“No. We can’t. Carlo, we can’t.”
God, the way she said his name. Her tongue massaged it, turning the R into its own syllable. He could listen to her say that one word forever. The thought of her saying it in passion, as he was inside her, bringing her to ecstasy, had kept him awake most of the night, and most likely would again tonight.
He didn’t want to hear that they couldn’t go farther, but he knew she was right. Moreover, he knew that he couldn’t go farther as things were now and live with himself in the long run. And even more: if he did intend to go to his Uncle Ben and ask for his help, then his case would be immeasurably stronger if he had not cuckolded another man. Beniamino Pagano had rigid ideas about honor and morality, and he would denounce any man, family or not, who knew another man’s wife carnally. Even if she had made the break, Uncle Ben would look askance at a relationship that happened before her marriage was ended. But he would have no patience at all for full-bore adultery, regardless of the circumstances of the marriage.
Gasping, he kissed her again, chastely, so that she didn’t pull farther away. “I know. Not yet. We can’t yet. But Bina, I want you. God, I can barely think of anything else.”
Now she pushed harder on his shoulders and shrank back from him. “No. I don’t want you to say that. Don’t, please, tell me that you are obsessed. Please, that is not…is not a way to be good. That is the trap I’m in now already. Please.”
She was tense and trembling now in his arms, pushing away, no longer the pliant, hopeful lover she’d been during their kiss. And he understood.
“No—Bina, no. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you.” He sat back, releasing her, feeling a sharp sense of loss when she sat away and straightened into a perfect, rigid posture.
He had no way of sorting out how she was tangling him up with her husband right now. In these brief seconds that they’d become closer, he’d felt that what Auberon had done to her was deeper and more complex than simple abuse and control. And he’d inadvertently played into that. To reassure her would require a conversation he was incapable of having now, with his pulse pounding and his cock throbbing. So he turned his focus to the immediately practical matters.
“You can’t go back to that house. We need to find somewhere for you to go.”
In a clear sign of irritation, she huffed and met his eyes. As irritated as she now obviously was, Carlo could see that she, too, had been profoundly affected by their kiss. “I must go back. There is no choice.”
“He’s having you followed. You’re not safe there.”
“Because I’m followed, I must go back. He will know if I don’t, and then his plan will change. I need time.”
“Plan? What plan?”
At his question, her eyes widened, and he knew that she had said more than she’d meant to. “It’s no matter. But I must go back. We will…meet more, if you wish.” Again, she moved to rise, and again, he held her back.
“Bina, what plan?”
The silence of her hesitation stretched out into awkwardness. Carlo tried to read the storm in her eyes and predict what she might say, or understand what she would not, but her turmoil was too strong.
She swallowed, at last, and licked her lips, the tongue that had writhed with his coming out to leave a sultry shine. “He intends, I think, to kill me. For one of his people to…soon, I think. I’m sure.” Her eyes dropped away from his.
Carlo was surprised by how little that surprised him. He didn’t think for an instant to doubt her. What caught his attention more was that she would go back even as he was offering to help her find an option. With a finger under her chin, he lifted her face gently so that he could look into her eyes again. “You know this? And you’re still going back?”
“Yes. Now. So that he has no more suspicion than already he has. But I will see you again?” She stood, and this time he didn’t hold her back. Somehow, he knew he shouldn’t.
“Yes, you will. But Bina—”
“Carlo.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and then she simply turned and left.
~oOo~
He’d let her go, but he was worried. She’d said she was being followed, she’d said she was sure her husband planned to have her killed, and yet he’d let her go.
There’d been no choice. She was skittish when he tried to take the lead; even when he’d tried to hold her back from a fall, she’d torn herself away from him, and he’d known he’d pushed too often against that boundary when they’d spoken at Quinn’s. She’d said it outright—she was already controlled too much. Every time he’d tried to persuade her, she felt controlled, and then she saw him in Auberon’s light. So he’d let her go.