by Hettie Ivers
Miraculously, I did finally sleep—or dream, rather. I dreamt I was home. I was in my own bedroom in the house I’d grown up in. I was where I belonged. And it was both comforting and heartbreaking because I knew I was only dreaming and not really there.
I sat all alone within the silence of the walls I adored so much. Everything was exactly as I’d left it the morning I’d embarked on my journey to Brazil.
And for just a moment, I could almost hear the faint echo of my mother calling me from the kitchen downstairs, letting me know breakfast was ready and announcing the minutes I had left before I had to leave for school. It was a memory of her I never wanted to forget. I listened harder, hoping beyond hope to conjure just a whisper of her voice from my memory, even if it was only a dream voice.
But it was a familiar male voice that called to me instead, sure and resounding, obliterating the fragile whispers of the ghosts of my past. The voice was gentle, but insistent, as it commanded me to come to him, saying that it was time, and that he had waited patiently for long enough.
His words were authoritative, yet softly seductive as he lured me from my bedroom with the promise of something real—something more tangible than the memories that filled the silence of my childhood home.
He said he needed me. He wanted me. The ghosts in my mind couldn’t touch me, he said. They couldn’t keep me warm and safe, or make me feel more alive inside than I ever imagined. But he could, he told me. He would, he promised me. All I had to do was open my eyes and come home to him.
I blinked. And then I blinked again.
My eyes didn’t open, but I did notice a soft, muted light on the other side of my closed eyelids for the first time since falling into my altered state of nothingness.
“That’s it, baby,” Warm fingers lovingly stroked my cheek. “That’s my girl. One more time for me.”
I blinked again. My eyelids still didn’t budge. When had they gotten so dang heavy?
“Once more, Milena,” he insisted. “Again. You’re so close.”
I tried yet again, and at last my stubborn eyelids opened.
There was indeed light on the other side. And Alex.
CHAPTER TEN
I was in a different room, in a different bed. Everything seemed bigger.
But I couldn’t focus on much beyond Alex’s absurdly handsome face grinning back at me. Fuck. He looked way better than the image I’d held in my memory of him. And he was shirtless again.
Double fuck.
A quick survey of my person revealed I was thankfully dressed in pajamas and that he was wearing some form of lounge or sleep pants as well. Still, we were in bed together … probably his bed … alone … under the covers.
Instantly I regretted leaving the safety of my coma. This could only get weird fast.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his expression boyish—giddy with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning who’d just unwrapped the present he’d wanted most.
“Um … good?” I answered uncertainly, testing out the vocal chords I’d not used for what seemed like days.
His grin broadened, as if I’d just said something outrageously brilliant or amusing.
Oh, God … it was already weird.
I reached up to palpate the top of my head, feeling for the site of my injury. There was nothing. No scab or lump, no sensation of tenderness, and no scar.
I frowned. “How long has it been?”
“A little more than thirty-six hours.”
That was all? “How did I heal so fast?” I remembered Kai saying my injuries were worse.
“Your injuries were worse,” he agreed in answer to my unvoiced thought. “You also lost a lot of blood. So I had Kai give you some of mine, which helped heal you faster.”
“We’re the same blood type?” As soon as I said it, I felt like the world’s greatest bimbo.
“No.” He smiled and shook his head, gazing indulgently down at me like I was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “Not even close.”
Shit. I’d woken up in an alternate universe.
“Is that safe?” I blurted.
“Well, how do you feel?” he countered with a wry grin, rather than answer the question.
In truth, I felt good. Really good. Alert and well rested. My vision seemed clearer than it had ever been. In fact, all my senses seemed strangely sharpened and improved. My body felt perfectly healthy and ache-free. And surprisingly … clean, I noted, as well. I ran my tongue over the inside of my mouth. Even my teeth felt clean.
“I took the liberty of bathing and caring for you while you were resting,” Alex announced, once again in answer to my unspoken train of thought.
My eyes flew wide and my stomach turned over. I prayed he was just being a dick and teasing me. I held my breath and waited for the punch line.
He frowned. “Your hair was matted with blood, Milena.”
I remembered how in my altered state of awareness I’d been floating in the watery clouds with him, thinking I was dead … and naked. Lord help me, he was serious that he’d actually bathed me!
Alex had seen me naked. And while I’d been unconscious!
“Don’t worry, I was a gentleman,” he reassured. “I looked, but didn’t touch anywhere I thought might upset your prudish human sensibilities. Marissa assisted me, and I had her do most of the actual washing.”
My face heated with shame, and I rolled over onto my side away from him, squeezing my eyes shut as if it might mercifully take me back into my comatose state. I wanted to die. He was the first boy—man—to see me naked, and I hadn’t even had a say in it. Hell, I hadn’t even been awake for it!
Moreover, he was absolutely the last person in the world I ever would’ve allowed to see me in the nude given the choice. And there he was, making light of yet another horrendous violation of my privacy and person. I ground my teeth in outrage as silent tears began to pour unchecked behind my closed eyes. Damn him!
“Shh,” he hushed, scooting closer to me and running a comforting hand up my arm to my shoulder. “Hey, there’s no reason to get upset.” He sounded perplexed, and maybe a little miffed by my reaction, which only served to enrage me further.
“Don’t fucking shush me! Just get away from me.” I squirmed and pushed against him as indignation blazed through me. Again he tried to calm me, rather than do as I’d asked, which prompted me to scream in frustration at the top of my lungs. “Get out of my damn head and stop fucking touching me!”
As I screamed the words, I pushed back against him in my head. The horrible feeling of my brain catching fire happened instantaneously this time, but it did nothing to discourage me. I didn’t care. And I wouldn’t stop until my brain imploded like poor Jacinda’s if that’s what it took to be rid of him.
“Stop it!” he ordered, flipping me onto my back and climbing over me. He’d used that deep, authoritative Alpha tone of his, and it made me more incensed than words could ever express.
So I threw my fist at his face as hard as I could, knowing full well it would be my hand that sustained all the damage, but far from caring.
“Fuck!” he roared as the bones in my knuckles splintered against his cheek.
I couldn’t help but scream in reaction myself. It hurt like a motherfucker!
“I’m out! I’m out!” he ceded, immediately retreating from my mind while at the same time pinning both of my wrists above my head and straddling my midsection. “Would you stop hurting yourself already?”
It was a blessed relief indeed to feel the burning in my head cease. But it also served to highlight how much my broken hand was now hurting.
“What is your problem? So I saw you naked. Is that any reason to react like this? To break your hand punching me?”
“Yes!” I shrieked, the throbbing pain in my hand further fueling my ire. I wriggled beneath him and struggled against his iron grip on my wrists. “Get off me!”
“No. Not until you explain this irrational aversion to people bathing you.”
/> I laughed shrilly and without humor. “You have no feelings. Of course you wouldn’t understand.”
“Feelings?” he scoffed. “You were covered in blood, Milena. Bathing you was the medically appropriate, properly hygienic measure to take. Am I supposed to apologize for taking into account your health and safety above your petty moral concerns and your vanity?”
I made my guppy face before I could catch myself. I hastily shut my jaw again, then cursed internally for doing so as I saw his lips twitch with amusement at the knowledge that I cared what he thought of the faces I made.
“Tell me,” he said, his dark eyes warming, “did I ruin some schoolgirl fantasy you’ve been clinging to about how things would play out the first time a man laid eyes on you in the buff?”
“Fuck you!” I spat, blushing furiously at his speculation, which hit a little too close to the truth—at least in part.
He leaned in until his lips grazed the shell of my ear. “Would you like to know how your first time was for me?”
I shook my head, which unintentionally only served to press his lips into more intimate contact with my earlobe.
“Well, it so happens that in between thoughts of being livid with Kai and Jacinda,” he proceeded conversationally despite my denial of any interest, “frustrated by your behavior, and overall worried out of my damn mind, I did notice how nice your skin smells when it’s wet.”
He paused to inhale against my ear and neck, eliciting an annoyingly lovely tingling sensation clear to my scalp. I tried to ignore it and refocus on the pain emanating from my broken knuckles.
“Also, how well-formed your breasts are,” he relayed softly as his nose traced my temple, “and how nicely shaped I find your legs.”
My breath hitched. Surely he had to be joking? Was that sarcasm? I prepared myself for the insult to come. I knew he had to be working up to one—most likely a crack about my boyish lack of curves.
“Then when Marissa ran a washcloth between your thighs, you made this tempting little moaning sound in your throat.” He growled in remembrance against my neck. “At which point I began to wonder how you might taste and feel on my tongue if I were to lick you clean instead.”
I swallowed audibly as he started kissing his way down the column of my throat. It sounded more like a gulp. Please let him have an insult queued up.
“Such thoughts spurred the selfish beast in me to fantasize about rousing you from your much-needed, healing slumber in order to discover all the other noises I might draw from you.” He paused as his lips explored along my clavicle. “Both with my mouth … and my uncomfortably engorged cock, as I envisioned licking, sucking, and fucking you thoroughly, again … and again, to our mutual gratification.”
Sweet Jesus! I was burning hot from head to toe, like I was running a dangerous fever. I knew my face was red, and that I needed to take a breath soon before he reminded me. But another part of me hoped I’d just pass out from overheating or lack of oxygen and not have to engage with him anymore like this. I was no match for him when he started in with the sexual banter.
“But …” he lamented, “instead, I was a gentleman. And here you punched me in the face anyway.”
With a final kiss to my collarbone, he drew back up onto his knees. “How’s the hand feeling?” I stared blankly up at him. “Your hand, Milena? How is it?”
Oh, I don’t know … melted into the mattress, perhaps? Like the rest of me.
I hadn’t even noticed he’d released my wrists at some point. My arms were still resting lamely above my head where he’d last put them. When I didn’t respond, he retrieved my right hand with the injured knuckles and brought it up close to his face for inspection.
And then he licked it.
Then he did it again. And again. He was being decidedly thorough about it—and disturbingly erotic. I had to get my wits about me!
“But in my dream, you said … you said you’d rather …” I cleared my throat, “do it … with virtually any other female on the planet than me,” I reminded him.
His brows rose in interest, and I felt his lips smile against my knuckles before kissing them. “Mm … you’re right. I did say that, didn’t I? That was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?”
I shrugged noncommittally.
“It must have hurt your feelings,” he pressed quietly, pausing in his attentions to my knuckles to regard me.
I shook my head.
He smirked. “Liar,” he mouthed to my ever-increasing mortification. “Well, I’ve changed my mind,” he imparted before lifting my hand back to his mouth.
Butterflies pole-vaulted in my belly.
“I want,” I squeaked, “… to stay … with Alcaeus,” I said, my voice quavering. It didn’t help that my stomach was in knots and my hand was now visibly trembling in his grasp.
“Uh-uh,” he refused with a minute movement of his head, as his tongue weaved in and out between my digits, “not gonna happen, baby.”
I was momentarily thrown off course by his term of endearment. That and the fact his tongue was rapidly making more than just my fingers wet.
“But I can’t … I don’t want …” I faltered distractedly in my objection. “I heard you talking … and Alcaeus said it was the law … of your people … and I could stay with him as … as an elder.”
He shook his head again as he studiously licked over the back of my hand. It felt healed already, leading me to suspect he was only licking it now to fluster me.
“But the—the law …” I protested, trailing off as I forgot the point I’d planned to make next. Goddamn him and his bad boy Casanova bullshit that got me all rattled and stupid. I refused to be a cliché!
“Milena, I don’t give a fuck about laws. I’ll do whatever I want where you’re concerned. And there’s no one,” he emphasized, “including Alcaeus, who possesses the ability to stop me.”
I swallowed hard, hoping it would push down the fear and alarm arising in me. “That’s not very honorable.”
“Don’t care what it is,” he said, his fingers gently massaging the delicate bones in my hand and fingers, confirming his tongue’s handiwork. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again after that stunt you pulled with Jacinda.”
I averted my gaze as guilt flooded me. I felt awful about Jacinda. But it didn’t mean I was going to let him continue to railroad me. “Lucia said I have a choice. And I … I don’t want to stay with you.”
“So I remember you telling me that.”
Despite his show of nonchalance, I swore I could feel his wrathful energy brewing, rapidly approaching a boiling point.
“I suppose I’ll just have to entice you, eh?” he proposed with obvious sarcasm. “I seem to recall possessing a bargaining chip of some sort,” he muttered to himself, searching the high ceiling above as he pretended to comb his memory. “Let’s see … what was it? Ah, yes, the life of your brother.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Don’t believe what, princess?”
“I don’t trust you,” I amended. “How do I know Raul’s even alive?” I challenged as assertively as my visible shivering would allow. I was so tired of him belittling me. “I want to see him for myself.”
“Raul’s at my home in Salvador. I might arrange a video conference, if,” he stipulated with exaggerated condescension, “you can be a good little girl and not maim yourself for a full forty-eight hours.”
“I am not a little girl, and I am not a princess,” I seethed. “I’m a person! A person who doesn’t appreciate degrading pet names.”
His brow quirked. “I see. So that’s a no to princess and little girl? But I can still call you baby?”
“What?”
“You didn’t object when I called you baby, before. In fact, your heart rate sped up,” he reported with a lazy smile. “I’m certain you liked it whenever I called you baby during your recovery.”
“Nuh-uh!” I objected, appalled. “Did not!”
He laughed, nodding emphatically and r
aising my knuckles to his lips for a final kiss before depositing my healed hand on the bed. “You are a disgraceful liar, baby.”
“You are a controlling, overbearing, condescending asshole!”
All trace of teasing and humor left his features, and he lowered himself onto me, deftly wedging his knee between my legs and sinking his weight into me where it would do the most good. I bit my lip as I felt the traitorous mass of nerve endings there jump and flutter in anticipation.
“You made me worry.” It was an indictment.
And as ludicrous as it was, I somehow knew the wounded, forlorn look in his black eyes would haunt me if I didn’t make amends. It made no sense.
It made even less sense when my eyes started watering and I found myself uttering the words to say I was sorry, though rationally I knew I owed him no such apology. Stranger still, I felt as if I truly meant it.
His features softened and his lips curved into a hint of a sad smile. “Don’t do it again, okay? Don’t ever hurt yourself. Promise me, Milena?”
I shook my head, crying harder. I didn’t know if I could promise such a thing, and I’d never been a good liar.
He sighed, his forehead lowering to touch mine. “I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. But I need you to give me a chance. Do you understand?”
“Uh-uh.” I sniffled. God, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what he meant. And I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was he wanted from me anyhow. I wasn’t sure he knew himself. “What sort of chance?”
“The chance to know you, and to provide what you need.”
My brain drew a giant blank. It was quite possibly the most confounding thing he’d said to me yet.
“I know I’ve hurt you. And I’ve scared you.” His hands cradled my face as his thumbs wiped the dampness from my cheeks. “But if you let me try, I think … I think I could make you feel safe with me. I think I could earn your trust.”
“But you’re holding me hostage,” I pointed out, my tone incredulous, “and you’re threatening me with the life of my own brother if I don’t comply with your demands!”
