Luis slowly crawled over her. The bed wasn’t big enough for her to wiggle away, and with one side up against the wall, she was good and trapped within moments. Gathering her wrists in one hand, he executed what he felt was a truly impressive handcuff knot under the circumstances.
A narrow pipe ran from the ceiling down the corner of the room, probably a relic of the days when old buildings ran on gas, which provided an elegant solution to the problem of where to restrain her. Francesca bucked and twisted, protesting loudly that it wasn’t fair as he secured the rope around the pipe.
Job done, he stared down at his flushed and furious captive, his eyelids heavy and his determination unshaken.
Pressing his thumb into the cushion of her plump lower lip, he explained, “It doesn’t matter if it’s fair. You’re a golden anchor, Frankie. Everyone’s talking about what happened at the mansion last night, and that means everyone — from the lowest soldier to the biggest boss — knows aboutyounow. You’re in danger,every second of every day, until you’re recognized as mine.”
“But I’m not yours,” she panted, feebly tugging at the ropes. “You and I both know that. You don’tdolong term, Luis.”
Frustration boiling over at last, he found his claws sinking into the mattress on either side of her. His mind knew that she didn’t mean it as an insult — probably — but his instinct, the thing that screamed at him to sink his fangs into her and fuck her until she was bred, took it as a deadly slight.
She’d left their home. She’d rejected his support. Now she was saying she wasn’t his, as if he was unfit and unworthy of her.
Luis was a master at shrugging things off and making a joke, but there was no waving this away. To want an anchor as badly as he wanted her was to crave the stuff oflife.It was the certainty that he was staring at the woman who would sustain him, love him, and be the beating heart of him until the day he died.
In return for all the sacrifices he knew she’d make to be with him, he’d give her anything that made her happy. If she asked him for that beating heart, he’d carve it out and hand it to her.
If only she’d just trusthim, truly trust him, he’d give her the whole world.
“This isn’t fucking temporary,” he growled, lip lifting to expose his fangs — not as a threat but as a promise of what was to come. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine since the day we met. When are you going to accept that?”
Francesca tilted her head back and away from him. In a warbling voice full of frustration, she admitted, “I can’t be another one of the girls you play with and then dump in a fancyrestaurant when they get too attached, Luis. I’m already too attached to you. I can’t stand being thrown out by someone who said they’d love me. I just can’t.”
“Frankie, what on Earth gave you the idea that…” His attention snagged on white cursive lettering embroidered over the pocket on her chest. Bewildered, he asked, “Georgio’s?”
“Yes,” she answered, sniffling.
He’dbeento Georgio’s. It’d been several months, but it was one of the go-to places he knew he could take a business associate or a date who ate food. The atmosphere was classy, the lights were always turned low to not bother vampire eyes, and the bill was high enough to warrant not being printed on their menus.
Luis wracked his mind, trying to think of the last time he’d been there. It was shortly after they met, he was fairly certain, but he hadn’t been back since that last disastrous night. There hadn’t been any reason to.
Sensing something was amiss, he pressed, “How long have you worked there?”
“Why does that matter?”
The hair on the back of his neck rose, as it did whenever Francesca avoided the truth.
An uncomfortable possibility presented itself. He couldn’t think of any other reason why she might not tell him the name of the place she worked before now or how long she’d worked there. His girl wasn’t hiding something like secret syndicate connections or a double life. It had to be something much more mundane than that.
Which was almost worse.
Bracing himself, he asked, “Were you working the night of May eighth?”
A better liar would’ve had a lot of room to bob and weave around his question. It was six months ago, making memory ofexact dates iffy at best. She could’ve pressed him about why he was asking, or even told him to shove it.
But for as much spine as his gorgeous girl had, she folded like wet tissue when he added, “We might fight and disagree on things, but we don’t lie to each other, kitten.”
He could tell it pained her to admit, “Yes. I was.”
Ah, fuck.
TWENTY-TWO
Well that certainly explained somethings — like why she was so adamant that she wasn’t what he was looking for, and that he wasn’t interested in anything serious.
The last time he’d been to Georgio’s was when he took Caitlin, his last regular partner, out to dinner. Breaking things off with her was long overdue for multiple reasons, not least of which was she’d become far too attached to him and begun asking when he’d bite her. Seeing as he’d been clear with his boundaries from the beginning, she had no reason to think that was ever forthcoming.
From what he could recall, the evening was a fine one. He’d been determined to treat her well all the way up until the end, figuring a break-up deserved as good of an impression as a first date. His mothers had taught him just as much.