by Aly Martinez
He’d come.
I’d been hoping he would—almost as much as I’d hoped he wouldn’t.
I’d been dying to see him, but I lay in a hospital bed, my arms spread out at my sides, third-degree burns covering nearly every inch. That was not how I wanted him to see me.
Yet there he was.
A family of hummingbirds took up residence in my stomach as his tall body emerged. My breath hitched as I raked my gaze over his muscular frame. The outline of his chiseled chest showed through the straining fabric of his plain, black T-shirt while a pair of dark washed denim hugged his tapered waist. His dark-blond hair had been shaved and large, rectangular bandages covered the back of his head and his neck, but he was still gorgeous. I shyly swept my gaze to the other side of the room. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like after a week of sitting in a hospital bed. Not that it really mattered. Judging by the burns on my arms and my chest, the days when vanity had any place in my life were officially over. But, deep down, I still cared.
“Rhion,” he said softly, drawing my attention back to him.
My vision swam as our gazes locked.
What do you say to the man who saved your life? The man who literally pulled you from the hands of death. The man who protected you with no regard for his own safety. The man who now wore the scars from the most frightening moment of your entire life.
My first words to him should have been some variation of “thank you” laced with profuse gratitude, but as I stared into his emerald-green gaze, which had soothed me when my entire world had been burning down around me, I only managed to get two words out.
“You’re real,” I whispered.
His eyes flashed wide, but a sexy grin pulled at the corners of his full lips. “So are you, my beautiful Butterfly.”
I shyly glanced at the bed and allowed myself to smile for what felt like the very first time.
“Rhion, wait!” He caught my arm before I could make my getaway.
And, God, if I’d ever needed to make a getaway, that was the moment.
This can’t be happening.
I’d spilled my deepest, darkest secrets to the only man I’d ever wanted to share them with.
And he’d woken up thinking he was at the beach.
It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but the searing pain still tore through me.
I’d expected awkward when he woke up. For God’s sake, he’d passed out in the middle of some pretty hot, heavy action. But never, not once, had I considered he wouldn’t remember.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out, doing my best to wipe my tears off on the shoulder of my shirt. “I’m not always a basket case, I swear. It’s just…”
I couldn’t finish that thought. Well, at least not out loud.
It’s just you’re Jude.
I didn’t tell him that.
And, in that moment, as he stared back at me, clearly horrified to have woken up in my apartment and even more horrified by what memories he’d retained, I’d wished I hadn’t told Jude a lot of things.
But, I guessed, the good news was that he didn’t remember any of them.
Only it didn’t feel like good news.
It felt like a sledgehammer to the heart.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out again.
“Hey. Hey. Hey. Stop.” He released my arm, slid his hand up to the back of my neck, and forced my gaze all the way up to his. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Christ, Rhion. I don’t even remember how I got here.”
My breathing shuttered as his fingers flexed on the back of my neck, a chill radiating down my spine.
I hypnotically stared up at him and stuttered, “You…you said you took a cab.”
His eyes flashed dark and his intense gaze became tangible. Like a feather, it swept down my throat and over to my shoulder, completely unnerving me.
Well, more than I was already unnerved. Which was a hell of a lot, considering that it was Jude and he was currently standing in my apartment with little to no memory of the night before, while I would never be able to forget it.
“I had too much to drink,” he stated.
“I gathered that,” I replied while watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.
For several seconds, neither of us moved. He scanned my face as if he were searching for something. And then his eyebrows pinched together and his face contorted into a picture of confusion.
Beautiful, beautiful confusion.
“Why does your hair smell like coconut?” he rasped.
“My shampoo,” I replied breathily.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. I mean why do I know you smell like coconut?”
Because, when you showed up at my door at four a.m., I wasn’t able to get a single word out before you yanked me into your arms and slurred unintelligible apologies into the top of my hair.
However, that was not a night I was willing to relive any time soon. It had been hard enough to keep my shit together when I’d confessed four years’ worth of guilt and secrets to him the night before. And that’s assuming that I could consider “keeping my shit together” stripping his shirt off and throwing myself at him until he eventually passed out beneath me.
No. Evade was the word of the day until I had time to regroup, reorganize, and rethink—my entire life.
“I’m… Well, I’m not really sure,” I lied.
My attention fell to his perfect lips as they thinned into a grimace.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “Look. Did…I do anything…inappropriate last night?”
Oh. My. God.
Inappropriate? No. It was all very, very appropriate. And not nearly enough for the things I wanted to do to him. The same things I had told him about in great detail.
Suddenly, the last thing I wanted was for Jude to remember—anything.
I twisted my lips and stared off into the distance. “Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?”
His cheeks puffed as he blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m getting these little snippets from last night. And…” He stopped talking and wrenched his eyes shut. “You know what… I should go.”
Yes, you should. That’s what my mind screamed, anyway. Only, when I opened my mouth, that wasn’t at all what came out.
“No, wait! Please don’t go. You haven’t had your coffee. And, without that, I can’t get the memory eraser into your bloodstream.” Note to self: Find out if that shit is real. “That was a joke,” I announced. “Well, not the ‘don’t go’ part. I meant that. But the whole bloodstream thing. I’m not planning to poison you or anything.”
His eyebrows shot up, and for a second, I swear it looked like he was fighting a laugh back. “Good to know.”
“I have a really awkward sense of humor sometimes.” I rocked up onto my toes and then back onto my heels. “Especially when I’m nervous.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he’d cocked an eyebrow at me. It was only out of the corner of my eye because my gaze was trained on his tan bicep flexing as he gripped the back of his neck.
When he caught me staring, I carried on with the word vomit. “Not that you make me nervous or anything. I’m sure you’re—”
“Rhion,” he started.
My gaze jumped back to his, and for the first time since I’d met him, there wasn’t a hint of guilt in his deep-greens. An unbelievably beautiful megawatt smile nearly blinded me.
My mouth dried at the sight, but for the love of all that was holy, the words kept pouring out. “Okay, so that was a lie. You make me incredibly nervous. And, now, I’m rambling along with telling bad jokes. But, with all of that aside, assuming you don’t think I’m completely insane, I’d really like it if you’d stay and let me cook you breakfast.”
His smile grew wider, and I forced myself not to focus on it—at least not for long.
He still noticed.
“I did, after all, hold your hair while you threw up. You kinda owe me.”
Seriously. That’s what came out of my mouth.
To the man who saved my life? He owed me?
Shoot me!
His whole face morphed into horror. “I puked?”
I slapped a hand over my mouth, talking around it as I cried, “No! I was joking. I can’t stop.”
His lips twitched, and he tilted his head to the side. “Did you actually have a contractor make you an ocean room?”
My head snapped back at the randomness of that question.
He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “It just sounds like a joke.”
I shook my head. “I love the beach.”
“Oh, look. You can speak in single sentences,” he said, his grin playful.
I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring his posture, while praying that he hadn’t seen my nipples harden at the sight of that fucking grin.
“Yeah, but don’t get used to it. Paragraphs seem to be my preferred method of communication where you’re concerned.”
A deep, masculine laugh sprang from his throat. It was better than the smile.
So, so, so much better, and it soothed my exposed nerves as much as it sliced through me.
Last night, I’d dared to hope that his smile would be aimed at me all the time. Maybe on my couch as he held me securely in his strong arms, or maybe even in my bed as I traced my fingers through the smattering of light hair that covered his sculpted chest.
And, now, thanks to his laugh, I knew exactly what I was going to be missing.
I pretended that it wasn’t devastating as I quietly asked, “So, is that a yes to breakfast?”
He smirked, and I decided right then and there that Jude Levitt’s smirking was enough to make me speak in short stories. For the rest of my life. Which wasn’t going to be much longer if death by embarrassment was possible.
“Right,” I mumbled, turning toward the kitchen before I had the opportunity to gawk at him any longer.
“Wow. A single word. We’re making serious progress here,” he teased, following behind me.
I ignored the ache in my chest as I poured him a mug and then passed it his way.
He casually propped his hip against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankle as he took a sip.
I stared because…Jude.
After he’d downed at least half a cup, he asked, “So, how long you been living here?”
“Two years.” I walked over to the fridge, praying that I had something I could make the man for breakfast after I’d all but begged him to stay.
He remained in the kitchen but turned so he could see the rest of my apartment.
My heart stopped when his gaze lingered on my bookshelf for a beat too long.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Just seconds before I jumped out of my own skin, he put me out of my misery by saying, “This place is huge. You live alone?”
I vowed right then and there to go to church on Sunday.
“Yes!” I exclaimed on a rushed exhale.
He arched an eyebrow at me.
I avoided explaining my reaction by asking, “How about an omelet?”
A sound registering somewhere between a groan and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. “Honestly, I’d be better with some toast and Tylenol.”
“I’m not sure if that was a good guess or if you magically knew that toast was my specialty, but either way, you are in for quite a treat,” I replied, closing the fridge and heading for the pantry.
For the way things changed a moment later, you would have thought my pantry was the doorway to an alternate dimension. That dimension being my personal Hell.
When I reemerged, I found him still leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand and frozen in midair, but he was staring at the door in what could only be described as mortified recognition.
My heart slammed into my ribs as I set the bread on the counter.
As he lowered the cup, his gaze jumped to mine. His eyes burned with some emotion I couldn’t quite read, but I felt the singe all the same.
“What?” I asked hesitantly.
“Your washer and dryer are in there,” he whispered.
Uh oh.
“They are,” I confirmed cautiously and then attempted to explain his memory away. “Just like they are at Guardian. We have the same floor plan.”
He blinked. “You have a tattoo of a butterfly on your chest.”
Uh oh.
“I have a lot of butterfly tattoos.” I lifted my arms in his direction as exhibits A and B.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he stated firmly. “This one…” He trailed off and then mumbled a curse under his breath. “It’s on fire.”
Uh motherfucking oh.
“Yeah. I told you about it last night,” I whispered. It wasn’t a total lie. It wasn’t the truth, either.
He half growled and half laughed, raking a hand through the top of his hair. “Only half of it’s visible. The other half is hidden under your bra.”
Shit! Chills pebbled my skin at the memory of his tongue laving over the flames of that butterfly while his finger hooked under the fabric to tease my nipple.
“Why do I know that, Rhion?”
Because, after I tore your shirt off in the pantry, you were kind enough to return the favor.
“Um…” I quickly turned away and, with shaking hands, began wrestling with the twist tie on the bread.
My stomach somersaulted when his chest brushed my back.
“What happened last night?” he demanded, his tall body looming over me.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear—or, worse, turn in his arms and bury my face in his chest.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Your bra was pink,” he said gruffly as he plucked the bread from my hands and tossed it down on the counter.
“Jude,” I breathed around the massive lump in my throat.
He inhaled sharply before exhaling a horrified, “Dear God.”
“Out of my way,” I growled at the older man flanked by two bodyguards. “Rhion!” I was inching forward when a hand shot down and landed on my chest.
“You go in that room and you’ll lose more than your job.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, not a whole lot more you can take away from me. Fucking move!” I pushed forward, but I was once again stopped.
A slow grin grew on his lips. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He shoved his hands into his pockets of his navy slacks. “One word with my attorneys and your entire life becomes mine in a civil suit.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I have neither the time nor the desire to go after the pennies in your bank account, but if ruining you is what I have to do in order to get you out of Rhion’s life forever, I have no compunction in doing just that.”
I gritted my teeth and seethed, “You want my fucking life? Take it! I have absolutely no use for it anymore. I’m already ruined. I’m a good cop who did the best I could to get her out of that fire alive. Now, get the fuck out of my way and let me see her.”
“Oh please,” he scoffed. “You were drunk.”
“I wasn’t fucking drunk!” I roared.
At my explosion, his bodyguards protectively closed in.
But I kept my anger leveled on him as I repeated, “I wasn’t drunk.”
He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “You’ve been warned. Am I to take our continued conversation as a challenge, Mr. Levitt?”
The muscles at my neck flexed, sending a stabbing pain to my burns. I didn’t even wince. I’d deserved that. And so much more.
“No challenge.” I stabbed a finger toward her door. “That woman wants my pennies, she can have them all. She wants my house? She can have that too. My car? It’s hers. I’m not here to cause her any trouble. But I will not fucking leave without seeing her.”
“And what makes you think she wants to see you?”
I cut my gaze to the floor as a boulder of guilt settled in my stomach. “I…”
Nothing else came out. I had no ide
a if she wanted to see me or not. But I needed to see her. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to breathe again without it. It wouldn’t take long. There were only so many different ways I could say, I’m sorry.
“Fine. Let me hear her say she doesn’t want to see me and you’ll never see me again.”
“Oh, I’ll never see you again regardless. And neither will she.” He laughed.
My soul caught fire. “That is not your decision to make!” I yelled, slamming my fist into his face.
“Get him the hell out of here,” the man spat, blood dripping from his lip.
Hands roughly landed on my shoulders, but I continued to fight them off. It would take more than two men to keep me from her.
“I walked through fire for her! Just let me say goodbye!” I roared.
“And yet our supposed hero wears the scars on his back.”
My head snapped to the side from his TKO blow. If there had ever been a time to throw in the towel, that would have been it.
But it was Rhion. My desperation to see her far outweighed any punishment he could dole out. Physically or verbally.
Adrenaline surged through my veins. “You son of a bitch!” I shouted, diving toward him.
One of the men caught me at my chest and sent me crashing to the floor.
“Get him out of here,” the older man ordered, brushing me off like the trash he assumed I was.
He wasn’t completely wrong.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Higgins,” one of the men replied, lifting me off the floor.
“Rhion!” I yelled as the older man pushed through the door to her room.
My entire body froze when I caught a glimpse of her.
The air thinned and my lungs suddenly went up in flames as her agony-filled eyes landed on me. Her arms were extended out to her sides as if she’d been mounted to a cross. Gauze was wrapped around her breasts to cover her, and tears streamed down her creamy, white cheeks.
“Butterfly,” I whispered.
Her face crumbled, and she turned her head away as though she were unable to bear the sight of me. I couldn’t blame her. God knew I couldn’t anymore.
But that one reaction carved out a piece of my soul that I would never be able to reclaim. I hadn’t been responsible for the fire, but I owned those burns all the same.
