She wasn't happy with his declaration. Not that he'd expected her to be, and with how she'd been treated, it also would have been too much to hope. His hands would have curled into fists at the reminder but for the expression on her face. Which was glorious. So far from the broken demeanor he'd found her with that it actually made him grin. His Piper was, as he'd thought, a fighter. So instead of turning on her when she dialed up the temper, Connor smiled warmly, and inclined his head at the one-word question. Delivered a one-word answer. "Mine."
That the response held more gravel in its tone than usual was something he didn't have time to examine--and soon shrugged off.
Thin as she was from her incarceration, the shirt swallowed her, but it did it in a way that made him eminently pleased she'd chosen it over the towel. Connor's breath dragged shallowly into his lungs at the way the smooth, light fabric looked with those cinnamon locks and clover hues, draped over her not like a possessive lover, but rather one she'd allowed to snuggle close, buttons winking at him where they dipped against her skin. Breathing came easily again on an inward sigh of relief with her lack of towel-criticism. The last longterm mistress under his roof would have instantly demanded higher quality linens, and he wasn't about to tolerate that sort of foolish entitlement again. He hoped it was more a case that she genuinely felt that way--that it was just a towel, or better, that she held slight preferences and just wasn't comfortable expressing them yet--rather than the disturbing alternative. It was too soon to tell.
It was also too soon to tease. That much was clear when she exploded with words. He'd hoped teasing her would show him more of the spark that existed within her, hoped it hadn't been beaten from her, nor buried too deeply. What he found was fire. He carefully smoothed his expression and let her vent. And tried very, very hard to think of something boring. (Of course, thinking of baseball stats is pointless when one doesn't follow the damned game.) Piper was dangerously vibrant like this, and the part of him who'd expected to retrieve the usual sort of pet that evening was aroused at the idea of putting that fiery energy to a more productive use. Particularly with her wearing his shirt and leaning forward, all that sudden heat seething from that tiny body. He could think of a few reasons why a woman would like to sit around practically naked with him, and as soon as those bruises healed, he planned to provide hands-on examples of every single one.
The bruises. Gods, he was an asshole. Purple welts around the wrist of the hand she aimed his way, made darker still against the contrary tones of his own damned threads, knocked wayward thoughts back in line, past the heat in her eyes. In the bathroom, his phone buzzed once. His Uncle, most likely, a debt paid and a sentence delivered. He curled the toes of one foot into the carpet, resolved once more to behave, and met her gaze evenly as she railed.
It was a quarter of the way through his soup before he addressed her outburst at all, setting his spoon down and looking at her directly. She'd dressed more thoroughly, and he was still unremorseful that he'd teased her. Not when the result was an honest admission of some of her concerns. One palm eased forward to rest lightly across the arch of one of her feet. "Objects are lifeless, bought, traded, sold. You, sweetling, are quite alive. Owned, yes, but by no means commodity. This is a different sort of belonging." As well as one that went both ways, in the proper manner of things. Both in the rules Connor played by, and in the responsibilities he owed her care.
His thumb smoothed along the delicate side of her foot. "I will gladly tell you many things about myself, Piper. You need only ask. Just...please, slow down on the soup before Lilly uses me to stock the next one." The last was said with a grin before he resumed his own meal and waited for her to come up for air.
"Ah," he started as quietly as he could. Now would be a great time to tread more carefully on the subject. "There is nowhere else you can go where the Family won't immediately retrieve you. My father's men would stick you back in that hole. Or kill you."
Failing miserably on the treading, genius. Connor's brain offered a helpful flurry of curse words, and he shifted the tray to more easily display the arrangement of first aid goods, offering her a cold pack as he elaborated without apology, "The ranks of the Kristi Cartel--you were held under the Head of House's estate--are very closed, very secretive. Guarding those secrets to the end, damn the consequences. They would not trust you to keep your mouth closed about what you saw in that basement, the treatment you received." As he spoke, he cracked open a tube of home-brew gel, a concoction that smelled of lavender and mint and felt both warm and cold to the touch. Gods knew what she'd put in it, but he'd used it after a number of rumbles and knew it would ease the sting on the worst of Piper's injuries. Again without asking, he took liberties, gripping her heel with one hand and applying the gel to the mess of one ankle with the other. "The police, useless as they are, the hospitals, they'd ask questions. You'd answer. Perhaps even alert your family and friends to your whereabouts, and in turn put them in danger. And so you're here, where I can protect you--and where you can keep a number of bystanders from also being killed as collateral."
As to this particular suite...Connor left the explanation wanting and reached for her other foot. His curls jostled as he angled a careful look at her that most assuredly was not counting buttons. "So again. Welcome home."
That the response held more gravel in its tone than usual was something he didn't have time to examine--and soon shrugged off.
Thin as she was from her incarceration, the shirt swallowed her, but it did it in a way that made him eminently pleased she'd chosen it over the towel. Connor's breath dragged shallowly into his lungs at the way the smooth, light fabric looked with those cinnamon locks and clover hues, draped over her not like a possessive lover, but rather one she'd allowed to snuggle close, buttons winking at him where they dipped against her skin. Breathing came easily again on an inward sigh of relief with her lack of towel-criticism. The last longterm mistress under his roof would have instantly demanded higher quality linens, and he wasn't about to tolerate that sort of foolish entitlement again. He hoped it was more a case that she genuinely felt that way--that it was just a towel, or better, that she held slight preferences and just wasn't comfortable expressing them yet--rather than the disturbing alternative. It was too soon to tell.
It was also too soon to tease. That much was clear when she exploded with words. He'd hoped teasing her would show him more of the spark that existed within her, hoped it hadn't been beaten from her, nor buried too deeply. What he found was fire. He carefully smoothed his expression and let her vent. And tried very, very hard to think of something boring. (Of course, thinking of baseball stats is pointless when one doesn't follow the damned game.) Piper was dangerously vibrant like this, and the part of him who'd expected to retrieve the usual sort of pet that evening was aroused at the idea of putting that fiery energy to a more productive use. Particularly with her wearing his shirt and leaning forward, all that sudden heat seething from that tiny body. He could think of a few reasons why a woman would like to sit around practically naked with him, and as soon as those bruises healed, he planned to provide hands-on examples of every single one.
The bruises. Gods, he was an asshole. Purple welts around the wrist of the hand she aimed his way, made darker still against the contrary tones of his own damned threads, knocked wayward thoughts back in line, past the heat in her eyes. In the bathroom, his phone buzzed once. His Uncle, most likely, a debt paid and a sentence delivered. He curled the toes of one foot into the carpet, resolved once more to behave, and met her gaze evenly as she railed.
It was a quarter of the way through his soup before he addressed her outburst at all, setting his spoon down and looking at her directly. She'd dressed more thoroughly, and he was still unremorseful that he'd teased her. Not when the result was an honest admission of some of her concerns. One palm eased forward to rest lightly across the arch of one of her feet. "Objects are lifeless, bought, traded, sold. You, sweetling, are quite alive. Owned, yes, but by no means commodity. This is a different sort of belonging." As well as one that went both ways, in the proper manner of things. Both in the rules Connor played by, and in the responsibilities he owed her care.
His thumb smoothed along the delicate side of her foot. "I will gladly tell you many things about myself, Piper. You need only ask. Just...please, slow down on the soup before Lilly uses me to stock the next one." The last was said with a grin before he resumed his own meal and waited for her to come up for air.
"Ah," he started as quietly as he could. Now would be a great time to tread more carefully on the subject. "There is nowhere else you can go where the Family won't immediately retrieve you. My father's men would stick you back in that hole. Or kill you."
Failing miserably on the treading, genius. Connor's brain offered a helpful flurry of curse words, and he shifted the tray to more easily display the arrangement of first aid goods, offering her a cold pack as he elaborated without apology, "The ranks of the Kristi Cartel--you were held under the Head of House's estate--are very closed, very secretive. Guarding those secrets to the end, damn the consequences. They would not trust you to keep your mouth closed about what you saw in that basement, the treatment you received." As he spoke, he cracked open a tube of home-brew gel, a concoction that smelled of lavender and mint and felt both warm and cold to the touch. Gods knew what she'd put in it, but he'd used it after a number of rumbles and knew it would ease the sting on the worst of Piper's injuries. Again without asking, he took liberties, gripping her heel with one hand and applying the gel to the mess of one ankle with the other. "The police, useless as they are, the hospitals, they'd ask questions. You'd answer. Perhaps even alert your family and friends to your whereabouts, and in turn put them in danger. And so you're here, where I can protect you--and where you can keep a number of bystanders from also being killed as collateral."
As to this particular suite...Connor left the explanation wanting and reached for her other foot. His curls jostled as he angled a careful look at her that most assuredly was not counting buttons. "So again. Welcome home."
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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