"It was a figure of speech. I'm being dramatic." She wrinkled her nose. "I just find it hard to think or catch my breath around you."
He waited, letting her speak about her worries. Part of what he needed to do included having patience with her—something he struggled with.
She trembled, not from a deep new desire over the idea of being with him. She was flat-out scared. He dropped her hand.
She hugged herself as if keeping her distance would protect her. He looked away. It would do no good if he let her continue in that state.
"Get out of the car, Bree." He opened his door and climbed out.
When she failed to join him, he marched to the other side of the car, swung the door open, unlatched her seat belt, and stood back. "Out."
He gave her no room to argue or protest. If she wanted to see what they could have together, if she wanted to discover what he could give her, if she wanted to push him—he'd push back, and fucking enjoy every second.
She climbed out and stood beside him. "Serge? I don't think I can do this."
"You can." He pivoted and led the way to the back door, expecting her to follow.
She proved him right by ducking under his arm and entering the kitchen ahead of him. He flipped on the light and waited while she studied the room to get her bearings.
Until he brought her inside his home, he had never realized how little time he spent there. He slept there but ate at the office or with clients. The monstrosity was merely a place to sleep and work out in the weight room.
The neighborhood and his belongings meant nothing to him. Most days, he wanted to walk away and return to the streets, where people understood and accepted him. Two years ago, he'd tried to go cold turkey and give it all up. He handed the keys to his brother and walked away from it all. He'd disappeared for three weeks, not knowing where he had gone or where he had stopped. He drank to excess and woke up underneath a tarp, reeking of whiskey and sporting bruises all over his face and knuckles.
Aubrey gave him a reason not to go back. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to make her understand what kind of person he was, and he hoped that he was right about her.
If he were wrong, he'd destroy her.
He only needed some time to teach her. If not, he'd lose her—and that was something he wasn't willing to face.
He'd given up on finding someone to accept him. For him, Aubrey was his last chance to believe he could form a relationship with anyone. There was something special about her.
But he had to start over, slow down, and allow her to become so deeply attached to what he could do for her that leaving him would never be a choice.
"Come with me." He walked through the kitchen and into the hallway.
At the other end of the house, he opened his office. Keeping the lights off, he sat down on the leather couch beneath the windows. With a bit of moonlight streaming into the room, he'd be able to see her face while giving her the added security of hiding in the darkness if she wished.
The darkness had saved him for years.
He snagged her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. She stiffened, and he tightened his hold. "Relax. I need you to listen to what I have to say. After I'm done, I'll answer all your questions."
"Easy for you to say," she mumbled. "You're the one calling all the shots."
For the first time all week, he chuckled. The tension left him, and the hilarity he found in the situation seemed to anger Aubrey and put her on firmer ground. He clamped his hand on her hip, preventing her from getting up.
"You have no idea." He pulled her head toward him with his other hand and pressed his lips against her hair. "No fucking clue."
"Then tell me," she whispered. "I won't tell anyone."
"No one would believe you anyway." He sighed heavily. "Or, they would, but it doesn't matter. It's who I am, and if someone wants to use it against me, more power to them. They won't succeed."
She shivered. He tucked her against his chest and placed his chin on the top of her head. He liked that position. She seemed small and fragile.
"I still won't tell." She planted her hand against his chest. "I'm not the kind of person who shares with others, so there's no reason to gossip about you."
"That's good," he murmured.
Several minutes passed. He found he wasn't in such a hurry to provide background as much as he wanted to hold her. Because he couldn't see her face or read how she fed off his emotions, he wanted to enjoy the calm before revealing the truth to her.
