She was gliding her hand across his chest. The touch of his skin under her fingertips was mesmerizing. Soft, warm, and she could feel his heart beating.
He said nothing for a few moments, just took long breaths. “Although, I suppose I could be wrong.” His words were uneven. “After all, there might be something to your father’s visions. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize world peace.”
“That’s noble of you.”
“I’m only thinking of the countless masses.”
Charity smiled and her mouth moved to his again. This time he kissed her back—slow when she went slow, gentle when she nibbled on his bottom lip, and then none of those things, only impatient.
He tugged at his arms in frustration. “You’ll have to untie me, or this won’t work.”
Could she trust him enough yet to release him? She dropped kisses on his neck again. “I don’t think I should untie you.”
“Well, one of us has done this before, and it isn’t you.”
The words jolted her so much, she pulled away from him. When Enzo had said he hadn’t dated since he was nineteen,she’d supposed he was as inexperienced as herself. But of course, she’d been stupid to suppose anything. “You’ve done this before? How many times?”
He didn’t answer, just stared at her with an incredulous expression. “You want a number?”
So, a lot then. He couldn’t keep track. She stood up and put a hand to her brow. “How many different women?”
He sighed, aggravated. “You’re acting like you just found out that I cheated on you.” His tone turned wry. “Relax, darling. It was before your time. After I met you last month, there’s been no one else for me.”
And now he was mocking her.
It was one straw too many, and like the proverbial camel, she broke. Nothing with Enzo had gone the way she’d expected. He’d never been who or what she’d supposed. He wasn’t at all like Atticus Finch, George Bailey, or Petrarch. He was James No-Commitment Bond—someone witty and charming and horrible.
She lifted her hands in frustration. “I don’t know why I expected something different. I don’t know why I thought you’d saved yourself for marriage.” Her fingers went to her temples. “Oh wait, yes, I do. I expected it because I was saving myself for you.”
He huffed in disbelief. “You didn’t know me until three weeks ago. If you wanted someone saintly, you should’ve kidnapped a clergyman to marry at gunpoint.”
He didn’t understand. “When I told you that my father had a vision of us getting married, did you think I meant it was a recent thing? He had it when I was fifteen. We’ve been waiting for you to show up ever since.I’vebeen waiting for you. And I thought…” She thought he would be like her, or at the very least, love her.
But he didn’t. He never would. This was all a joke to him.
She couldn’t say more. The stress of the last day and the weight of a sleepless night were too much. “I can’t do this.”
She stormed past him to her parents’ bedroom, slammed the door, and curled into a ball on the bed. Tears came. She couldn’t stop them, although she held the pillow to her face to muffle the sound. She cried for every hope and anticipation of Enzo that had been crushed in the last day, for a future that had turned to dust.
Why had she thought she loved him? He was cynical and ruthless, a person who hunted Empowereds and slept with women he hadn’t cared enough about to even consider girlfriends.
Charity had come here with him like the vision said, and now she had no idea what to do next or how marrying Enzo affected anything except for her faith in humanity, which had continually plunged since last night.
Having a baby was out of the question. Sorry, chosen one. Sorry, world that needed saving. Maybe her marriage was never meant to be a real one. Maybe for some counterintuitive reason, her parents were safer because they’d traveled to the cabin to drop her off.
That said, what was she supposed to do while stuck with Enzo for two weeks? She shut her eyes, searching for options. Staying up all night had taken its toll, though. Even with the threat of a trained enemy combatant in the kitchen, she fell asleep in minutes.
A crashing sound awakened her.She opened her eyes, unsure where she was or what was happening. The clock on the nightstand read 10:02. The cabin nightstand. Then she remembered. She stood up, cursing herself for falling asleep. Enzo was up to something.
She needed a weapon. The gun? No, if he’d escaped, he might take it from her. And besides, in the press of the moment, she couldn’t remember the safe’s combination. She grabbed the only thing she could use as a club—a broom that sat in the corner of the room.
She cautiously opened the door, broom raised. Enzo was still tied to the chair, but it had tipped over, and he lay on his side on the floor.
She lowered the broom. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry. I tried to get something to eat.”
She propped the broom against the wall and went to the chair. “You could have asked me to bring you something. I’ll make omelets.”