Hidden Hearts

by Olivia Dade

  “I didn’t.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Please don’t apologize. I was only curious.”

  He’d never met anyone with skin as warm and smooth as hers. And she smelled like brownies. Brownies, for God’s sake. How could he resist pulling her closer?

  “Miles?” Her fingers traced the seam on his shoulder. “I was hoping you could explain something to me too. Why did you get so upset when I asked about the books you’d been checking out? You know, when we first started writing each other?”

  That particular distress seemed so distant now, so unnecessary, given her reaction—or lack thereof—to his missing arm. “Because I was reading books about people who’d lost limbs. If you’d seen what I was checking out, you’d probably have guessed what happened to me. And I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Ah.” She tilted her face up to his and smiled. “No wonder you got squirrelly, then.”

  “No wonder.” He smiled back. “But I couldn’t seem to stop writing you. We’d only been exchanging e-mails such a short time, but you’d already become one of the brightest spots in my life.”

  His fears had urged him to hunker down. To go back into hiding. But even then, he’d sensed that she was special. Even then, he’d somehow known only a fool would let her slip away without a fight.

  And only a fool would let this moment—this opportunity—slip away now.

  He stared down at Mary’s beautiful face, only inches away. And then, before his fears could have their say once more, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  9

  Mary knew she’d never forget that kiss. Not if she lived forever and made out with future platoons of men. Which seemed unlikely, to be honest. But even under those circumstances, she was certain the kiss from Miles would stand out in her memory.

  More than a month later, she could still recall every detail.

  His lips had brushed so tenderly against hers, ensuring his welcome before he took the contact any further. When she hadn’t objected or pulled away, he’d settled his mouth more fully, exploring with deliberate care as he built the warmth between them into flame.

  He tasted like tomato sauce, with a background hint of mint. Delicious. And when her tongue tentatively touched his, he rumbled deep in his chest and hiked her closer.

  His hand slid to the nape of her neck, kneading the muscles there and sending shivery tremors down to her toes. His strong arm lay warm against her back, pressing her tight to his body as their tongues parried and played.

  A single kiss had never caused such a dizzy buzz in her head before. A single embrace had never left her with an empty ache between her legs before.

  And not once—not ever—had a man tempted her to throw aside everything she knew about herself and her need for intimacy before sex, to jettison all her concerns in favor of more.

  More contact. More kisses. More friction. More Miles.

  But before they could reach toward that more, he’d retreated. Separated from her with one last, sweet press of his lips and gently eased her back to her side of the couch.

  “You’re so lovely, Mary,” he’d said, his voice rough and low.

  Then, to her astonishment, he’d risen to his feet, stacked their plates, divvied up the remaining brownies, and invited her to watch yet another movie in his home a few days later. Her mouth still soft and damp from his, her thoughts muddled and hazy with desire, she’d agreed. And when she’d gotten home, she’d deleted her online dating profile.

  Their third date followed a familiar pattern. Once more, he chose a movie he knew she’d like. Once more, she ended up crying on his chest. Once more, comfort turned to heat as their mouths met. And once more, he stopped at a kiss, asked her out again, and sent her home.

  Their fourth date was the same. So were the fifth and sixth dates.

  Those evenings topped her list of all-time best dates, no contest. Her in-person rapport with Miles strengthened with each movie night, and so did her attraction to him. Between their continued daily e-mails and the time they spent on his couch, she felt like she could finish his sentences sometimes. He listened to her with such patience, gently pressing until she shared her opinions, even those she usually didn’t express. By word and deed, he made her feel interesting, smart, and beautiful. Desirable and desirous.

  Other than Sarah and her family, Mary would say he knew her better than anyone else in the world. And in many respects, she knew him just as well. But…

  But. Such a difficult word.

  But after six movie nights at his house, Mary was beginning to have some serious concerns about Miles.

  He played at nonchalance when it came to his missing arm, usually choosing not to acknowledge it at all. Not even when he injured himself—with a dropped box or a hot pan, for instance—instead of asking for assistance. And after a month of dating, he still hadn’t shared how he’d lost his arm, much less shown her the amputation site. Which was his choice, and she wouldn’t press him on it for the world, but...

  But. Again.

  But she’d expected him to grow more comfortable with his changed body over time, to reconcile himself to the loss and move back into the world. Instead, he remained buried in his cabin, with occasional visits from his handywoman, his housecleaner, Eugene, and Mary as his only company. He bought everything possible online, and had begun having even his groceries delivered.

  Her affection for him grew day by day, week by week. She didn’t want to upset him, and she didn’t want to stop dating him. She also knew she couldn’t fix whatever was damaged inside of him, not without his willingness to acknowledge the scars and address them.

  But she wasn’t sure she could keep dating a man who refused to leave the house. A man who—even worse—didn’t seem to think that was a problem.

  So she had a plan. It involved her being much blunter than she usually preferred, and she didn’t know how he would react. He might get angry. She might hurt his feelings. Their relationship might reach an abrupt end. If her strategy blasted him out of his darn cabin, though, she’d know she’d made the right choice.

  The plan went into effect at the tail end of their seventh date, after he offered her yet another soul-searing kiss and shifted her to the other side of the couch.

  “I’d love to do another movie night soon. I know you’re babysitting for your brother tomorrow night. Are you free on Friday?” He was cleaning up the debris from their meal, the dirty plates and forks rattling as he stacked them.

  After a good, bracing breath, she took her shot.

  “Are you ashamed of me, Miles?”

  The plates slipped out of his hand, landing with a crash back on the coffee table. He didn’t pay them a second of attention. Instead, his stricken gaze whipped directly to her, and he began to shake his head violently.

  “No! God, Mary, no. Why would you ever think that?”

  “You never take me anywhere in public. And you’re a Hollywood star. I’m just a small-town Maryland girl. I thought maybe—”

  “No,” he repeated, and moved to kneel in front of her. “I’m proud you’re even willing to date me. I could never be ashamed of you, and I’m so sorry if I’ve ever given you that impression.”

  She gazed at him steadily.

  His hand covered hers in her lap. “Do you believe me?”

  “If you’re not keeping me inside out of shame, why don’t we go to a restaurant for our next date?”

  Frustration and a hint of panic tightened his features. “You know why. I don’t want to be seen in public. People would figure out who I am, and then the paparazzi might descend.”

  “So wear a ball cap, pull the brim low, and we’ll eat someplace casual. No problem.” She rose to her feet, letting her fingers slide from beneath his. “Is it a date?”

  “No. I…” He raked his hand through his hair, still kneeling at her feet. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

&nb
sp; He stared up at her in silence for a moment.

  She licked her lips and forced herself to say the words. “If you’re not ashamed to be seen with me, and you’re only concerned about being recognized, I don’t see why we can’t go out in public, at least occasionally. On the other hand, if you won’t leave the house after all these months because you don’t want anyone to see your left arm—”

  His flinch tore at her heart. He looked like she’d slapped him.

  “—that worries me. A lot.”

  She’d never brought up his arm before. Not once. She’d just let him pretend it didn’t matter, that it didn’t affect him or their relationship.

  No more. She didn’t like making waves, but she’d do it for his sake. For their sake.

  A mighty battle was happening behind those hazel eyes. She could see it rage until he suddenly sighed, got to his feet, and began gathering the plates once more.

  “That’s not the issue.” His voice was barely audible. “We can go somewhere else for our next date. Your choice.”

  Oh, heavens, she thought. I hope I made the right call. For both of us.

  * * *

  “We’re going to an actual restaurant on our next date. Which is a good thing,” Mary told Sarah the following morning. “Probably.” After a little further thought, she added, “I think.”

  Sarah leaned back in her overstuffed recliner. “With that kind of enthusiasm and resolve, I’m surprised you’re not shouting the news from the hilltops or tattooing it on your butt to commemorate the occasion.”

  “I have a few misgivings.” That was a vast understatement, even for Mary. But before she got into her various fears, she had to ask. “Um…did you redecorate this room?”

  Sarah’s sigh was long and dramatic. “Do I seem like the sort of person who’d hang splintery wooden washboards and old gas-station signs all over my family room? It looks like a substandard chain restaurant in here. One with a failing sanitation grade, due to disease-riddled rats prowling the premises and terrorizing innocent diners.”

  She cast a baleful stare at the chipped cookie jar on the shelf across from her. “‘Just give me one room to decorate,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll prove I actually have good taste,’ he said. ‘Let me buy things for our house now that my business is making more money,’ he said. ‘I’ll go find awesome decorations at the antique mall,’ he said. ‘You’ll love it,’ he said. All bullcrap, Mary. All complete bullcrap.”

  “You don’t seem like the antique sort,” Mary ventured.

  “If I wanted to be around old, half-corroded things, I’d wander into one of those shacks out in the woods where serial killers bring their victims. At least then I’d have the hope of eventually getting free and living in a house with adult decorations.” Her scowl grew even darker. “Or dying. Which might be preferable to looking at rusty shears in shoddily crafted shadow boxes on my walls.”

  Mary stifled a snicker. “So why haven’t you changed the room back to the way it was?”

  “Stupidity.” Her face softened. “And love. He’s such a good man, and it’s his house too. He should have a say in the decorations. At least for a month.”

  “What happens after the month is over?”

  “This shit will mysteriously vanish. I plan to blame some heretofore undiscovered wormhole in Nice County for the disappearance. Or maybe a burglar who’s really into bad home décor.” Sarah glowered at the cookie jar a final time. “Anyway, enough about my horrible family room. What are your concerns about an actual, public date with Miles?”

  Mary worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Someone might be mean about his arm, either on purpose or by accident. Someone might recognize him as the Naked Carpenter and out him to the entertainment media. Or, worst of all, someone might recognize him, tell everyone where he is, and be mean about his arm. In which case, he’ll never leave his house again. Ever. And it’ll be all my fault.”

  “And people call me a drama queen,” Sarah muttered. “Okay, so you have some legitimate worries. But what was the alternative? Letting him spend another six months alone in the woods? Another year? Another decade? The man we saw in that Blu-ray loved talking to people and helping them. He loved exploring new places and hammering all sorts of exciting pieces of wood.”

  “You don’t think wood is exciting,” Mary pointed out.

  “Hell, no.” Sarah levered her recliner back to a seated position. “But he obviously did. And I’ll bet he still does. Does he plan to go back to his show anytime soon?”

  “He says he’s here for good, but…” Mary sighed. “That’s hard for me to believe. As far as I can tell, his show’s not even canceled. Officially, I think it’s simply on hiatus for unexplained reasons.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “Has he checked to see how much carpentry work he could do with one arm? Or if there are special tools he could use?”

  Mary spread her hands. “I have no clue. He doesn’t talk about his arm at all. I think he hates to acknowledge the amputation, despite how it’s changed his entire existence.”

  “Here’s my opinion on the whole matter.” Sarah’s voice had turned firm, offering the certainty Mary currently lacked. “I know you’re concerned about what you did, babe. But I don’t think you had much of a choice. Unless you were okay with your eventual wedding ceremony and any future childbirths taking place entirely within the confines of that cabin.” Sarah leaned forward and patted Mary’s hand. “Which I suspect you weren’t. And God knows I don’t want to go into the woods, not even to be your matron of honor. There’s wildlife out there.”

  To Mary’s fleeting amusement, her friend lingered over the word wildlife with the same disgust most people reserved for raw sewage.

  “Yeah.” Mary rubbed her face. “I guess you’re right. Thank you for reassuring me.”

  “You don’t look reassured.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she studied Mary’s posture. “Is something else worrying you, too?”

  “No,” she protested quickly. Too quickly.

  Sarah’s eyes turned downright squinty. “You’re lying. Shame on you, Mary Louise Higgs. Lying to your best friend. This betrayal may never fade from my memory. That is, unless you tell me what’s making you anxious.”

  She kept her hands over her face. “It’s so selfish, Sarah.”

  “Spill it, girlie.”

  Oh, God. She didn’t want to make Miles’s problems about her, but…“What if someone recognizes him and word gets out? And people take pictures?”

  Mary peeked through her fingers at her friend.

  “Didn’t we already discuss this possibility?” Sarah’s brow beetled. “It might happen, but it probably won’t. I mean, the Naked Carpenter living in rural Maryland? No one will believe it.” She gave Mary’s hand another pat. “If he does get recognized, though, it won’t be your fault. You might have given him a nudge, but it’s his choice to rejoin the outside world.”

  Mary shook her head in frustration. “But what if people take pictures of him and me? Together? And those pictures become public and wind up on the internet?”

  “Ah.” Sarah sat back in her recliner. “I see.”

  “People can be so vicious online. And yes, I know I shouldn’t look at those sorts of articles or read the comments, but we both know that’s easier said than done.”

  Her friend’s blue-gray eyes had turned solemn. “You’re smart and kind and gorgeous, Mary. Any man would be lucky to have you in his life. If randos on the internet can’t see that, it’s a problem with them. Not you.”

  Mary’s deep sigh hurt her chest. “I appreciate that. But I don’t know if I could handle the attention. Especially if it turned mean.”

  “I’m not saying it wouldn’t hurt. But you’re strong, babe. Anything that happened, you’d get through it with the support of your friends and family. And Miles, too, I’d hope.”

  With a few swipes on the screen of her phone, Mary returned to the internet sites she’d unearthed d
uring a sleepless night. “Look at these. See what people said about his previous girlfriends?”

  She’d spent hours the night before peering at photos of Miles escorting various women to and from various fancy Hollywood events or vacationing in various exotic locations. He didn’t seem to have a set type. According to the tabloids and pop culture magazines, he’d dated white women, black women, Asian women, Latinas…all colors. All heights. All hair types. All sizes.

  The two things his exes had in common: They were gorgeous, and they never, ever talked trash about Miles after a breakup. He paid them the same courtesy. As far as Mary could tell, he was still friends with all of them, which had to be some kind of miracle, given what she’d read about life in Hollywood.

  Oh, and one more thing those exes had in common: A handful of vicious commenters on the online articles had either sexualized them, ripped them to shreds, or both. She wasn’t entirely sure which upset her more.

  His exes of color seemed to get hit the hardest, but all of them were fair game. People speculated about the sex acts the women had performed with Miles. Described the sex acts the women should perform on them instead. Criticized the women’s faces and bodies. Called them fat or sluts. Analyzed every ripple and wrinkle of flesh, searched for flaws, and proclaimed each of the exes unworthy of his attention.

  Those comments might as well have sprung from Mary’s nightmares.

  “This is ugly,” Sarah said flatly, her gaze resting on Mary’s phone. “Really ugly.”

  “I’m not sure I could handle that kind of scrutiny and criticism.” For reasons she’d never told anyone outside her family or doctor’s office. But Sarah had become her best friend months ago. Surely Mary could trust her enough to explain? “I…I used to have issues with eating. Eating and exercise.”

  Sarah’s head snapped up, and she immediately reached for Mary’s hand. But she didn’t speak, simply waited patiently as Mary struggled to explain a period of her life she hadn’t discussed in years. One she’d tried hard to put behind her.