his silver eyes. Did coming up with another of his unique endearments mean he wasn’t as disturbed as she feared over this face-off?
Then he dropped a whisper in her ear, reminded her of what was coming, sent her world churning. “One more left, then I’ll have you to myself for as long as I want.”
As she walked out with him, she wondered just how long that would be. But did it matter, when she had no choice? And her lack of choice wasn’t because he wasn’t giving her any. If she walked away now, he’d let her and still give Castaldini a second chance. His condition had been just to show her how much he wanted her.
But she didn’t want to walk away. She couldn’t. She’d take anything she could have with him. Even if only one more time.
The real problem would be when she had no choice but to walk away. Again. This time, forever.
Eight
Leandro was used to winning. Maledizione, he’d come to demand nothing less than victory. In anything, over anyone. And he always started by triumphing over himself.
He was losing big-time right now.
His evil thoughts were in control, tossing his emotions wherever they pleased. He threw all his vaunted self-mastery at them, tried to loosen their grip. He didn’t want to infect Phoebe with his tension.
Too late. On the way to their destination, he caught glimpses of them in the massive mirrors placed in strategic spots. He looked like a man with serious damage on his mind. Phoebe looked like a woman walking to the guillotine.
And it was all about that next hurdle, the one that was left in the way before he could have Phoebe to himself. Her sister.
Phoebe had insisted she couldn’t move into his home and call Julia after the fact. She had to inform her sister of her plans, explain the situation and arrange this separation face-to-face.
It was the “arrange this separation” that made him want to haul that tyrant from the chair from which she ruled her sister’s life and shake some consideration for others into her. He would extract Phoebe from her clutches, even if he had to cut off her tentacles while he was at it. He owed that woman a lot of pain.
He believed that a big part of Phoebe’s rejection of him in the past had been caused by true panic at the idea of leaving her sister. He’d scoffed at Julia’s need then, but he’d long accepted that Phoebe believed that need to be real. And endless.
Oh, he might try to tell himself that Phoebe had gained a lot by sticking by her sister, but he only bought that when he was on one of his bitterness binges and needed to paint Phoebe as dark a shade of exploitative as possible. What he’d spent years needing to believe didn’t mesh with reality. Reality said Julia had it all, and Phoebe, the strong one, the capable, nurturing one, had ended up living in her shadow, everything in her life a reflection of what filled Julia’s.
He’d met Julia twice. On both occasions, he’d bristled with animosity. He hadn’t known why until he’d realized he’d been in the presence of tyranny of the weak in a wraithlike, female form.
And they were two corridors away from said monster’s lair.
Phoebe felt so taut she might snap. Maledizione, was she so deeply conditioned to put her sister’s so-called needs ahead of her own that she dreaded leaving Julia even for a short time…?
Short time. Did she think it would be that? Did she want it to be? Did he? How could he, when he’d never get enough…? Never?
Never. But…what about closure? Closure…
The word churned in his mind, sickened him. And he had to face it. He didn’t want closure. He never had. All he wanted was a continuation. And he was no longer putting a definition or form to that continuation. Something as elemental as what they shared abided by no rules but its own. But that was how he felt. What about her?
What if this tension wasn’t all about her mother complex over her sister? What if there was still an element of coercion here? What if being with him was what she wanted, but also what she’d rather not do? What if she felt cornered by both her need to help his kingdom, and her need for him? He couldn’t bear that he might be contributing to her turmoil.
He reached for her, pulled her through the nearest doorway.
The couple going about their business in their own quarters looked as if they’d been caught trespassing, started babbling apologies. He winced as he requested the kindness of the use of their quarters for a few minutes. They streaked out.
The moment the door closed behind them, he took Phoebe by the shoulders. She stared up at him, her eyes alarmed, confused.
He groaned. “I take back my condition. And my promise. I’ll stay in Castaldini and draw on your opinions and guidance in coming to a decision. We’ll work out a way to collaborate while we’re on opposite ends of the island.”
The deluge of emotion that flooded her eyes inundated him. She seemed to stop breathing. She seemed…hurt? More…stricken?
His lungs burned as he waited for her to put her reaction into words. They finally came from her lips, but felt like a trembling caress in his mind. “You don’t want me…to come with you anymore?”
The barked laugh gashed something on its way out. “If I wanted you more, we’d have a medical emergency on our hands.”
Her lower lip trembled. His whole body rioted. “Then why are you taking your invitation back?”
“Because I didn’t exactly make it an invitation.”
Her eyes—those eyes that dominated his fantasies—bombarded him with so much emotion, everything in him tensed. His thoughts and heart and guts and loins. Then she upped the ante. Comprehension, followed by delight, turned her face from the sum of his desires to the end of life as he knew it.
She slowly, so slowly, imprinted her body on his, slid up against him, her lips open on pleasure-laden breaths until she whispered into his mouth, “Then make it one.”
He was a super hero. He didn’t devour her. Or maybe he couldn’t. Because he was dying here. Not that rigor mortis would stop him from obeying her. He groaned.
“Will you come with me, Phoebe? Unconnected with anything but what we both want? Will you bestow on me the pleasure of you?”
“Yes.” The S lingered as she pressed all that reason-annihilating femininity against him. The world faded as the sound did, as she nestled her face into his open shirt. His heart did its best to tear open his ribs for a direct rub. “Now promise me again.”
Was this survivable? He frankly didn’t care. “I’ll let you come to me. But I’ll keep showing you how much I want you to, how mind-blowingly better than ever it will be when you do.”
Her giggle was a cocktail of distress, mirth and yearning. “This I have to experience to believe.”
He still kept his hands to himself. Somehow. “You will. Experience. And believe. When you make up your mind.”
She trembled as she leaned on him. He swayed. As they said in his hometown, sandadet ala haita mayla—she
