Only, he was different. He hadn’t forced himself on her.
If anything, other than the dungeon, he’d been a perfect host.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to wonder if I’ve got something on my face,” he said.
Then he’d say things like that, almost teasing. There was a smile on his lips, and she didn’t know what to say or think.
“You have nothing on your face and you know it.”
“Then you’re admiring my face?”
She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”
“You know a lot of women would love to be in your position.”
“Locked away. No freedom. Fearing for my life. Surrounded by people who despise me. I see the appeal.”
He chuckled. “Now that you put it that way.”
“I have no desire to be here, Damon. You know that. You don’t want me here.”
“Oh, but I do,” he said. “This is where you’re going to stay.”
“Is this part of your punishment?” she asked, coming to a stop before they even got to the garden. “To lure me into a false sense of security. Will you kill me?”
He patted her hand and leaned in close. “I have no interest in killing you. You haven’t betrayed me.”
“And you only kill people who betray you?” she asked.
“No, but that is usually the case within this house.”
She wanted to argue with him. “I’m a Russo. My very name tells you that you should hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Why not?”
“I have no reason to.”
That was a lie. Milah refused to be pulled into tricks.
The doors to the garden opened, and she was tempted to go back to her room. To run and hide, but instead, she felt the chill against her cheeks.
It felt so good compared to the chill around the house. This was crisp and fresh, and a little exciting.
She stepped forward, following alongside Damon as they made their way outside. The sneakers she wore were no protection against the ice. Her foot gave out, and if it wasn’t for Damon, she’d have fallen to the ground, but he caught her, keeping her balanced with his thick, strong arm wrapped around her waist.
Milah chuckled. “I’m sorry.”
“I should have known to buy you some boots. Those shoes are no match for the cold weather.”
They went to move again, and Milah burst out laughing as her feet skidded across the thick patch of ice. Damon had no choice but to haul her up against his body, and she gasped. Their faces were so close together.
“I think it is easier if I carry you off this ice.”
She didn’t want to touch him, but she also didn’t want to fall on the hard ground. Hating herself for showing any kind of weakness, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on to him as he carried her the short distance to the snow. The porch had become nothing more than an ice hazard. Any other day, any other time, far away from De Luca, she would have enjoyed the ice.
With his arms on her, she found it hard to focus. De Luca was her enemy. Her sworn enemy because of their last names. She wouldn’t give in to him.
Milah remained tense in his arms, refusing to give in. He placed her on the ground once they were in the thick snow. She tried to remain angry and indifferent toward him, but with the snow coming nearly to her knees, she refused to ignore the joy racing through her body.
Letting go of Damon, she held herself steady, trying to lift her legs, and as she did, more snow seemed to gather around her ankles. She couldn’t stop laughing, especially as she stumbled, falling flat onto the snow.
Without Damon’s help, she got back to her feet and smiled at him. “Are you not having fun?” she asked.
She grabbed a handful of snow and tossed it his way. The ball landed against his chest. Not too hard, but playful.
“You want to go there?”