Blame it on the shame Part 3

Chapter 21 (Lou-Lou)

I put another coat of gloss on my lips but quickly wipe it off. Not only would it be strange for me to be wearing makeup at 1 am in the morning, but it will obviously look like I wasn't sleeping and ruin my whole plan.

Instead, I run a brush through my still damp hair and then mess it up with my fingers, attempting to give it that sexy, disheveled look that seems to work for every other girl in the world but me. I give my black, nearly see through thong another once over before I slip my white t-shirt over my head. I don't have anything sexier at my disposal right now so this will have to do.

Stuffing down my ball of nerves, I pop my head out of the bathroom and make sure Marlene's not around...because there's no doubt in my mind she would try and stop me from doing this.

And I won't let her.

Despite my i

It's this shift between us. Our co

My entire universe feels off kilter...because my puzzle piece doesn't fit the way it used to fit. And when you've found the piece that makes you whole? You'd give anything not to go back to feeling broken—including sucking up the hurt that crushes your chest like a boulder whenever you're around them.

The only times I don't hurt are when his hands are on me—those few brief moments when we're skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and we co

And I forget why I'm supposed to hate him.

I forget everything about my fucked up life.

I pad down the dark hallway, ignoring the guards that are stationed at every corner, and walk up the set of spiral stairs that lead directly to his office.

I swallow the bile in my throat as my hand hovers over the door knob.

I hate this familiar feeling in my chest so much.

And I really hate that for a moment, I'm afraid I'm going to see Bruno DeLuca in that office.

I draw in a deep breath and remind myself that he's dead and the monsters are all gone.

I ignore the little girl in the bathtub crying out that they're not, and knock on the door.

When he doesn't answer the first time, I knock again.

"What?" his angry voice booms from the other side. "Jesus Christ, I told you not to disturb me, Marlene."

Jealousy hits me like a fist to the face with those words. Does she come in here often in the middle of the night? Has Ricardo ever had sex with her? Did she comfort him in my absence?

It's those thoughts that cause me to burst through the door like a lunatic.

I find him in the exact same position that I did the last time I was here. His elbows are propped up on his desk, a few buttons on his shirt are undone, and his hair is a perfect disheveled, sexy mess.

Only this time, he looks tired.

Tired and drunk.

Which probably has a lot to do with the near empty bottle of Jack Daniels currently next to him. When he lifts his eyes to mine, I see that his pupils are bloodshot and his face is etched with worry. This is worse than I thought. He's clearly spooked and very upset about something.

Anxiety shoots through me like a rocket because he's never looked so out of sorts before—and that includes the time at the warehouse.

I push my shoulders back and raise my chin—his demeanor only further serves to remind me why I'm here in the first place.

I obviously knew he was hiding something from me, but the magnitude of just how serious it might be became evident when we were at the fight club and Tyrone left abruptly with some bullshit excuse. And it became damn near transparent when Ricardo flipped out and yelled at me the way he did.

I'm not here because he's jealous...I'm here because something is wrong. And the only thing I can think of is the DeLuca Council.

They want me dead, I know this.

It's why I was supposed to be in hiding, living a new life. Until Ricardo pulled me out of it. Which only infuriates me because if I'm here with him, obviously there was no reason for me to ever be gone in the first place, because there was no real danger. And that makes all of my horrible thoughts and suspicions about him getting rid of me because he didn't want me even more profound now.

Therefore, I need to figure out what his plans are with me and what the real danger is.

And since I still can't convince him to just be honest with me and tell me—I have no choice but to use my only bargaining chip.

If I play my cards right—and I intend to—that's how I'll get him to crack. I'll make him bend in a moment of weakness and desire and tell me the truth.

Now that I think about it, the fact that he's been drinking is practically icing on the cake. His defenses are down, giving me the perfect leverage.

He pours himself another drink and leans back in his chair. "What are you doing here?"

"I can't sleep," I say as I slowly make my way over to him.

I don't miss the way his jaw tics when his gaze travels down to where my t-shirt meets the tops of my thighs.

And I definitely don't miss the way his eyes heat with every step I take in his direction.

Given there are no other chairs around, I prop myself up and sit on the desk, facing him.

I look around the office, trying to be as nonchalant as I can. "You know, now that I think about it, I've never seen your bedroom. Where do you sleep?"

He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes watching my every move. "I don't."

Something in my chest squeezes with those words but I ignore it. "Right."

I scoot closer to him and dangle my feet in his lap .

He looks down. "Your toenails were pink the other day." The pad of his thumb traces a line from the arch of my foot up to my toe and I fight back a shiver. "Now they're red."

"You notice the polish color on my toes?"

I feel the impact of his stare before it actually happens. His gaze travels fluidly from my feet, up my legs, and along my breasts, before finally landing back on my face. "I notice everything about you, Lou-Lou." His eyes narrow into slits. "Like how you don't sleep at night, either."

The hand on my foot tightens. "So why don't you cut the crap and tell me why you're in my office in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a tiny t-shirt?" He looks down again and I have the sudden urge to either blush or cross my arms when I feel my nipples begin to harden under his gaze.

Who's supposed to be seducing who right now?

Me—I remind myself.

When I don't answer and move the foot he's not holding up his thigh, his jaw hardens. “Earlier wasn't enough for you?”

It's not so much his comment that hurts but the sharp sting in his tone.

Well that and the fact that I'm sitting on his desk in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and he's acting like he wants nothing to do with me, even though he's the one who's keeping me here.

That last thought gives me another spurt of tenacity.