Stolen by a Sinner (Sinners #3)(33)

The intense grateful reactions she has to everything I give her, to everything I allow – it gives me more power than I should have.

I have absolute control over her.

The realization has me staring at Lara until she tilts her head and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Out of pure curiosity, I ask, “If I gave you your freedom, what would you do?”

Instantly, her features tighten with concern and confusion. “I…” her tongue darts out to wet her lips, “I don’t want to leave.”

Trying again, I say, “If I gave you all the money you could ever need, and you could do anything you ever wanted to do, where would you go?”

Lara’s breathing starts to grow shallow, panic darkening her eyes again, then she begs, “Please let me stay.”

I reach over and place my hand on top of her clenched ones. “Relax. I’m not telling you to leave. I just want to know if you’d like to have your freedom.”

She shakes her head, her eyes locked with mine and filled with so much emotion it hits me square in the chest. “There’s nowhere I want to go. I want to stay here with Nisa Hanim, Murat Bey, Alya Hanim… and you.” She turns her hands over, and her slender fingers wrap around mine. Then she leans forward and admits, “I’m safe here. It feels like I belong.”

Lifting my other arm, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck. We’re so close, I can almost taste her desperation on my tongue. Leaning forward, I press my mouth to her forehead, then say, “This is now your home, Lara. You never have to leave.”

Her eyes shimmer as she gives me a thankful look, her cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you, Gabriel Bey.”

“Just Gabriel,” I remind her. For some reason, it annoys me when she calls me mister or sir.

When she nods, I realize I’m still holding onto her neck. We’re still only inches apart, and yet, she doesn’t look uncomfortable.

And neither am I.

Three days of caring for this woman, and she’s somehow changed how I saw her. I’m not sure what she is, but she’s definitely not a burden.

She has the purest heart, and it shines through her blue eyes.

I move my hand to her forehead, and when she feels cool with no signs of fever, I smile but add, “Just because you can do whatever you want doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to work yourself to death again. Try to take things slower. Okay?”

“Evet.”

My smile grows, then I ask, “Is Nisa Hanim teaching you Turkish?”

She shakes her head. “I pick up on the words and try to remember them.”

“You don’t have to learn the language,” I tell her, just in case she thought she had to. I settle back in the chair, then ask, “Can you speak Polish?”

“Very little.”

“What was it like growing up in Mazur’s house?”

Lara glances out the window, tension creeping into the lines around her mouth. “It was nothing like here.”

“Did you get to go to school?”

She nods, her eyes still focused on the dark night outside. “Only until I was sixteen.”

“So, you never graduated?”

Shaking her head, she answers, “No.”

This is the longest conversation we’ve had, and I’m in no hurry for it to end. “Would you like to continue with your studies?”

Lara turns her attention to me, then tilts her head. “Go back to school? I’m too old.”

“You can study online.”

I watch as she thinks about it, then she starts to smile. “I’d really like that.”

Again, I find myself smiling at her. “I’ll have Murat get you a laptop so you can study.”

“Thank you, Gabriel Be –” She stops the instant I shake my head, then she chuckles and says, “Just Gabriel.”

“You’ll get used to it.” I glance at my wristwatch and notice it’s almost two am. “Shit, you must be tired.”

“No,” Lara replies quickly. “I had to stay in bed the whole day. I’m not tired at all.”

Before I can censor my words, I tease her, “Is that your way of asking me to keep you company?” The instant fear darkens her eyes, I quickly reach for her hand again. “I’m teasing, Lara.”

I have my work cut out for me but come hell or high water, I’ll somehow undo all the damage Mazur has inflicted on her.

My fingers wrap around hers, and I lean closer. With my eyes holding hers prisoner, I say, “You don’t have to fear me. I want you to talk to me like you’d talk with Nisa.”

Her eyebrows draw together, then she admits, “It’s difficult.”

“What’s difficult?” I murmur, keeping my tone gentle.

“Not being afraid of you.”

“Why?”

“You’re a man. Nisa’s like a mother to me.”

Jesus, is she saying what I think she’s saying?

Just to be sure, I ask, “Are you scared of Murat?”

“No, he’s my guard.”

It feels like I’m looking for a needle in a haystack as I ask, “How am I different from Murat?”

“You saved me,” comes her simple answer that packs one hell of a punch.