Page 13 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
“We’ll be okay, right?”
He stops and faces me. “What?”
“You said we’ll be safe in the Den. But what about the restaurant where we’re having dinner?”
A strange expression flickers over his face. Uncertainty? It’s such a foreign look for him. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him less than confident, less than commanding. “I’ll be with you.”
Words catch in my throat. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I’ve had my protector ripped away from me before.
My father had seemed invincible once upon a time. And it’s the man standing in front of me who tore him down. I know better than to believe in any one person.
The world is too ruthless for that kind of faith.
Doubt must show on my face, because Gabriel takes a step closer.
“Do you think I would let someone hurt you?” he asks softly.
“I think you’re human.” Unlike the gods in my mythology books.
Even Hercules was a demigod. People had to imagine beings stronger than them to combat the frailty of the human body. Gabriel doesn’t seem weak. He radiates strength, muscles compact over his body, the white silk of his shirt stretched taut over broad shoulders. He doesn’t seem weak, but that’s the nature of being mortal. Only flesh and blood.
Even his powerful body wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade, against a bullet.
He reaches for me, and I’m startled at how small my hand looks between his two large ones. I don’t consider myself a small woman, but I always feel delicate when Gabriel is near me. It must be the way he tempers his force, the mighty paws of a lion with a fragile butterfly perched on top.
His eyes meet mine. “Ask me how many women I’ve brought here.”
My mind shies away from the question. “It doesn’t matter.”
He pushes my hand flat to his chest. I can feel the steady beat beneath my palm, the even rise and fall of his breath. “Ask how many.”
And I know he doesn’t only mean his mansion. He means his heart. I’m more afraid of this answer, because it has the power to break me. More than what happened with my father. The world is too cold for this kind of hope. The words are barely a breath. “How many?”
The look in his eyes singes me, burning hot. “One, little virgin. Only one woman ever broke down my walls. Only one woman ever had that power over me.”
Emotion expands in my chest, filling every centimeter of space between my ribs, expanding outward. He only pretended that telling him no was a rebellion. I see that now. The true power I have is to tell him yes.
Yes, I’ll stay with you. You can wrap your chains around me. I may fight you, but you can make me like it.
My fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close.
That’s all he allows—one inch. He takes over the motion, sweeping down to my mouth, an urgent press, a possessive flick of his tongue. Then he’s kissing me, opening my mouth to him, holding me still for an urgent exploration. I feel claimed. I feel trapped. I feel safe.
Every stroke of his tongue against mine pushes me deeper. Winds me tighter. Until I’m breathing harder, leaning toward him, a flower to the sun.
He nips my bottom lip, and I make a small sound of surprise. His head lifts, revealing bronze eyes dark with hunger. I feel ravenous myself, ready to shed this dress. “Gabriel,” I gasp. “I need you.”
He gives an unsteady laugh. “Later, little virgin. I promised to make you regret it, and I intend to deliver.”Chapter FiveYellow light spills onto the slick streets from the vaulted windows of the Oak Room. My favorite restaurant. Excitement strums my nerves. Except that’s not possible…
The limo slows near the crush of Bentleys and Ferraris, the valet station bustling with gentlemen in tuxes and ladies in glittering gowns. It’s a place to see and be seen. We glide past the awning, golden light glancing across our window and then going dark.
Curiosity spikes when we turn a corner into the alley.
I glance at Gabriel, who’s watching me with dark eyes.
We pull behind the restaurant, where two men in suits stand on either side of an open door. The limo slows to a stop, and the driver steps out, but he doesn’t open the back door. He’s a shadow at the side of the car, as if he’s waiting for a signal from inside.
The back entrance. “They’re expecting us.”
“I called before we left.”
All this from a phone call. My father was lucky to get a reservation a week in advance. That was only due to his wealth and his reputation in the city—before the scandal. Some of my friends from prep school couldn’t get in at all. “This was my favorite restaurant. I used to come here with my dad.”
