Hideaway
Page 85

Her hair, her make-up…. I didn’t know why she’d gotten herself done up—I didn’t for one moment think it was for me.
The front door opened, and she entered the dining room, seeming a little calmer.
We held each other’s eyes, and I felt a pang of need for her. For a chance to salvage what this day had turned into and treat her well.
But I didn’t deserve her. No matter what she’d done or how her choices had hurt me, I’d taken her hand today with as much force as I’d taken her innocence in that room in The Pope. She needed to be left alone.
I gestured to the table for her to sit and eat.
She sat down and placed her bowl in front of her, picking up the fork. But she stopped, noticing my bowl with a set of chopsticks laying across the top.
Finding a spare pair on the table, she put her fork down and picked up the sticks. Of course, she probably had no interest in using them. I’d just given her a fork, and it was her stubborn nature that you didn’t tell Banks what she could and couldn’t do. It was the problem of me assuming she’d want a fork.
She tried to fit them in her fingers, but they kept slipping.
I walked over to her right side and reached out. “Like this.”
I took them in my fingers, ignoring her scowl as I fit both between my forefinger and middle finger, using the latter to steady and the former to control movement. I bobbed my pointer finger up and down, showing her that was the one that moved. Opening it wide, I picked up a piece of cabbage and closed it, securing it between the sticks.
“I can do it,” she said, snatching them back.
And she did. Within a few more tries she had the hold right and was able to pick up her food and get it into her mouth, albeit shakily. The platinum band on her finger gleamed in the soft light of the chandelier, I felt a pang of guilt now that I’d calmed down. She should have a diamond on her hand.
“They’re called hashi,” I told her, gesturing to the chopsticks. “In Japanese.”
Rising, I picked up a small, ceramic chopstick rest and set it in front of her. “And this is called hashioki. When you’re not eating, you rest the ends of your chopsticks on here. Or,” I pointed out, gesturing to my bowl. “You can lay them across your dish. But not in the food and never crossed.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s…rude,” I told her. There was another reason having to do with deceased people and offerings and traditions, but I had a feeling that would only incite her rebellion.
I sat back down, letting her eat. My head was swimming. I’d be lucky if I got any sleep tonight.
I had to get the guys who were outside rooms in here and get them on payroll. As well as figure out what they hell they were going to be doing for me.
I had to get back down to Sensou and meet with the insurance adjuster. Figure out what the next step was. Would we reopen?
I needed to see my parents, too. I was surprised I wasn’t getting calls tonight, in fact. If they hadn’t heard yet, they would soon. Surprisingly, I wasn’t really sorry. I just didn’t like explaining myself. Probably because I couldn’t.
And tomorrow was Devil’s Night. We still hadn’t found where Damon was hiding out, so he might be on us before we were on him. Or maybe nothing would happen. Maybe Rika was right, and he was fucking with us.
I still needed to deal with him, though. I couldn’t keep going, having things hanging over my head. Maybe we’d just bring everyone here for the night. Put the place on lockdown.
She finished her bowl and looked into the larger one, seeing if there was any left. I smiled, liking that she clearly enjoyed my cooking. Steaks and all.
She tipped the bowl over, using the chopsticks to shove any lingering noodles into her smaller bowl, and I closed my eyes, laughing quietly.
She just broke about three rules of etiquette. My father would piss a brick if he saw it.
But watching her face and losing myself in those red lips, she really was incredible.
“It’s a pretty dress,” I told her. “Where’d you get it?”
She finished chewing quietly, not looking at me. “Marina,” she said, “Gabriel’s cook. She made it for me when I sixteen.”
The reminder that Gabriel was her father hit me again, and I had so many questions still.
“My father was having a party,” she explained, “and Marina thought he might let me come if…if I was pretty enough.”
Pretty enough?
“Did you go?”
She shook her head. “I got all dressed up. Hair and a little lipstick. But Damon wouldn’t allow it. He made me stay upstairs.”
She gave a little laugh, like she was trying to brush off his possessiveness, but…
Territorial is fine when it’s in the bedroom. It’s not fine when it keeps someone you’re supposed to love from living a life.
All the pieces began to fit together. Devil’s Night six years ago. How he wouldn’t let her even speak to me. How he had those guys take her away. How she always seemed to lurk like a mouse—in the confessional, at the cemetery—afraid of the cat coming out to snatch her up.
How they latched onto each other at The Pope. How she was the only woman I’ve ever seen him hang onto like a life preserver.
Given what I knew of their parents, it was no wonder they made their family just the two of them. It was the only place they were safe and loved.
“Come here,” I said, dropping my voice to a whisper.
She narrowed her eyes.
She had every reason to hate me after what I pulled today. After Gabriel and I tossed her back and forth like a possession. Has she ever been anywhere but Meridian City or Thunder Bay? Did she at least finish school? Did she have a single friend who wasn’t a guy in Gabriel’s crew?
I leaned in, suddenly wanting everything. I wanted to show her the world.
“Fuck him and your father,” I said gently. “Fuck me and the shit that comes out of my mouth.”
Her eyebrows dug in deeper, looking confused.
Snaking an arm around her, I pulled her onto my lap, and she immediately tried to push me away.
“I wanted this,” I told her, looking in her eyes.
She paused.
“For no other reason than I wanted you.” I threaded my fingers through hers, brushing against the band on her finger. I’d get her an engagement ring next week. Even though we were never engaged. Maybe she’d like to pick it out, actually. “Damon knew what a treasure you were, and he loves you. But he won’t keep me from you.” I tipped up her chin to meet my eyes. “This isn’t about him or the hotel or your father. I want you.”
“And if I don’t want you?”
My gaze faltered, but I decided to be direct. “Don’t you?”
I hadn’t misread signals. She liked me.
“I won’t hurt him,” I said, knowing what her worries were. “But I do need to protect myself, so I need to see him. Do you understand?”
“You promise?”
She looked so vulnerable. I couldn’t ask her to choose.
I nodded. “Promise.” I squeezed her, one hand on her waist, the other on her thigh. “I’m going to fix this, but I can’t account for him. If he pushes me too far, I’ll be forced to act. You know that.”
I saw her swallow as she stared at her lap.
“I want you,” I told her again. “And I don’t care what your name is, and I don’t care who your parents are or how much money you have or don’t have. I just want you, upstairs, and dressed in nothing but my sheets.”
A beautiful, small smile pulled at her lips. “I won’t be Banks tonight?”
I shook my head. “And I’m not Kai.”
“Just for tonight?”
I nodded, loving our little game. “Just for tonight.”
She stood up and slowly pulled all of her hair over her shoulder. “The dress is a corset.” She turned her back to me. “Will you help me unlace it before I go upstairs?”
My heart pumped harder.
I ran my hand down the criss-crossed lacing and pulled out the string tucked into the dress. Untying it, I pulled the long, black lace out of a few loops and then worked my fingers up her spine, loosening the laces. My body was wracked with pleasure. I loved undressing her.