Innocence (Tales of Olympus #1)(22)

She stared at him and he stared back. Had he really just said that? To her? She knew she was infatuated with him. Any girl would be. But was it… Was it actually within the realm of possibility that he could actually feel anything back? For her?

But as he stared at her, she’d swear he looked just as stunned as she felt. Oh gods, could it be true? Please, please, could it be true? She’d give anything, pay any price for this man to care for her back even half of what she felt for him.

And then she realized she just been standing here silently. Crap.

She spoke up, haltingly. “You’ve been great too. You’re kind, more than generous. You’ve treated me like a princess.” Gods, she wasn’t saying this right. How could she make him understand? “I came to the city with such big dreams, but . . . every girl dreams of a life like this. You’ve made it come true.” She looked up at him, knowing that her cheeks were alive with the heat of the moment and the cold of the wind.

Her words weren’t enough. She wanted to tell him how she felt about him. It wasn’t just gratitude for all he done. Even if he’d never given her a single thing, she would feel the same way about him. She saw how he was with everybody else. Cold. Distant. The greatest gift he’d given her was himself. He’d let her in when he never let anyone in besides Sharo.

His fingers remained on her cheek, but still as if any movement more than breathing would shatter it all.

“Cora,” he whispered, and she strained to hear. The wind nearly took his words. “I want…”

“What?” she had whispered back, but there was no answer.

In the silence she’d shivered a little, and he was there, folding her into his chest, suit jacket and satin handkerchief pressing into her cheek. And he was warm, so strong, and nothing could take her away from his shelter or his heat.

“I want to keep you safe,” he said. “I want to hold you, like this…”

When he didn’t go on, she realized he didn’t have to. It was okay if he didn’t have the words. “Shh…” she whispered and closed her eyes, sinking into him.

They had stayed that way for a long time, till after the band stopped playing, and the waiters swept up, and finally they went back down to where Sharo sat in the car with a fist over his mouth to keep from yawning. She had kept her head on Marcus’s shoulder all the way home, as the light on the car window softened with dawn.

Marcus had kept his promise. The dress had arrived that afternoon, with a note: Wear it, and we’ll call it even. She had grown used to opening gifts in the weeks that he had been preoccupied with work, but this one made her gasp as she lifted it from the tissue—the fabric was luminous gray and covered over with clear beads that glinted like city lights. A small box accompanied it. It opened to showcase a necklace. The setting was shaped like a tear, two diamonds and another stone, a large red one she couldn’t recognize.

So now she found herself standing in the dim light of the little foyer, allowing herself one last look in the mirror before her escort knocked on the door and whisked her away to Marcus. She couldn’t wait to see him, but she wanted to look perfect for him.

The dress was lovely, soft and gray, like the stuff of clouds. The tiny beads twinkled, even though the only light in her dark apartment came from the cityscape outside her windows. She had turned out the lights in preparation to go out, and now saw her reflection in stark shadow and dulled light.

Still, her eyes were shining, and the jewels at her ears and neck flashed in the light of the city. She smiled. A happy, but pale face smiled back. She touched her cheek with cold fingers. So white, as if she’d been frightened. Patting them sharply to give them some color, she breathed in the scent of the roses.

A knock sounded behind her, and she all but jumped out of her skin. She laughed at herself as she put a hand to her chest. Grabbing her clutch, she turned to the door. She almost grabbed for the doorknob but stopped herself and checked through the peephole, as Marcus had instructed her. City instinct, he had told her. Don’t trust you know what’s beyond your own front door.

He sounded like her mother. But still, she humored him.

The head outside the door was bent. Frowning, she waited for it to straighten so she could see a face. It certainly wasn’t Sharo; his head was shaved. The one she was looking at had a full head of hair, brown and a bit tousled, though wet like it had been raining on the streets.

Finally, the head raised. Her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp and she went cold as she recognized the face from that night at the club. The night that ended with her on her back in a car, before she escaped into the streets and the empty club where she had met Marcus.

She backed silently away from the door, fright closing her throat.

He didn’t see you. He can’t see you.

Still, all she wanted was to run to her bedroom and hide under the bed like a little kid. Instead, she retreated to the kitchen, grabbed her phone along with a big kitchen knife, and went into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her.

Shaking, she dialed. It was a number Marcus had given her if she needed to reach him. No one ever picked up, but she had never left a message before without Marcus or Sharo getting the information.

“Hello,” she whispered in the bathroom, “this is Cora.” Even though she was speaking as quietly as she could, her voice echoed off the bathroom walls. Was the man still out there? Could he hear her?