Page 60 of Break Me Beautifully
He exhales a massive burst of air that swirls around us both. "Yes."
"But you said you tried to abandon the plan that first night. You'd have chosen saving me from experiencing this mess over getting your revenge?"
The hand holding the rose petal twitches. "If I could change all of this so that you never felt a lick of hate for me, Leona Hark, I would."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? With everything I am, everything I have, Ilove you."
Heat swirls through my core. Staring at the tiny petal fluttering in the chilly night wind, I say nothing. Not a sound passes my lips. Lifting my sketchbook I tuck it into my bag. Marshall watches me so intently that when his hair rustles into his own eyes he doesn't brush it away.
He's a man at the guillotine, waiting to know if the blade will fall.
Wondering how I'll sentence him after all he's done.
His arm starts to drop. I catch it before it goes far, cradling his wrist with my hands, the inked phraseLe mani di mio padreshining in the streetlights. He is warm as a furnace against my skin. "Now you know," I whisper hoarsely.
"What?" he asks in soft surprise.
"How I felt when you made me wait." A mild smirk grows over my lips. "Saying that sentence, admitting it, it's agony to wonder if the other person will say it back."
"Leona," he whispers.
"I love you, Marshall. I truly love you. It's why everything you did hurt me so much. Every single lie, for my benefit or not, sliced me apart. I never want to feel this way again. I can't, or I'll shatter into a thousand pieces and never come back together. Do you understand?"
"Yes. God, yes."
"Promise me." There are new tears in my eyes. These hurt so much less. "Even if you're in the mafia, you can't lie to me again."
In a swirl of solid muscle and relieved sighs he circles me. He threads his fingers in my hair, the rose petal tangling there, its scent in my nose mixing with his. It's winter but everything reminds me of spring. "I love you," he says against my lips. "I promise with all I have, all I am, that I'll never lie to you again, Leona. Not for any reason. You'll have my truth for better or worse from now until my final breath."
"I love you, too," I manage, before he kisses me so hard that I think there'll be bruises left in his wake. And I don't mind.
Those are less harmful than a broken heart.
****
We're still kissingwhen the elevator reaches his penthouse floor. I don't want to stop, not even for a second, even if my lungs scream that I have to. He deftly unlocks his door without breaking away from me. The things he can do with such natural ease are stunning.
"We're home," he whispers, kicking the door shut behind us, lifting me in his arms. I cling to him like he's a rock in the middle of a rough sea as he carries me into his bedroom. My fingertips leave imprints on his jaw. He pushes me onto the crimson blankets, but I cling on, my nails scraping his skin as I fall.
There's no blood, but I gasp. "Sorry, are you okay?"
He laughs from the bottom of his stomach, mischief creating delirious sparks in his hypnotizing stare. "You can't hurt me, Leona. Not like this."
"How?" I ask, eager to know, eager to never do it. He rips off his jacket and it falls to his feet. I see his undershirt has something in the front pocket, something square, but then his clothing is gone and his perfectly muscled chest distracts my focus. "Here," he says, grabbing my wrist as he stands over the bed. I'm level with his hard stomach and even harder erection. "In here." He spreads my palm across his skin, over his beating heart. "You can make me bleed. You can cut the meat from my bones. I'll survive it all, Leona. I'll be a whole man with every new surface scar. But if you ruin my heart, erode my soul, that will end me. And that would take less than a whisper, if you desired it."
"I'd never," I assure him in a cracked voice. Encircling his thick neck I bring him down to me. He braces his hands on the headboard, kissing me fervently with his tongue guiding the way. Everything that belongs to him is hot to the touch.
Marshall slides my leggings down and I feel the buttery sheets beneath my naked skin. He then strips off his pants, and they puddle at is feet, landing softly as autumn leaves. His nakedness reminds me that clothes aren’t the only thing missing from his body. "Where's your gun?" I ask.
He studies my face a moment. "In my bedside table there." He points at the tiny brown furniture with a yellow lamp sitting on top.
"You didn't bring it to the show?"
"Of course not. The cops would have charged me for carrying an unregistered weapon."
"But I thought you had a deal with them?"
