“You’re a man in need of friends now, I think,” Levin says. “I wouldn’t push away those offering their help, Liam.”
“She’s coming back to Boston with me,” I say tightly. “The decision has already been made.”
Max nods, setting down his glass. “Then I’d like to help, if I can,” he says simply. “I might not be a priest any longer, but I still have the ear of one. I’d be glad to offer it to you, and to her as well, if it could help you.”
“You’re staying in Manhattan,” I say with a frown. “A bit of a hike for a friendly chat, isn’t it?”
“I can stay in Boston for a time,” Max says. “I’ll find a place to stay.” He smirks then, glancing sideways at Levin. “I might have had to take a vow of poverty as a priest, but my father certainly didn’t. He left me a generous sum when he passed, which I’ve left largely untouched until now thanks to my calling, and then to Viktor’s assistance.”
“Will you be safe in Boston without his protection?” I frown. “I can’t offer you much, but I can extend my own protection as well, for what it’s worth.”
“How will the Kings feel about that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say tersely. “I’m their leader. If I say our protection extends to someone, that’s the final word on it.”
Levin tilts his glass towards me, nodding approvingly. “And that’s the sort of leader you’ll need to be, Liam, to keep them in line. One who orders, rather than appeals.”
“Aye.” I toss back the rest of my second whiskey, my expression pensive.
Levin isn’t wrong. To lead men like the Kings, my word must be law. Even a man like Graham O’Sullivan shouldn’t be able to override it or induce others to rise up against me. But to wield that power, my word needs to hold weight.
Breaking my betrothal contract to Saoirse will put that in considerable danger.
The thought weighs on me heavily. Long after Levin, Max, and I conclude our conversation, I take the elevator back up to the floor my suite of rooms is on. I stop at Ana’s door, hesitating as I listen to hear if she’s still awake.
There’s only silence coming from inside, and I tap my key against the door, slipping inside. The room is dark and quiet, and I stop at the edge of the short hallway leading into it to see her curled on her side in the huge bed, the shopping bags that the concierge must have delivered sitting at the foot of it.
I don’t bother rifling through them to see what was sent up. Instead, I pad softly across the carpet to stand next to her side of the bed, looking down at her as she sleeps. She looks as delicate and peaceful as an angel, her blonde hair scattered around her face, her hands pressed against her chest. She’s wearing something pink, something made of silk and lace that I can only imagine is some kind of negligee—the concierge likely had different ideas about what sort of nightwear I wanted for Ana than I did.
The urge to pull back the blankets and see her petite body in that silk nightgown, like a gift that I can barely stand to not unwrap, is so strong that I have to physically step away, taking a breath to center myself. I can imagine the way it would cling to her small breasts and slender hips, the way it would feel under my hands if I spread her open again, if I touched her the way I long to.
Not under threat or duress, not as a way of repayment. Not for anything other than her pleasure and mine. I want her—but only if she wants me in return. And only if she wants me for me. Not as a way to numb her pain, not as a way to run from the past, not as a replacement for Alexandre.
Until I know for certain how she feels about me, until I know that she wants me for myself and for her own pleasure and nothing else, I won’t fuck her again. Whatever other lines might have been crossed tonight, that’s one that I’ll hold firm to.
I’ve accomplished what I set out to do in the beginning. I’ve saved her, rescued her from Alexandre, and brought her back home. I’d thought that would solve everything—but I’d had no idea how complex it could become. I’d had no idea how deep her wounds ran or what she’d done to salve them—and I still don’t know all of it. I don’t know how much Iwantto know.
Alexandre.The thought of the man’s name sets my teeth on edge and makes my blood boil. I hate him with a deep, visceral sort of hatred that makes me wish he’d appear before me this instant, so I could kill him with my bare hands and be certain this time that he’s dead.
But that’s not possible, and as much as I’d like to go back to Paris and finish the job, I want to keep Ana safe more. I want to keep her close to me, to help her heal and put the broken pieces of her back together.
And then, maybe, when Alexandre is nothing but a bad dream to her, we can start to heal the damage that he did to us, together.
Until then, I need to stay out of her bed entirely, if I can.
5
ANA
The flight from London to Boston is uneventful. Once the decision to go back to Boston with Liam was made, I stuck to it outwardly, even if inwardly I questioned over and over if I was making the right decision.
In the end, I knew it was what Liam wanted, and he’d gone to such lengths to come and save me in the first place. The thought of asking Sofia to let me stay with her overwhelmed me with guilt. The thought of asking Luca overwhelmed me with anxiety, so I went with the option presented to me where I knew that I was wanted beyond a shadow of a doubt.
What, exactly, Liam wants with me—well, that I’m not sure of at all.
The clothes that were sent up to my room were a shock. I’d come out of the shower and wrapped myself one of the hotel robes, hesitant to put the wrinkled lavender dress back on. I’d draped it over one of the chairs across from the bed and sat, staring at it for what felt like a very long time, thinking back over the chain of events. Alexandre bringing me the dress, his mouth between my legs after he undressed me, his hands on my body, his cock inside of me as he’d lain me facedown on the bed. His fingers nimbly tying the ribbon at the waist of the dress, sliding the bangle over my wrist. His little doll.
His to command, his to care for, his to fuck, to dress, bathe, and punish. A toy for him to use at his whim.