Read Online Breaching the Billionaire: Alethea's Redemption (Book 6) (Legacy Collection) by Ruth Cardello - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Cardello
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the passenger seat of his car and buckled her in. While he did so, he was close, too close. She said, “I want to hate you, but you smell so good.”
“Oh, my little warrior, you’re drunk.”
“Not enough. I can still feel my feet. I was hoping for absolute oblivion.”
“Alcohol is never the solution.”
Alethea shrugged. “Judge me all you want. I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. Who hasn’t?” As she spoke she sank farther into the seat and closed her eyes. “You think I want to be like this? I don’t. I want to believe in the illusion of safety. But I can’t. Ever try to write a letter to Santa after you’re told he doesn’t exist? My life is like that. Just like that.”
His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I was with you until the Santa reference.”
Alethea’s eyes opened slowly and she looked across the car at him. It might have been the alcohol. Okay, it’s definitely the alcohol. But Marc sounded like he cared. The pain and fear she could normally conceal from the world spilled forth. “I lost my father because I was too trusting, too naïve to protect him.” She looked out the window at the blur of traffic, felt instantly queasy, and turned back to him.
He glanced at her, studying her in a way that made her regret speaking so honestly. “Your father died of a heart attack at home, didn’t he?”
What does it matter if I tell him? No one believes anything I say anyway. “That’s what they told me, but there was this guy. And the papers. Then we moved across the country so fast. I knew what happened even before I knew what happened. You know what I mean?”
“I’d like to say I understand what you’re saying, but you’re not making much sense. Let’s get you home. You can tell me tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. She closed her eyes again. Does it have to come? Can’t we stay here? Just you and me. No problems to solve. No one telling me how they would love me if . . . if . . . if I weren’t me. Just the sweet comfort of your body against mine, and just enough numbness to not care why it’s wrong.
She imagined the two of them falling into her bed, ripping off each other’s clothing as they did. Despite how her head was spinning, she smiled.
“We’re here,” Marc said, and Alethea realized she must have passed out. See, that’s why I should drink more—I’m a lightweight. The term amused her and she laughed out loud.
Marc gave her a puzzled look, which only made her laugh more.
While he half walked, half carried her through the garage beneath her building, she gave in to temptation and slid a hand beneath his suit. His stomach was rock hard, just as she’d imagined it. “Nice,” she said.
She felt his sharp intake of breath before he took her hand in his and held it away from him. “You’re not making this easy,” he groaned.
She smiled up at him cheekily. “Because you want me. I know you do. I see the way you look at me.” As they entered the elevator, he leaned her against the railing and stepped back. She swung an arm around for emphasis. “You were off limits because I didn’t want to upset anyone, rock the cart, upset the boat . . . whatever. But now it doesn’t matter. They’re all angry with me anyway.”
She stumbled and dropped her key when the elevator stopped at her floor. He picked up the key, then swung her up in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and breathed him in. Like her, he didn’t wear artificial scents. His smell was delightfully, simply him. She knew she should tell him to go, but for just a moment she let herself savor being held. Not since she was a child had someone made her feel protected, and in his arms, she finally felt safe.
He opened the door with one hand, carried her through to her living room, eased her back onto her feet, and stepped away from her. Alethea fought the desire to follow him, climb back into those strong arms, and recapture the brief feeling of peace.
But she didn’t. She stood there,
“Oh, my little warrior, you’re drunk.”
“Not enough. I can still feel my feet. I was hoping for absolute oblivion.”
“Alcohol is never the solution.”
Alethea shrugged. “Judge me all you want. I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. Who hasn’t?” As she spoke she sank farther into the seat and closed her eyes. “You think I want to be like this? I don’t. I want to believe in the illusion of safety. But I can’t. Ever try to write a letter to Santa after you’re told he doesn’t exist? My life is like that. Just like that.”
His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I was with you until the Santa reference.”
Alethea’s eyes opened slowly and she looked across the car at him. It might have been the alcohol. Okay, it’s definitely the alcohol. But Marc sounded like he cared. The pain and fear she could normally conceal from the world spilled forth. “I lost my father because I was too trusting, too naïve to protect him.” She looked out the window at the blur of traffic, felt instantly queasy, and turned back to him.
He glanced at her, studying her in a way that made her regret speaking so honestly. “Your father died of a heart attack at home, didn’t he?”
What does it matter if I tell him? No one believes anything I say anyway. “That’s what they told me, but there was this guy. And the papers. Then we moved across the country so fast. I knew what happened even before I knew what happened. You know what I mean?”
“I’d like to say I understand what you’re saying, but you’re not making much sense. Let’s get you home. You can tell me tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. She closed her eyes again. Does it have to come? Can’t we stay here? Just you and me. No problems to solve. No one telling me how they would love me if . . . if . . . if I weren’t me. Just the sweet comfort of your body against mine, and just enough numbness to not care why it’s wrong.
She imagined the two of them falling into her bed, ripping off each other’s clothing as they did. Despite how her head was spinning, she smiled.
“We’re here,” Marc said, and Alethea realized she must have passed out. See, that’s why I should drink more—I’m a lightweight. The term amused her and she laughed out loud.
Marc gave her a puzzled look, which only made her laugh more.
While he half walked, half carried her through the garage beneath her building, she gave in to temptation and slid a hand beneath his suit. His stomach was rock hard, just as she’d imagined it. “Nice,” she said.
She felt his sharp intake of breath before he took her hand in his and held it away from him. “You’re not making this easy,” he groaned.
She smiled up at him cheekily. “Because you want me. I know you do. I see the way you look at me.” As they entered the elevator, he leaned her against the railing and stepped back. She swung an arm around for emphasis. “You were off limits because I didn’t want to upset anyone, rock the cart, upset the boat . . . whatever. But now it doesn’t matter. They’re all angry with me anyway.”
She stumbled and dropped her key when the elevator stopped at her floor. He picked up the key, then swung her up in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and breathed him in. Like her, he didn’t wear artificial scents. His smell was delightfully, simply him. She knew she should tell him to go, but for just a moment she let herself savor being held. Not since she was a child had someone made her feel protected, and in his arms, she finally felt safe.
He opened the door with one hand, carried her through to her living room, eased her back onto her feet, and stepped away from her. Alethea fought the desire to follow him, climb back into those strong arms, and recapture the brief feeling of peace.
But she didn’t. She stood there,
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