’ve seen some bad shit, but it’s clear to me that you’re still good despite all that. Your innocence might be stained, but it’s not missing.”
Not waiting for a response, he stretches and fits his head back against the chair. His eyes close and his breathing evens out, allowing me time to peruse him.
Raking my eyes over his naked torso feels like being punched in the throat and then getting kicked in the vagina. He’s cut, the lines of his chest and abs so deep and defined, I think he’d draw blood if I traced my fingertips along them.
And God, do I want to.
But that’s not what’s so shocking. Honestly, having felt his body against mine a few times at this point, it’d be more shocking to see an ounce of fat on him.
No, the sight that steals the breath from my lungs, razes the walls around my heart, are the scars lining his forearms; jagged pieces of white, raised flesh dotting the corded muscles—like fulfilled destinations on a map, telling me of his sordid past.
A source of vulnerability, as the king of King’s Trace has never been seen publicly without a shirt on, except supposedly by his bodyguards when he swims. And I’ve not been paying close enough attention when he’s in a state of undress to have noticed the scars before.
There’s a flock of birds swirling around his left rib cage, as big as my head, a tattoo I’m certain no other woman in town is aware of. The linework is intricate, done by someone he trusted, which is not an easy thing to come by when you’re born into the world we were.
My heart flutters as I compare the two. His is a world ripe with criminal activity and power; mine thrives on the same things, but it veils them in a much more sinister way—manifests that power and activity differently.
Elia’s world needs strong, viable people; mine needs cowards. Bastards like my father.
“What happened to you?” I find myself asking, my mouth moving before my brain can catch up.
His gray eyes flip open and find mine, a sea of emotion I can’t—or won’t—decipher. “What happened toyou?”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head slightly, already giving up the fight. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Who the hell ingrained in your head that the stuff that happened to you doesn’t matter, Caroline? Tell me right now, and I’ll go bash their goddamn skull in.” He slides off the chair, onto his knees on the floor, and crawls over to where I’m sitting. His eyes are glassy, reminding me that he’s wasted, but that doesn’t stop my breath from catching in my throat at having him so near. “If it still hurts, itmatters, Caroline.”
My mouth falls open, a soft gasp escaping my lips as his fingers wrap around my calf. His touch sears me, a hot knife to my cold skin, but I steel myself against leaning into it. “Can you just leave it alone? I don’t want to talk about it, especially not with you.”
“And why not with me? What’s so bad about me, huh? What the fuck have I done to deserve this rage, except bail you out of a complete shit-storm that your father got you wrapped up in?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”