Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ghost

"I wanted what I could not have."

Watching her full lips as she spoke, mirroring my own damn thoughts as if she'd ripped them from my headspace, knowing she was naked under that shirt—none of it changed a fucking thing, contextually or otherwise.

Already surrounded by her proverbial ocean escape, literally, because my mistakes had gotten us here, the Solace cruised at seventeen knots as I charged this woman when I should've fucking retreated. "And now?"

Her pulse jumped, and her gaze fell to my mouth. "Now?"

"Yes, Safiya. Now." I could practically taste her need. "What do you want?" Had this woman ever taken what she'd wanted?

If a whisper had a self-effacing cousin, she spoke it—with guilt. "What I cannot have."

The victory wasn't sweet. Or a surprise. But it still hit harder than the Citation's ditched landing, and I thought about it.

Seriously fucking thought about.

Cock hard, adrenaline spiked, the scent of her skin in my head. One move and this woman would bend to my will. But I had to remind myself she wasn't some trained submissive. She was innocent. Or she had been when I'd taken her from those fucking traffickers who worked for al-Hashimi and brought her to my corner of the world without once asking if it was what she wanted.

I'd never asked her what she wanted, period.

Nor had I ever told her what I truly desired.

And in truth, for as much as I'd watched her, obsessed over her, I didn't one hundred percent know if she was still a virgin. "When was the last time you had what you wanted?"

"I do not have the right to want."

The answer submissive, the sentiment more so, at a minimum alarming, it should've been my cue to stand the fuck down. But I wasn't a man who denied who I was. "When was the last time you took what you wanted, Safiya?"

Her gaze on mine, she studied me like she always had, but the new shade of mistrust that'd been growing on her showed up. "You have the captain waiting for you."

"You've been waiting eight years."

Her face flushed, and she dropped her gaze, but not before I saw the flash of anger. "You may leave the pants and go. I will dress myself."

Not replying, not handing over the clothes, I didn't move.

It took four seconds.

She looked back up at me.

"Ask, Safiya." It wasn't a demand. It was a test of my control. It was also selfish as hell. I wanted her to ask for a piece of me, but I was never going to give it. Not here. She deserved better. I'd always known that. Denied it. Avoided it. Told myself it'd be different once al-Hashimi was dead. I'd be different. She'd be safe. It'd make a fucking difference.

It didn't.

I wasn't being prophetic when I'd told her we'd die together.

For once, she schooled her expression. "Ask what?"

Truly innocent or well played, it didn't matter. I took the hit of my own MO fed back to me, but I had too much adrenaline to be playing this close to the fire.

Draping the pants over her shoulder, not fucking commenting, I gave her what she wanted.

I walked out.

Thirty seconds later, I was in a dry shirt with a new bandage and an old attitude.