“Yeah. I’ll buzz you as soon as I’m somewhere safe.”
“Perfect.” She pauses, her voice earnest when she continues. “Be safe, Dani. Love you bunches.”
“Love you, too, Sach.”
I disconnect and look at my text messages before stashing my phone back in my bag. My mother still hasn’t responded to my text from last night. I don’t want to panic, but I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t have texted me back. The possibilities clamp tight around my chest and squeeze until it’s hard to breathe.
I get lost staring out the window, desperately wishing I could check on her. I hate that she could be in danger because of me, but she was adamant that I ran. Honoring her wishes is yet another reason I need to get out of here. If something has happened to her, I can’t let that be for nothing.
A throat clears, making me realize I’m no longer alone. My bad ear was toward the door, and with my turbulent thoughts distracting me, I didn’t notice Tommy unlocked the door and was now leaning against the doorframe.
We watch one another for long seconds. The pulsating tension between us hasn’t dissipated. If anything, it’s only gotten worse, and the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt isn’t helping. His chiseled torso is covered in sweat. It’s clear his affinity for routines includes working out. The man has hardly an ounce of fat on him.
Come on, Dani. Keep your head in the game.
“Am I allowed out?” I ask.
“Told you, it was only for the night.” His rugged voice sends a cascade of tingles down my spine.
“Because you think I might try to kill you in your sleep?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I don’t get it. If you don’t trust me, and I’m such a pain, why not let me go? Honestly, I’m having trouble understanding why you haven’t turned me over for the reward. None of this makes any sense. And I know I’m not in a position to make demands, but the uncertainty makes all of this that much harder for me.” I’m not sure why I’m confronting him like this. Frustration. Maybe a twinge of hurt. I don’t like him thinking I’m some sort of diabolical criminal. Is it so bad that I haven’t told him what I stole? Is that the reason for his glacial demeanor ever since our kiss?
Tommy prowls closer. My heart stutters and stumbles with anticipation. I’m never quite sure what he might do, and the suspense is oddly invigorating.
Once he’s close enough, he weaves his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck. “Maybe I’ve decided to keep you for myself,” he says distractedly, his eyes slowly roaming across my face.
Keep me? As in …permanently?
His admission stuns me.
Does he mean keep me as a prisoner? Is that the real reason he locked the door last night—not to protect himself but to prevent me from leaving? Maybe, but as I stare deep into his tempestuous eyes, I don’t feel like a captive. If anything, I feel like a siren under Tommy’s fiercely determined gaze.
“Is that what’s happening here?” I breathe. “Are you planning to keep me?”
“All that matters is that, for now, you’re mine.” He pauses as if wanting to do or say something but thinks better of it and releases me.
My body sways. I might have quit breathing—his proximity does that to me. And to hear him say I’m his … it’s surreal. I knew he desired me, but this feels like more than attraction, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
While I’m still reeling, he surprises me again when he extends a black credit card toward me between two fingers. “I know you weren’t able to bring much when you ran, so you should order new.”
I take the card and stare at it in confusion. “You mean … you want me to buy clothes?”
“I mean, you should get whatever you want. Whatever makes staying here feel more comfortable for you.”
God, I’m so confused. He locks me away and tells me he’s keeping me, then gives me carte blanche to use his credit card?This man is an ever-changing riddle that I have no chance of solving.
When I look back at him, I see that his gaze has wandered down to my chest. I realize I’m wearing a thin camisole without a bra. As if preening with satisfaction, my nipples pebble and pull in his direction. The physical response is so sudden and arousing that I inadvertently gasp. Our eyes lock, and his dilated pupils remind me of a jungle cat ready to pounce.
Tommy lifts his fingers to the pulse point at the base of my neck before slowly lowering them to the neckline of my camisole, sliding them from one side to the other as if testing his restraint.
His touch has my body so greedy for more that my legs tremble.
“You could always forgo clothes,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t complain.”
My gaze shamelessly drifts over his sculpted chest. As an artist, I can’t deny the exceptional beauty of his masculine form. As a woman, I’m tempted to lick the beads of sweat from his skin. This man twists my thoughts and insides into such knots I have no idea what I think or how I feel. I shouldn’t want him, but my own selfish desire has me asking myself if this man didn’t enter my life for a reason. He’s Mafia. That should end the discussion entirely, except … only someone like him has a chance at fending off Biba. If I didn’t run, I’d need someone like that to keep me alive.
