Home > Hold Me (Twist Me #3)(7)

Hold Me (Twist Me #3)(7)
Anna Zaires

They can’t be.

Catching me looking at her, Nora gives me a tentative smile. “What are you working on?” she asks, placing her book face down on her lap. “Still the drone design?”

“No, baby.” I force myself to focus on the fact that she came for me in Tajikistan—that she loves me enough to do something so insane—and my mood begins to lift, the lingering tightness in my chest fading.

“What is it then?” she persists, and I smile involuntarily, amused by her inquisitiveness. Nora is no longer content to be on the fringes of my life; she wants to know everything, and she’s growing bolder in her quest for answers.

If this were anyone else, I’d be annoyed. With Nora, however, I don’t mind. I enjoy her curiosity. “I’m going over a prospective investment,” I explain.

She looks intrigued, so I tell her that I’m reading about a biotech startup that specializes in brain chemistry drugs. If I decide to proceed, I would be a so-called angel investor—one of the first to fund the company. Venture capital is something that’s always interested me; I like to stay on top of innovation in all kinds of fields and profit from it to the best of my ability.

She listens to my explanation with evident fascination, those dark eyes of hers focused on my face the entire time. I like it, the way she absorbs knowledge like a sponge. It makes it fun for me to teach her, to show her different parts of my world. The few questions she asks are insightful, showing me that she understands exactly what I’m talking about.

“If that drug can erase memories, couldn’t it be used to treat PTSD and such?” she asks after I describe to her one of the startup’s more promising products, and I agree, having arrived at the same conclusion just minutes earlier.

I hadn’t anticipated this when I kidnapped her—the sheer enjoyment I would get out of spending time with her. When I first took her, I saw her solely as a sexual object, a beautiful girl who obsessed me so much I couldn’t get her out of my thoughts. I didn’t expect her to become my companion as well as my bedmate, didn’t realize I would enjoy simply being with her.

I didn’t know she would come to own me as much as I own her.

It really is for the best that she remembered to take the pill. Once we’re both healed, our life can go back to normal.

Our normal, at least.

I will have Nora with me, and I won’t let her out of my sight ever again.

* * *

It’s dark when we land. I lead a sleepy Nora off the plane, and we get in the car to drive home.

Home. It’s strange thinking of this place as home again. It was my home when I was a child, and I hated it. I hated everything about it, from the humid heat to the pungent smell of moist jungle vegetation. Yet when I got older, I found myself drawn to places just like this—to tropical locations that reminded me of the jungle where I grew up.

It took Nora’s presence here to make me realize I didn’t hate the estate after all. This place was never the object of my hatred—it was always the person it belonged to.

My father.

Nora nestles closer to me in the backseat, interrupting my musings, and yawns delicately into my shoulder. The sound is so kitten-like that I laugh and wrap my right arm around her waist, pulling her closer to me. “Sleepy?”

“Hmm-mm.” She rubs her face against my neck. “You smell good,” she mumbles.

And just like that, my cock turns rock-hard, reacting to the feel of her lips brushing against my skin.

Fuck. I blow out a frustrated breath as the car stops in front of the house. Ana and Rosa are standing on the front porch, ready to greet us, and my dick is bursting out of my pants. I shift to the side, trying to ease Nora away from me so my erection can subside. Her elbow brushes against my ribs, and I tense in pain, mentally cursing Majid to hell and back.

I can’t fucking wait to heal. Even sex earlier today hurt, especially when I set a harder pace at the end. Not that it lessened the pleasure much—I’m pretty sure I could fuck Nora on my deathbed and enjoy it—but it still annoyed me. I like pain with sex, but only when I’m the one doling it out.

On the plus side, my erection is no longer quite as visible.

“We’re there,” I tell Nora as she rubs her eyes and yawns again. “I’d carry you over the threshold, but I’m afraid I might not make it this time.”

She blinks, looking confused for a moment, but then a wide smile spreads across her face. She remembers too. “I’m no longer a new bride,” she says, grinning. “So you’re off the hook.”

I grin back at her, unusual contentment filling my chest, and open the car door.

As soon as we climb out, we’re attacked by two crying women. Or, more precisely, Nora is attacked. I just watch in bemusement as Ana and Rosa hug her, laughing and sobbing at the same time. After they’re done with Nora, they turn toward me, and Ana sobs harder as she catches a glimpse of my bandaged face. “Oh, pobrecito . . .” She lapses into Spanish like she sometimes does when she’s upset, and Nora and Rosa try to soothe her, saying that I’ll recover, that the important thing is that I’m alive.

The housekeeper’s concern is both touching and disconcerting. I’ve always been vaguely aware that the older woman cares about me, but I didn’t realize her feelings are this strong. For as long as I can recall, Ana has been a warm, comforting presence at the estate—someone who fed me, cleaned after me, and bandaged my childhood scrapes and bruises. I’ve never let her get too close, though, and for the first time I feel a twinge of regret about that. Neither she nor Rosa, the maid who’s Nora’s friend, try to hug me like they did my wife. They think I wouldn’t welcome it, and they’re probably right.

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