Reaching Hearts: Hearts Series Book 2

by Hopkins, Faleena

  I shook my head wearily, afraid that confessing would be the moment she ran screaming, making up excuses why she must leave and never see me again. With a heavy conscience, I had to admit that I had opened the discussion. “Forty-one.”

  “Forty-one?” She stretched her arms high above her head and pointed her toes, reaching far in both directions. “That won’t do. You see, in my Italian lovers, I need them at least seventy-three, seventy-two at the youngest. It’s over, I’m afraid. Call me in thirty-one years. And it was so fun. Pity that.” She sighed and peeked to see my reaction.

  “Is that so?” I couldn’t help but smile.

  When she saw, she was pleased. “It is very so. That’s what I was looking up yesterday, in my language translation book. I was trying to say, Put that cigarette down and make love to me!”

  I laughed. “Adolfo would have chosen the cigarette.”

  She grinned playfully and laid her head on the pillow. “Adolfo? Well, I would have knocked it out of his hand and had my way with him by force! But then you came and stole me from him. He’s lucky to have escaped. You? Not so much.”

  I knew I was the lucky one. I knew this, and I was drawn to her, because the look in her eyes was so different than the women I knew. Often from them I felt I was a prize to be won, not a man to be loved. But this young American girl looked at me without motive. Staring at her then, my mood changing with her reassuring words and languid body, I traced the lines of her breasts with my glance, still struggling for which direction to take.

  “I am wondering if I made a mistake bringing you back here, young one.”

  She frowned into the curve of pillow and touched the blanket, playing with the fabric between her finger and thumb. “Oh.” She bit her bottom lip. When her eyelashes swept back up, there was determination. “I don’t think it was a mistake. I don’t care how old you are. It feels good to be around you.” Her eyes flashed away, as though shyness suddenly took hold. Barely loud enough for me to hear, she muttered, “I can leave.”

  I knew I didn’t want her to, but I stood my ground, a decision still not made.

  Once more her eyelashes swept up to me. Her bright blue eyes sank me deeply and almost against my will, into her sweet vulnerability. Without words, she begged me to let her stay. The sight moved me. She bit her lip as she slowly pushed the blanket down, revealing her light, ginger-colored triangle, the curve of her hip, the soft crease where her legs met. The blanket hovered in her fingers at the middle of her thighs and she released it. I breathed in deeply as the need for her filled me. She held my eyes with an open invitation.

  This can only end in heartbreak, I thought to myself as I climbed onto the bed and pulled her into my arms, taking her. Even as I pressed deeply inside, even as I saw her head fall back as her body opened to me in every way… I thought the heartbreak would be hers.

  Never once did it occur to me that it would be mine.

  Blinking away the past, I look down to see I’m erect, just as I was then. The memory reached into me and pulled out desire for her as she was then. I’m aroused by a fantasy! Anger pulses through me. I am alone and dreaming of a woman who no longer wants me. She says it may still be between us, but what evidence do I see since she left? How long have I been standing here? It feels like an hour but the clock says only ten minutes have passed since I awoke. How can that be? I have to start my day alone. I’m hungry. I need coffee. I need to eat. What good am I? Did I not give her everything? What will it take to make such a woman as her, happy?

  Rage builds stronger and carries my feet hard against the ceramic tile, leading me quickly into the long hallway outside our room. I stop at a framed, hanging photograph of us at El Duomo in Firenze, her hair long then. When was this? Last year? Did I know she planned to leave me then? I look happy, so I think I must not have known. While her mouth is smiling, her eyes are not. She must have known the end was coming. How did I not see it? How could I have been such a blind fool? With a fierce grip, I pull the photograph off the wall and throw it to the ground. The release of broken glass exploding into tiny pieces around my bare feet is not enough. My skin is hot. The house feels like a jail I cannot escape from.

  Crashing past the glass, I fly into the kitchen and freeze, my body tight with surprise.

  There’s a carton of eggs next to olive oil, beside a pile of fresh basil leaves from my garden. A package of bacon from the butcher sits close by, still wrapped. Bananas, melon, and apples, are sliced and waiting, laid out beautifully on a plate next to blueberries and grapes. Sophia’s eyes go large and shocked as she takes in the sight of me ferociously looking at her.

  “Ho pensato di fare la prima colazione,” she murmurs as her eyelashes fall to my cock, her glance escaping quickly back to my face. She’s never seen my body without clothes. The knife she holds is suspended in air, her breasts rising and falling faster now.

  She thinks I’ll cover myself. She thinks she’s intruded. She thinks wrong.

  I go to her, take the knife out of her hand and throw it down, never taking my eyes off hers, my erection hard and high. I’ve surprised her so much, it’s wiped away the cunning, experienced look she too often holds dear. I’m looking now instead at the girl I knew when we were kids, the one who didn’t waste time on frivolity or what other people thought of her. The girl who ran with me to the lake and jumped in without regard to clothing, leaping into the warm water in just our underwear. The girl who laughed more than the woman she’s become, ever has.

  I pull that Sophia to me and kiss her hard. Her hands land below my collarbone in surprise, and she returns my kiss, gasping against my urgency as our mouths move feverishly together. I explore her body as I never have. Before this, we have never even kissed. She joins me, sliding fingers down this line and that. The blood rushes through us as our hands move, searching. Our tongues lunge and lash and stroke and my hands slide over the sensually large fullness of her breasts, the hour-glass shape of her, full hips and all – they are a tonic to my senses. The softness of her skin and the way she opens to me makes me roar inside myself. I grab the bottom of her summer dress and pull it up, the white cotton ripping. We ignore the sound, crushing each other’s mouths. With one hoarse low grunt of urgency, I sit her on the kitchen island, her ass pushing back the cutting board and the handle of the knife, fruit falling to the floor, rolling off behind her in all directions.

  Her fingers claw at my back. Her legs wrap around me. I touch between them, discovering there are no panties to block me and I growl against her lips, rocking my hand into her, cupping her to feel the heat increase. She’s wet, so wet, and her eyes gaze at me submissively before she throws her head back and I release her to wrap my fingers around myself, stroking once as I thrust my hips forward and push inside her body. A low gorgeous moan rips through her as I take her. To see it, drives me insane. I pound into her slowly and fast and slow again, watching her gorgeous voluptuous curves arch upward. Her breasts rock with me and every sigh, every moan, every cry of ecstasy she gives races through me, matched. With firm slick strokes I fuck her, my strong fingers holding her tight, gripping and yanking her hips. Her head swings up to gaze at me, encased in pleasure. I growl again, like it’s our language, like I understand. There is nothing else but this feeling – this adrenaline and passion. She rises and presses into me, her mouth open and hoping I’ll take it again with my own. I latch my lips onto hers and she moans into my mouth like she has always waited for this moment. I unleash into her, letting go of all the rage, feeling like I’m wanted and needed and loved. She reaches for a handful of grapes and pushes them into my mouth, coming in and biting some for herself. Her hands slide down my chest, both of us chewing, the beads of sweat smearing under her fingers as she looks at them in awe. Watching her, I move slower and work my cock with deeper thought. Each time I push in, she reacts in a different way and I follow her gasps, her moans, her shutting eyelids to the point where she can no longer hold anything from me. As I thrust into her hard and rough, she shake
s in the deepest regions. Her full luscious mouth is beautiful and I lean in again to kiss her hard. She begins to quake and pulls me with her. I yell out loud as we explode. The pulsing of me and the throbbing of her is everything that matters. I push up as deep as I can, an ending to the fidelity of a dream. With this moment, I slap the face of the woman who has no idea what I am doing, who would hate this. Who saw it imminent all along.

  As we pant, I pull out of Sophia, the memories of arguments slamming into my mind.

  Annie knew this would happen.

  She told me so, many times.

  I’ll not let her win.

  Sophia’s panting, too, and her legs are weak and hanging off the kitchen island. Her hair is a beautiful mess of dark sultry waves. She stares at my face; unsure of why I’ve shut her out again.

  In English, I tell her, “I’m not hungry anymore. Please leave.”

  She stares at me with eyes big, confused, and hurting.

  Looking away, I walk back to my bedroom.

  Soon I hear a slamming door. I ignore the pang of longing in my chest. I will not let this be. It shall not be.

  Chapter Five

  Brendan

  San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center. Room 323.

  My eyes fly open. I was dreaming about the holdup again. Between the nightmares and the nurses waking me up, I’m getting no rest. I wonder what Annie’s doing. Is she having nightmares, too? Is she thinking of me?

  I look over to see a nurse in the room. Big surprise. They’re here every two minutes. She’s probably why I woke up, I bet. Dammit. I need sleep.

  I mutter to her back, “How long do I have to stay here?” She doesn’t say anything, so I say a little louder, “I know you guys want me to get better, but I’m not going to do it being woken up every two hours. I need a full night’s sleep.”

  She writes her name – Maria Gutierrez – on the board, and looks over her shoulder at me, her long ponytail shifting to the side over flowered scrubs.

  “I’ll check with your doctor. I don’t know. I just started my shift.” She puts the cap on the blue dry-erase marker and slides it onto the tray. Turning fully to face me, her manner is kind, yet firm. “I’m Maria.” She points to the board. “It’s there if you forget. If you need anything, I’ll be here again...”

  “In two hours. I know.” I fall my head back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling. Her silence pulls my attention back. She’s still looking at me. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I deal with this every day. No one likes to be here but us.”

  A pang of guilt pushes in on me. It’s not my style to complain or make hard-working people feel bad, but no sleep can make a person do shitty things. I have to pull it together.

  Rising up on my elbows, I offer her my best apologetic smile, hoping for a sexy smirk and knowing I’ve been anything but sexy the past couple days. “Hey, what d’ya say you stay with me for awhile. I’ll tell you all about how mesmerizing those lips of yours are.”

  I’m flirting to help her know I’m sorry I was being such a dick. She knows this. She’s no dummy. But still, an embarrassed smile pulls at the corners of her mouth making her heart-shaped face dimple. She says on a laugh, looking away, “Oh sure! I’ll just stay in here with you all morning… forget all about my rounds.”

  Now that she’s blushing, I’m having no trouble smiling. “Tell ‘em you’re busy!”

  She muffles what wants to be a giggle, but she hasn’t giggled in a long time. Working in a place like this has got to take it out of you. But she succeeds in flashing me a small smile. “Okay, I forgive you.” As she passes my bed, she grabs my toes through the blanket, holding out her other hand for the cold, hard doors well before she gets there.

  “Thank you for the toe touch, Maria!”

  She chuckles, shakes her head and leaves.

  Well, at least I felt human for a second. Where’s Rebecca? Scratching the IV stuck in my arm, I look for evidence of her and come up empty. Would she leave without telling me? Did she leave and I don’t know? Don’t be crazy, Brendan. She wouldn’t do that. You’re just sleep-deprived.

  Closing my eyes, I surrender for the thousandth time to where I am and what’s happening. Every time I do this, I’m able to overcome my frustration for no more than fifteen minutes at a time. The antsy need to escape always returns and drags me into hell all over again. It would be easier if I could see Annie. I need to see her face, know that she’s okay. I know I was hard on Rebecca, but fuck man. She has no idea what it’s like to go through what we went through. How’d Annie get away from the gunman? She must have, because I’m here and Rebecca saw her walking around, not shot up to pieces.

  Closing my eyes, I push down the questions.

  Chapter Six

  Annie

  San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center. Room 315.

  An unfamiliar, white ceiling comes into focus. Looking around me, I’m startled to find I’m in a hospital bed with an IV drip in my arm, the flesh around the needle’s entrance tender and red. I stare at it, completely confused. How did it get there without my knowing? What happened? Did I pass out? Did my friends bring me here? I don’t see my bag. The money was in it. Surely someone saved that. I was at Le Barré, talking to Christiano last I remember. They must have known I had every dollar in that bag. God, I hope so! Who undressed me? I don’t like this. Where is everybody? There are hard things everywhere I look. A weird, uncomfortable chair. A heart monitor. Thick, colorless curtains. A dry erase board with the name – Maria Gutierrez – written on it in blue.

  There are no flowers. There are no friends.

  An all too familiar aloneness settles into my soul, unwanted. It picks up the pulse of my blood to a panic until I’m rising up, searching for a button to call someone.

  “Hello! Is anyone there?!” I yell out to the door.

  A chord attached to the bed has a button that looks like a garage door opener. Is this a call button? I push on it a bunch of times until a voice in an intercom sounds from the wall behind me. Twisting, I look at it. My salvation.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you come in here, please?”

  A pause. “I’ll be right in. Did you need your breakfast?”

  Breakfast? What time is it? What day is it?

  “No. I just need a person. I need a person to explain things to me. Please come quick.”

  The intercom goes dead, but I stare at it like the only person who knows what’s going on is in it. The door opens and I turn to see a pretty nurse walk in, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in flowered scrubs.

  Before she has a chance to speak, I start blathering. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s happened. I don’t know why this IV is in my arm. I don’t know where my bag is. Where my friends are? If I’m even still in California. Where am I??!! What’s happening?!”

  She rushes to me and holds her hands up like small stop signs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. You’re okay. Let me check your chart. It’s going to be okay.”

  Gulping down more questions, I stare at her, eyes wide. I’m having trouble breathing. The fear is trying to strangle me.

  Scanning words on the pages, she blinks, reads more, and looks up. “Okay. I just started my shift, so I didn’t know what happened. It looks like you suffered a traumatic event?”

  I nod. “I was robbed. Yes.”

  “Okay.” She holds the folder in front of her belly, one hand over the other. “Well, it says you fainted and were brought here. The IV is because you were dehydrated, which is common with stress. Looks like you’ve been asleep since you came in.”

  “And when was that?” I’m scared to know the answer.

  She smiles, guessing where my mind is going. “Oh, just last night. You had a good night’s sleep and were drinking water while you were resting is all.” Her hand motions to the tube like it’s my friend. The effect she’s aiming for is working. My pulse is slowing and I actually have the ability to
take in air.

  I flop back down on the bed. “Oh wow. That was freaky. Have you ever woken up somewhere and not known where you were?”

  “In my early twenties, all the time.”

  I look over from the corners of my eyes, a smile sneaking out of me. “You’re just saying that to make me laugh.”

  “No.”

  I chuckle and she grins back. My eyes widen. “You’ve got dimples. I always wanted those.” Relieved I’m feeling better, I mumble, “Well, I guess I needed a ton of sleep because I never woke up once, and I always wake up.”

  “That’s funny.” She slides the folder back in the plastic case that hangs off the end of the bed. “Another patient was just complaining that he can’t sleep because we wake him up every two hours.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “We have to check vitals on a two-hour schedule.”

  My eyebrows go up, head on the pillow. “Did you do that with me?”

  She nods and her hands slip into her pockets. “We do that with everyone.”

  I mutter to her like it’s obvious, “Well, then he should stop complaining.”

  “Between you and me, he’s so cute I would listen to him talk about anything, complaining or not. Oh my.” She makes a face to fit the words as she walks to leave.

  I smile, but now realizing I don’t know how long they’re keeping me, I ask, “How long do I have to stay here?”

  She rests her hand on the door. “I’ll have the doctor come take a look at you now that you’re awake. But he’s not on the floor right now so it may be awhile.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Looking to the board, I grab the name and add, “Maria.”

  Smiling, she turns to leave, but stops with the door half-open. “It’s funny. He said the same thing: How long do I have to stay here? Those exact words.” She shrugs, remembering. “Kind of odd.”