CHAPTER NINE

 

Livvy

 

Footsteps sounded on the narrow ladder to the loft where Rosaria had directed us earlier. Startled, I sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to my chest. Thomas's dark head appeared and when he'd climbed the final rung, he went down on his knees, the ceiling too low for him to stand.

"Why'd you disappear like that?" he demanded.

"I thought . . ." My words trailed off as he gave me a look of annoyance, grabbing one of the pillows, tossing it in the narrow space next to the bed.

"You thought what?"

"I thought you were off with Carmen." I couldn't deny the relief that streaked through my body despite being confused why he wasn't with her. I also couldn't deny the accusatory tone in my voice, and I grimaced slightly at the knowledge that he must have heard it too.

His eyes lingered on my face for a moment, those pale eyes boring in to me so heat flooded my face. Something flared in his eyes, but it was gone before I could attempt to name it. He picked up the blanket at the end of the bed and turned, throwing it on the floor.

"No," he said, kicking his shoes off.

I looked at the small, narrow space where he was making a bed. "What are you doing?"

"Going to sleep. It's been a long fucking day," he muttered.

"I'd say." I shook my head. "You won't even be able to lie on your back down there. There's more room on the bed." I scooted over a little more but Thomas hesitated, seeming unsure. I was too. But after today, the least he deserved was a soft bed to stretch out on. I could handle the sexual tension simmering inside me. I was exhausted, he had to be, too, and I was sure we'd fall asleep quickly.

Finally, he nodded, sitting down on the side of the bed. "Thanks. These clothes are too filthy to sleep in. Turn your back, or I'm going to end up flashing you."

A twinge in my stomach caused me to take in a sharp inhale of breath and I turned, the movement jerky. I heard the rustle of Thomas's clothes and the light next to the bed went off, casting the room in shadows, the pale glow of the lights from the patio on the side of the building barely making their way to our window on the second floor.

For a moment there was only the distant murmur of voices, the very faint sound of the music and our mingled breaths. Why was he here? With me? Was it duty? "She obviously . . . wanted you. You didn’t need to . . . to watch out for me. I'm perfectly safe up here . . . alone."

There was a pause and he said, "Maybe I'm meeting her later."

My head swiveled toward him in the darkness. "You're what?"

He chuckled, turning toward me. "I'm a married man, Livvy."

"You're not. You’re not really married."

"She didn't know that."

My brows came together. I turned toward him so we were both lying on our sides, facing each other in the low light. "So . . . what? You didn't want to . . . sleep with her because of her . . . character flaws?"

He shrugged and then yawned. "A man's not allowed to have standards?" There was something in his tone, a teasing quality and I blinked, surprised.

"Are you . . . being silly? I must be dreaming. It's not your style."

A smile broke over his face, a real one, wide and beautiful and my heart lurched at the sight of it. It transformed his face, softening the harsh edges and warming his eyes, although there was something . . . unpracticed in it. His mouth curved, but his forehead dipped as if happiness surprised him somehow. Or as if he felt he had to apologize for it. "Not really," he said.

"Not really?"

"Scheming women irritate me."

"Okay, but . . . we're not talking about a woman you're considering marrying, we're talking about a one-night stand."

"Not interested."

"So, you don't sleep with a woman until you're certain she's of upstanding moral character?"

Thomas laughed. It was rusty and deep. "I don't take a survey, beforehand, but some people make it unnecessary."

"Huh," I said, pondering that.

"Why is this so shocking to you?" There was that teasing tone in his voice again and it warmed me, made me feel an intimacy with him that I hadn't before. It made me feel . . . special somehow as if I was getting a part of him few others did.

"I don't know. I thought men were more visual than anything else."

"Oh, I'm visual, sweetheart." His gaze wandered down my body and I blushed, averting my eyes and biting my lip to try to stop the warm flush of satisfaction. Stop it, Livvy. He was playing with me, and I didn't like that it affected me like it did. "But no man wants to take a snake to bed."

"Huh," I murmured again. "You're full of surprises."

His expression did something funny, but then it smoothed out and I thought it had been a strange trick of the light and shadows dancing in this small space. I adjusted my head on my arms, my eyes growing heavy.

There was a tightening at the corners of Thomas's eyes as he reached out a finger, frowning when he circled the scar on the underside of my arm. And then the one next to it, and then one under that. I watched his finger as it moved, the scar underneath so light, it could barely be seen in the darkened room.

"Cigarette burns," I said, answering his unspoken question.

He continued looking at the scars, his mouth a hard, set line. "This the meanness you talked about?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. I don't remember it, though. Not getting those scars specifically anyway. My adoptive parents hated them, sent me to a plastic surgeon who tried to remove them. He did make them less noticeable, but they never disappeared entirely. A part of me they couldn't erase, no matter how hard they tried." I paused as Thomas withdrew his hand, a strange look on his face, almost a mixture of anger and confusion. "But . . . I could never bring myself to mind. It's almost like, these scars are the physical reminder of my sister, the sacrifice I gladly made for her. I know I'm not tough like you are"—I shot him a small smile—"but they're my own battle scars and I'm . . . proud of them."

I snuggled into the pillow, catching Thomas's scent. It simultaneously made my heart beat more quickly and provided a sort of comfort. I'd never lain in bed just . . . talking to a man before, and I really liked it. Alec had always been so tired after a day's work and had generally fallen straight to sleep when we got in bed. Now I knew he had to have been stressed, too, juggling the worries he'd never shared with me.

Thomas had turned over and was lying on his back, and for a minute I thought he'd gone to sleep, but the light shifted and I saw that his eyes were open and he was looking at the ceiling. "Are you okay . . . about what happened today?" I asked.

He was silent for a moment. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"You did. You didn't put up a fight about me leaving. Your strength helped me focus on what I needed to focus on."

I see a strength in you, Livvy. I'd never thought of myself as particularly strong, but the idea that two fierce men—Josh and Thomas—thought of me that way made me feel . . . proud.

There was a moment of silence between us before Thomas spoke again. "I gave those men a choice, you know. Confess their crimes and stand trial or . . . not. They chose not. Some men have to be dealt with, Liv. Or they'll keep causing pain to innocents."

Liv.

I took in a breath and let it out slowly. This was all so beyond my scope of familiarity. Why had he told me that? Was it because he thought I disagreed with his choice? Or because I believed he was some cold-blooded killer? I didn't. Admittedly, I didn't fully understand his world, but I knew what he'd done today was necessary. "I think you're a good man, Thomas," I said, hoping that answered whatever question I'd sensed in his statement.

I closed my eyes and drifted toward sleep, sensing a shift in Thomas's mood, but too tired to try to figure out what it meant.