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The meaning behind her statement makes my stomach flip-flop at the same time as my heart squeezes. No doubt she heard plenty of Russian from Mikhail’s men when they took her prisoner. Not happy memories for her by any means.
And still, she likes it when I speak it. Me. Specifically.
Leaning in, I reward her with a gentle kiss.
Then I ease out of her, rolling onto the bed beside her so I’m not trapping her with my weight. Mel pulls back the covers, climbing beneath them and bringing me with her as she snuggles against me.
It’s a motion similar to the one Gabby made earlier. Only far more intimate without clothes to separate us. And with Mel’s long, lean frame, her head ends up resting on my shoulder as she tucks herself beneath my arm. Much like she did on our wedding night.
Chest tight, I try not to let the negative thoughts flood my mind. The worry that, since the passionate encounter is finished, Mel might be gone by morning. I’ll never forgive my moment of weakness if she decides to run again.
My arm tightens instinctively around her shoulders, and I press my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling her lemony-vanilla scent. Mel gives a soft hum, the sound making my chest ache with longing. Her fingers trace a gentle pattern over my chest, following the lines of my family crest—a wolf with its fangs bared as it crouches low to stalk its prey.
The soft touch raises goosebumps across my flesh, and I close my eyes, swallowing hard as I relish the sensation.
“Gleb?” she asks tentatively, breaking the silence that stretches between us.
“Hmm?” I glance down, but she keeps her eyes focused on the lines she’s tracing.
“Can I ask you something?”
She just did, but I don’t point that out. She seems to want to talk more, which I’m not used to—especially from Mel—but I’m open to anything if that’s what will put her at ease. “Sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.
A pause, then, “Why don’t you want to be with me?”
The words are so backward, I can’t quite make sense of them. I feel like I must have heard her wrong because, if anything, she’s the one who’s demonstrated she doesn’t want me. How is that her question when she’s who keeps running, she’s who keeps pushing me away?
Sure, I put my foot down and tried to draw a line about our intimacy. But how the hell else am I supposed to protect her when I’m constantly triggering her flight instincts?
“What do you mean?” I ask after several seconds of trying to unravel the thought process behind her question.
“Have I ruined things between us?” Mel lifts her head, propping herself up on her elbow to meet my eyes, and her thick curtain of black hair falls softly over her shoulder. “Is it something I can’t fix? Maybe our age difference? Am I too immature?”
The suggestion catches me completely by surprise. I am quite a bit older than she is—eight years, to be precise. But I don’t consider her behavior immature, and honestly, I haven’t thought about how young she is since I first rescued her from Mikhail.
I was so furious with him for trying to sell her into his sex trafficking ring—especially when she was just eighteen, though he frequently sells girls even younger. That’s one of the many reasons Sascha’s mission is so important. Someone needs to bring that sick bastard down.
“I thought about it when we first met, I guess—your age, I mean. But it hasn’t even crossed my mind since I found you in Boston. Is… that something that bothers you?” Perhaps that’s been a hurdle between us all along, and I just never knew. I can’t blame her if she thinks I’m too old.
God, after all the older men who have taken advantage of her, I wouldn’t blame her for being squeamish at the thought of being with me. Lead drops in my stomach at the thought. If I read her signals wrong again, I really might carve out my useless fucking eyes, so I can’t keep deluding myself.
“No,” Mel says before I can go too far down that dark path in my mind.
But the silence that follows is agonizingly long. Because she looks troubled as she considers her answer more. Her chin trembles, and it takes all my self-restraint not to reach up and steady it between my thumb and finger.
She swallows hard before pressing onward as if determined to get all the hard conversations off her chest in one night. “I think… because of my past… I don’t trust men on the whole.”
No shit. Who could blame her? The worthless deadbeats and sick fucks that have ruled over her life have probably traumatized her to the breaking point. And it makes my blood boil to see how painful it is for her to acknowledge the fact.
But I keep my peace, forcing my temper into check so she can speak without interruption.
“That’s… why I ran in the first place… why I keep running—but I really want to trust you,” she rushes on now that she’s gotten past the part she struggled to admit. “I’m trying,” she promises, her voice starting to tremble as her dark eyes grow glossy with unshed tears. “And I hope you’re willing to give me another chance. I know I might not deserve it. I’ve put you through so much. And I know I’m a pain in the ass…”
Floored by Mel’s vulnerability, I’m struck silent, my heart throbbing as the air refuses to leave my lungs.
Her hand on my chest feels as though it’s searing my flesh, and I struggle to wrap my mind around the flood of emotions that invade me. My mind recalls the memory of the first time she opened up to me and admitted she was distrustful of men—the night she asked me to take her virginity. Right after I rescued her from Mikhail for the second time.
She told me she wanted me that night. And I dared to believe she meant it in more than the physical sense. But since then, I’ve gotten so many mixed messages, I was certain she only said it to make me feel good—to repay me for helping her.
