The magic evaporated like a puff of air. She didn’t feel protected by his warmth any longer. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes. “Don’t.”
He took something from the nightstand. She didn’t have to look to know what it was. Cold metal encased her wrists, locking her to the bedpost.
“It’s better like this,” he said, his gaze and voice flat. “Tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere else.”
Just like that, she’d been unseen. It made her feel like the mistake from the cemetery was hers alone, that he took responsibility for her only because they’d crossed a line and his warped sense of honor demanded it.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” she said.
“Oh, but I am, my sneaky little witch. I want everything.” He bent down over her, putting their faces close. “The next time we fuck, I will remember.”
Her lips parted, but no words formed.
“What?” he asked, giving her a heartless smile. “Does the thought scare you?”
“What about feelings? Aren’t those supposed to play a role?”
He straightened. “Sorry, but I don’t do love.”
The verdict was a cruel blow. Her words were more sad than judgmental. “No wonder they dumped you.”
“A luxury you won’t get.”
“Why me?” She strained in the handcuffs. “Why don’t I get a choice?”
Trailing a finger over her cheek, he said in a low voice, “This is what you’ve always wanted, Cle. I guess you should’ve been more careful about what you wished for.”
Before she could reply, he turned away and switched off the light, casting them in darkness that dispelled her love and invited the old ghosts in.
Chapter 13
Joss didn’t wake with a start like he usually did. The transition came gently. For a man who’d spent hours in a hard, wooden chair, he felt surprisingly rested. For once, the dream had been absent. He glanced at the woman sleeping in his bed. Maybe Clelia exorcised his ghosts. Maybe he’d expelled his demons at her expense. If she’d felt his ghosts, she’d be dreaming his dreams now.
Conflicted, he watched her. During the night, she’d tried to slip under the covers. The crumpled blanket under her hips was evidence of her failed attempt. Goosebumps covered her arms and legs. The chair creaked when he got up, but she didn’t move. Instead of pulling the blanket from under her and risk waking her, he folded the ends over her body.
The tiny woman stirred things inside him. Wanting her scared him. Needing her petrified him. In their case, want and need were synonymous with disaster.
Turning his back on her, he walked from the room and closed the door. He stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He wanted to free and save her, and chain and keep her, all at the same time. All of it irrational. His mission wouldn’t allow him either luxury. He threaded his fingers through his hair. It took strength to walk away. She feared. He worried.
The relaxed state he’d woken up in vanished quickly when he stalked downstairs to the kitchen and flung open the door of the fridge. For a long time, he stared at the meager contents, and then banged his head against the freezer compartment. Goddamn. If he didn’t get a grip, they were both goners. He wiped his palm over his face. Taking a deep breath, he took out the cheese and made breakfast.
A short while later, he went back upstairs armed with a flask of coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches. Leaving the tray on the desk, he went down on his haunches next to the bed. The blanket had fallen open again. Clelia’s back was turned to him. The bones of her delicate spine formed a semi-circle through the cotton of her T-shirt. A fragile bird. Constrained like this, she seemed like an angel with her wings clipped.
He brushed his fingers over her arm. “Cle.” The first word he’d spoken today. Why did it feel so fucking right? “Wake up.”
She stiffened, then pulled away, giving him the cold shoulder, not that he could blame her. If only he could figure out what was brewing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were heading toward the mother of all disasters. What they both needed was strength. Food.
“I’m going for a shower,” he said, “and when I get back, you’re going to eat. I’ll feed you, bite for bite, if I must.”
Although he felt physically better than what he had in years, he couldn’t put his mind at rest. Leaving her handcuffed a little while longer, he had a quick shower and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He zipped up his boots, tidied the bathroom, and dumped their dirty clothes in a travel bag.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Clelia was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. At least she’d moved. They didn’t speak as he removed the handcuffs. She still said nothing as she took clean clothes from her bag. She discreetly shifted the underwear between a pair of jeans and a tank top. Out of consideration, he looked away, busying himself with pouring coffee until she closed the bathroom door behind her.
Sitting on the bed and sipping his coffee, he listened to the sounds she made. When he heard the water come on, he imagined what he’d missed out on in the graveyard. He imagined her under the spray, naked. When it turned off, he saw her wrap the towel around herself in his mind’s eye, but what was missing from the picture was him at her back, his hands on her wet skin, moving the towel down to where
