He was too dangerous to be around, and if she had any brain in her head at all, she’d be as far from him as she could get.
Following her down the hallway, he found her in his bedroom, her back to him. She’d dropped her bag on the floor and was in the process of taking something out of it.
“Eleanor,” he said, hard and cold. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”
She turned. There was a black, silky-looking blindfold in her hand. The look in her eyes blazed, full of all the emotions he was struggling to contain. Fury, passion, desire. “But I don’t want to get the fuck away from you,” she said flatly. “In fact, leaving you is the last thing on earth I can imagine doing.”
The pain around his heart pulled so unbearably tight he tried to force it away, to hold on to the cold instead. “Then you’re a fucking idiot. I’m dangerous. I’m unstable. I could—”
“You’re not any of those things, Luc.” She stepped forward and held out the blindfold. “You think I’d give a killer my absolute trust? I made the mistake once before of giving it to a man who didn’t deserve it. But you do. And I want to prove it to you. I used to like not being able to see, but Piers made it…awful.” She took a breath, her knuckles white around the black fabric. “I want to reclaim that. I want to be able to choose this for myself, make it good again. And nothing is awful with you, Luc. So please take it. It’s my gift to you.”
A sudden, desperate craving pushed against the cold inside him. The need to take that blindfold, give her what she wanted. Then hold her and all her blazing warmth until he was nothing but ash.
But he couldn’t. He’d held a knife to her throat. He’d made her bleed.
How could she hand him a blindfold and tell him she trusted him after he’d done something like that? After what had been done to her?
He ignored the material in her hand. “Get out, Eleanor. If you knew what was good for you, you’d get the fuck out of here without looking back.”
She stared at him for a long moment, but the determination in her eyes didn’t flicker, not even for an instant. Then she turned away, going over to the bed and laying the blindfold down on it. Her hands went to the buttons of her cardigan and she began unbuttoning it.
“Eleanor.” He put every ounce of command he had into the word. “Get out. I’m not going to tell you again.”
But she didn’t even pause as she shrugged her cardigan off and pulled her T-shirt over her head, dropping them on the floor. Then she reached around to unhook her bra.
The longing pushed harder inside him, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’ll pick you up and carry you out.”
“Go ahead. But I think you should punish me for ignoring your orders first.” She kicked off her sandals, pushed down her jeans, taking her panties with them.
His breath caught, the pain in his chest unbearable as she stepped naked from her clothes and turned around to face him. The moon came through the windows, gleaming pale over her hair and white skin.
“You can’t do this,” he said desperately. “You don’t understand what I am.”
“I understand what you think you are. And you’re wrong, Luc. You’re so fucking wrong.” She crossed the space between them and he wanted to back away to protect her from himself. And yet at the same time he wanted to hold on to her with everything he had.
“Yes, you’ve killed, but you’re not a killer. You’re a good man, strong, a survivor. Someone who lived in hell and who came back alive. But, honey…” she put a hand on his chest before he could stop her, “…no one who’s lived in hell is without scars. No one comes out of that untouched.”
He didn’t want her to touch him, didn’t want her to start bringing him back to life again. And yet…he couldn’t seem to bring himself to step back. “I’m dangerous, Eleanor. I’m… I can’t…”
Her hand didn’t move, only rested on his chest like a hot coal, burning him. And he didn’t want to look at her, naked and beautiful in front of him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d always thought of her as the sun. Even at night she was bright. She had the moon and the whole fucking Milky Way galaxy in her eyes.
“Here’s the deal, honey,” she said very softly. “I love you. And I’m not leaving you alone. Not ever again.”
When was the last time someone had told him they loved him? Too long.
He could feel the longing pushing against his throat, pushing against his heart. A desperation that went bone deep. That didn’t want detachment, that didn’t want numbness.