“Let’s take a look at that ankle,” I say, my voice barely above whisper. She nods, scooting herself closer to the edge of the counter.
I slip her sandals from her feet, letting my fingertips skim the arch as they come off. Her bare feet dangle, coming to rest right over the tops of my thighs. I scoot up and let her rest them on me. Taking the injured ankle in my hands, I see it’s bruising and gently massage the skin.
She winces again as I work my way down her foot, careful not to press too hard. Seeing the discoloration and knowing that he hurt her makes anger boil beneath the surface once more. I’ll make sure old man Anderson will find out what his son’s been up to. He’s going to fucking pay for putting his hands on her—for marking her.
I switch feet and take the same time and care with her uninjured foot. My fingertips skim up the backs of her calves as I continue kneading the muscles, trying to ease away the tension. Every touch, every caress, every breathless sigh as she falls apart at my touch, I become more tightly coiled. Her head tilts back against the mirror as she grips the counter, her knuckles white. She wants me.
My hands continue their journey across her skin, unable to let go just yet. Her knees fall open in invitation as my palms skim the back of her legs. All it would take is a slight shift and I could taste her. Her dress slides up, and something catches my attention.
On the insides of her thighs, there are bright red marks that start just above the knee and disappear under the hem of black fabric.
My sudden halt in movement has her eyes snapping open and peering down to where my hands are frozen holding her thighs. She looks at her marred skin, then at me, the longing slowly fading from her eyes. “I’m…I didn’t realize. I can’t—we shouldn’t.” She sits back and closes her legs, looking away, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
I swallow a heavy gulp of air, but it never reaches my lungs. It’s not her who should be sorry, it’s me. I saved her from being ravaged only to put my own hands on her. “Don’t apologize.” Standing with a huff, I turn to run the bath. She remains silent as I move around the bathroom that suddenly feels too small.
Looking in a frilly basket by the tub, I grab some lavender smelly shit and dump a bunch in the water. The sweet smell invades my nostrils as it foams and bubbles up in the tub. I keep my back to her and watch the suds grow and grow.
We sit, neither saying anything, the rush of water filling the awkward silence.
“Cohen,” she whispers, and hearing my name fall from her lips in a quiet plea hits me square in the chest. “Are you angry?”
I go back to where she sits and lift her into my arms. “At you? Never.” I carry her and place her next to the clawfoot tub. “Can you stand?” She nods in response.
“At myself? Yes. At him, hell yes.” I step back once I’m sure she’s steady. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I hope so,” she answers, and I’m not sure, but I feel like she means more than just what happened tonight. I hope so too.
“Okay...well, I’ll just be going. I just want to—”
“It’s fine. Please stay. You know…in case I need help after.”
I nod, clearing my throat. Trying to be a gentleman, I turn my back to the tub. I can hear her clothes falling with a gentle whoosh and water sloshing as she climbs into the tub.
“It’s safe,” she calls. That’s what you think.
I turn around, not knowing what to say, or where to look. My eyes move in all directions—everywhere but her and her pale naked skin just below the surface.
“I didn’t need you to save me,” she whispers.
“I know.” I look up at her, careful to hold her gaze and not drop my eyes.
“I’m perfectly capable of saving myself.”
“I know.” I walk toward the tub, drawn to her.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” She sinks farther into the bubbles with a sigh.
Me too, I think to myself. Unable to fight the pull any longer, I reach out to brush a wayward hair off her forehead.
“I want you,” she moans, and I’m speechless. “But we can’t. I can’t—I’m sorry…not tonight.”
“Scarlett, shhh. It’s fine, really. I don’t expect you to, especially after everything,” I assure her.
“No, it’s not that. I mean, it’s not because of that. It’s just…I’m confused. There’s someone else. Was someone.”
Of course. It always comes back to him.
“I see.” It’s all I can think to say, careful to hide my disappointment.
I came here with a plan—a purpose—but she crawled her way into my skin, and instead of using her, I want to save her. Somewhere along the way, this stopped being about Piers and started being about her.
“Well, if you’re sure there’s no one I can call, I’ll leave you to it. Make sure to lock up.” I stand back, gripping the doorframe, and study the tiles on the floor. I need to clear my head, and I can’t think with her naked body within my reach and sweet scent clouding my senses.
“You are angry with me,” she whispers, but there’s no emotion evident in her tone.
I grip the wood tighter, resting my forehead against my forearm. Rubbing back and forth in frustration, hoping it will make the perfect answer magically appear in my mind. It doesn’t, so I try this truth thing again. Well…parts of the truth.
“Scarlett, I’m not mad at you.” I peek at her, keeping my head to one side. “This whole situation is fucked up. There is something here, something I can’t explain. I know you feel it too. I see it in your eyes. All of it—the desire, the longing, the hesitation, and even the sadness.” Her eyes widen, but she keeps them locked on me. I drop my arms and scrub my hands down my face.
“I didn’t come here planning to run into you. To save you or seduce you,” I choke out the lie. “I’m just as caught off guard by all of this as you are.” I risk glancing at her once more, telling the truth this time. She’s staring into the water, moving her hands in slow circles, creating ripples. Following her gaze, I see the bubbles starting to dissolve. Much like my willpower.
“But there is something here, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it. What you want me to do about it, what I want to do about it—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know either.” This time, her voice is full of emotion. Regret. She shivers.
“Here.” Turning, I reach for a large terry bath towel and hold it out to her. Instead of taking it, she surprises me by slowly standing. I lift the towel, holding it wide open with both arms while directing my gaze upwards. Stepping back, she fumbles slightly, which sends her crashing into my chest once more.
Bringing my arms around her, I wrap the luxurious cream cloth around her shoulders, drop my hands, and step back before my gesture turns into an embrace.
“Thanks.” She turns toward me, eyes sad and tangled blond hair dripping on the ends. My hands take cover in my denim pockets, needing a place to restrain them from reaching out to her. I’ve done enough touching.
“I’ll wait here while you dress, if you’re okay to walk.”
She nods before walking from the room. I shut the door after her and release all the air from my lungs. My head connects with the heavy wood and stays there while I try to get my thoughts under control. Why did I come? Why did I need her to get to him? Why did I approach her? Why fight for her? Why help her? Why stay?
I’m breaking all the rules, blurring all the lines. I need to get a handle on it. I’ve just never had someone look at me the way she does. Like she needs me to save her. Not just from the grabby hands of Alan, or even Piers’ obliviousness—she needs me to save her from herself. I’ve been desired, wanted, and even needed. But what she wants from me may be the one thing I’m not capable of giving. Because in order to save her, I may lose myself. That’s a risk I’m not sure I can take, no matter how baldy I want to. But even if I can’t save her from herself, I can save her from me, from my vengeance, by not involving her any more than I already have.
; “All clear,” she calls out, and I take a deep breath before entering her suite. She’s sitting in bed, on top of the beige duvet, resting on a mountain of pillows. Black silk pajamas cover her pale skin, and her damp blond hair is wrapped in some sort of messy knot on the top of her head.
“You feeling okay?” I ask, feeling more awkward standing here while she’s fully dressed than I was holding her wrapped in a towel. “Ankle.”
She shrugs, rolling her ankle. “I think so. I’ll probably lay off the heels for a couple days.”
“Okay…well, ice helps…and keep it elevated.” I clear my throat, looking around.
“Thanks for the information, Dr. Cohen,” she teases, and it lightens the mood a bit.
“I have a feeling you would be a shit patient. Never following the orders.” I move closer to inspect her ankle for myself, really just wanting an excuse to touch her one last time. Taking her ankle in my hands, I massage it, and she falls back into the pillows, closing her eyes.
“Keep touching me like that and I’ll do anything you ask.” Her eyes fly open and land on mine, her cheeks flaming pink.
“Good to know,” I chuckle, trying to hide the desire burning me from the inside out. She pulls a pillow over her face before tossing it at me. “Time for bed, Scarlett.” Her carefree smile drops. Seems I’m not the only one with my emotions all over the place.
“Stay?” she asks as she slips under the covers, turning on her side and watching me. “Just till I fall asleep?”
“I don’t think that’s really a good idea, do you?” She’s killing me.
“Not for that.” She looks away, finding her courage before looking back at me. “It’s just…I haven’t smiled or laughed like this in a long time. Even with everything that happened tonight. And I just…you…I guess what I’m trying to say is…I know it’s selfish, and I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything. But I’ve been alone a long time and when you’re around, I don’t feel so alone.” Her lip quivers and her eyes plead.
“Okay.” I find myself saying, knowing how much it took for her to admit any of that. “I get it.” And I do, more than I care to admit.
Walking around, I kick off my shoes, hit the lights, and crawl in bed behind her, on top of the covers. A man can only be pushed so far. Reaching one arm around, I pull her into my chest.
“Thank you, Cohen. For everything.” She snuggles in closer to me.
After several minutes, she shivers in the dark and lets out a heavy sigh.
“Did you want the light left on?” I didn’t even think to ask her.
“No. It’s okay.” She yawns.
“You aren’t afraid of the dark?” I whisper into the back of her hair, teasing her.
“It’s hard to be afraid of what lives inside you.” Her confession is a murmur as she drifts to sleep, leaving me wide awake and wondering what exactly she meant. I hold her until her breathing evens out, until I can’t bear to hold her without touching her anymore, then I lock up and quietly slip out of her room.
It seems like when I’m with her all I do is put her to bed. I can’t wait for the day I can take her to bed, but so long as it’s him who’s in her mind, that’s not going to happen.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
Torn between celebrating and staying in, I opt for a chill Sunday at home. When I woke up this morning and found Cohen gone, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. But a girl like me has no business getting mixed up with a guy like him. I can’t deny there was something there—the way I felt in his arms…that eerie sense of familiarity. A shiver runs down my arms at the memory of his gorgeous blue eyes—a gaze I could get lost in. If I weren’t already struggling to find my way.
A deflated sigh moves a wayward hair out of my face. I’m just not emotionally available right now, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to get tangled up in something that can never be.
Pulling myself off the lush velvet couch where I’ve been the better part of the day since arriving home from the Anderson retreat, I decide to make a cup of tea. I stretch my aching muscles as I stand, reminded of the previous night’s unfortunate events. My bare feet quietly slap on the worn hardwood floors as I move to the kitchen and shake the memories away. I prefer to replace them with ones from later in the evening. Ones where the dark knight stepped in and carried me away like it was a fairytale rather than a nightmare. Thoughts of the way he took care of me and made me feel delicate without treating me like I was broken swirl in my mind as I put the kettle on. The old Scarlet would’ve taken him to bed without a second thought, but I’m not that person anymore. At least I’m trying not to be.
Opening the whitewashed cupboard, I reach way to the back until my fingers brush the scalloped edges of the glass I’m searching for. It’s the one I use when I’m feeling sentimental, a piece of the set Wendy gave me years ago. Somehow, she knew my secret tea set was broken, so when I was thirteen, she gave me a new one, even though I pretended I was too mature. I secretly cherished it. This one cup is all that remains. Sadly, the rest was lost when I left Everlend. Setting it on the work top, I grab a single tea bag from the tin and drop it in the cup.
Fragile ivory china covered with green leaves and lavender colored roses she said reminded her of my eyes. Wendy was the closest thing I ever had to a real mum, and days like today, I miss her the most. Days when I need advice, but also someone to tell me it’s going to be okay and truly mean it. Last I heard, my birth mum had died. Possibly an overdose, a fire...maybe both. That was also the last I heard of my sister, Jasmine. Closing my eyes tightly, I see it like a movie in my mind.
I had been living at Everlend a couple years when I found a letter hidden in my secret place. The edges fluttering from the breeze, held in place under the weight of the stone, the white standing out amongst the emerald grass and pastel flowers. I would have thought it a joke or even a lie, if I didn’t recognize her perfect penmanship on the crisp paper. Even though education was never important to our mum, Jazz always read to me and made me practice my letters. My eyes scanned the page, drinking in her words like a man in the desert whose found water—a link to my old life, the only good part: my family.
Scarlett,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sure the nice lady with money is keeping you fed and safe inside those stone walls. That’s all I ever wanted for you—that you would never know the terrors of the night and sleep easily with your belly full. Don’t worry about Mum, she won’t be bothering us anymore. She took too much of her special medicine and there was an accident. A fire. The old place is gone. Don’t go back there. Nothing is left. Stay where you are, believe in dreams, and wish upon stars. Block out everything you can from our old life—erase it like footprints in the snow. Be everything she wasn’t and everything I couldn’t.
I’m sorry we can’t say goodbye in person. Please don’t hate me for leaving you . I thought it was best to give you a fresh start. That’s what I’m going to do, but I have to go away to get mine. Please don’t look for me, promise me! Don’t look backward, only forward. Shadows are behind us for a reason.
Love, Jazz
The whistle of the kettle pulls me back, and I’m standing in my kitchen, miles and years away from that day. If only shadows didn’t have to follow us. Opening my eyes, I blink back the tears.
Removing the pot, I switch off the burner and pour the hot water over my chamomile tea bag. Setting the kettle aside, I place the cup gently on a tray, grab a handful of biscuits, and open the back door leading out to a small patio. Sitting in the garden chair, I place the tea and biscuits on the footstool in front of me, giving my tea a moment to cool, and study my sanctuary. My little corner of paradise carved out in the world. Brick and flagstone cover the earth, edged in moss and blooms. Stone walls and a trellis of ivy leans toward the back, threatening to cover the walls in its tangled green webs. I could have found another place that was more modern, more me, the person I portray, but this tiny garden sold me on the plac
e. My favorite is when the sun just begins to set and a perfect glow is cast over my patio wall, bathing everything in its golden light.
Sipping my warm tea, I think back to when it all changed—when I became this person. The damaged child grew to the defiant teenager, who became the young lady who used men to get what she wanted. All I knew is I wanted attention. I wanted someone to want me. I thought flirting with other guys and taking things to the next level might catch Piers’ attention. Turns out, I was wrong.
Not wanting to completely lose myself in the past, I mentally skim over the dark years—the years I lost my virginity to an older boyfriend who later became very possessive and controlling. Covering the bruises and lying all the time almost cost me my friendship with Piers and Teddy. After they rescued me and Willow left, things fell apart. He and James fought, he was kicked out of Everlend, and Teddy and I went along. Willow was nowhere to be found, and we were on our own. I tried to clean up my act and be what he wanted, but he was so lost himself, it wasn’t enough.
So, I did things my own way: I took control. I used my body to manipulate men. Wealthy men, businessmen, throwing caution to the wind with concern to my body and risking my safety. I thought if I was in charge, it would be different. But once again, I found myself in over my head.
Piers was getting his business off the ground and offered me a chance at something better, so I took it. And no matter how much I want to give in and fall back into old habits, I can’t be that person anymore. I shudder to think what I might have done, once upon a time, to close the Anderson deal—a deal I thankfully closed on my own merit. Piers still knows nothing about the outcome of this weekend. He hasn’t returned any of my emails. It’s like he doesn’t even care now that she’s back. I need him to care. I need this business. I need him. But he doesn’t need me.
Screw that! He does need me. I mentally shake myself from a pity party and push thoughts of him away. He needed me to close the deal, and I did. He also doesn’t know about Alan’s wandering hands or the mysterious stranger who came to my rescue. More thoughts of the black-haired Adonis invade my mind.
Never Say Never (Written in the Stars Book 2) Page 9
