She scoffed. “Beautiful?” She tossed her braid behind her back and tucked her hair behind what was left of her scarred ear. Gesturing to her face, she let out a sardonic laugh. “This can never be beautiful. And no one will ever want me.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she stared at him, challenging him to disagree.
This had to be the alcohol talking. How else could they go from making out to her accusing him of being repulsed? Wasn’t it obvious he wanted her? She was all he’d thought about since she’d come back into his life. “I don’t care about your scar. Honestly, I hardly notice it. When I look at you, all I see is you. And I am incredibly attracted to you; I just don’t want to rush things.”
She laughed again, without a trace of humor. “If you’re attracted to me, it’s only because you haven’t seen it all.”
He reached for her again, but she took a step back. Letting his arms fall to his sides, he sighed. “I haven’t seen it all because you keep it covered.”
“For good reason.” She shoved her sleeve up her arm and held it out to him. “Look.”
The scar extended from the pinky side of her hand up to disappear into her shirt. The warped, discolored skin shone in the light in the smooth places. In other spots, bumps and ridges marred her arm, the flesh puckering and dipping in a random kaleidoscope design. His heart ached for her. The pain she’d endured must have been unbearable. And at eight years old…
She stared at him, waiting for a reaction. He kept his expression neutral, but he needed to say something. What could he say, though? No words could convey the sympathy he felt for her, and at this moment, he doubted sympathy was what she needed.
“Well? Say something.”
He looked into her eyes. “It’s your arm.”
“It’s hideous.” She yanked her sleeve down.
He wanted to reach for her again, but he refrained. She’d only back away. If she would let him hold her, he’d take her in his arms and hug her until the hurt went away. “Your arm is scarred, yes. What happened to you is tragic, but I don’t care about how it looks. It doesn’t define you.”
“A lot more than my arm is scarred, Gage.” Anger tinted her words, but he couldn’t tell if she was mad at him or her condition. “If you saw it all, you wouldn’t be able to say you’re attracted to me. You definitely wouldn’t say I’m beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You haven’t seen me.” She yanked her shirt over her head and dropped it on the carpet. “Look at it. Look at this hideous scar, and then look me in the eyes and tell me you’re still attracted to me.”
His gaze never straying from her eyes, he knelt to retrieve her clothing from the floor. “Let’s not do this. Please put your shirt back on.” He held it out to her, and she snatched it from his hands.
“Not until you look at me. Really look at me.”
He sighed and allowed his gaze to travel to the side of her face. He’d seen this part of her scar plenty of times. Aside from the first time he’d met her, he’d never given it a second thought. It was simply what her skin looked like. The same pock-marked pattern, smooth in some places, rough and ridged in others, extended down her neck and across her shoulder to cascade down the entire right side of her body. His heart wrenched at the sight, but the pain in her eyes tore his insides to shreds. Her scars ran deeper than what he could see.
He reached for her, and she stepped back again. “You don’t have to touch me.”
“I want to touch you.” Closing the gap between them, he took her face in his hands and ran his thumbs across her skin. Both sides—the scarred and the smooth.
She stiffened. “Why?”
He held her gaze, staring deep into her dark-brown eyes, willing her to believe him. “Because you’re beautiful.” Leaning in, he touched a soft kiss to her lips. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her again. The faint taste of cabernet still lingered on her tongue, and as she slid her arms around his waist, he couldn’t stop the moan from rumbling in his chest nor the blood from rushing to his groin.
He kissed her forehead and trailed his fingers down her arms. “Believe me now?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper. She released her hold and turned her shirt right side out to clumsily pull it over her head. “I’m sorry.” She smoothed her braid back into place, covering her scar. “The wine is making me say things I’d normally keep to myself.”
“I’m glad you told me.” He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her head. They stood there in her living room holding each other, her head nestled against his chest, the sweet scent of her hair tickling his senses, and he lost himself to the moment. He could have held her like this all night. He would have if she needed him to.
She sniffled and looked up at him. “Do you remember that time junior year, when you sneaked into my window and stayed with me all night?”
“Yes.” How could he forget?
“It was the anniversary of the fire…of my mom’s death. I’d spent the morning at the cemetery with my dad. By the afternoon, he was wasted. He came in my room and apologized. I know he felt as guilty as I did, but…he told me he was sorry for making me ugly.”
He held her tighter. She’d called him in tears that night, and he’d sneaked out of his house to comfort her. He hadn’t planned on staying all night, but the way she’d clung to him, snuggled into his side as he lay next to her in her bed…he couldn’t have left her alone.
She pulled away to look into his eyes. “Do you remember the date that happened?”
He shook his head. “It was sometime in the summer.”
“It was June twenty-sixth. Eleven years ago, today.”
“Oh, Erica. I didn’t realize.” No wonder her emotions were such a mess. It was the anniversary of the most horrible day of her life, and he’d tried to treat it like any other day. If he’d used his brain, he would have remembered; she’d told him the date years ago. But he’d been too concerned with taking her out on a date…with his own emotions…than with the pain she must have been enduring. Jackass.
She chuckled. “Look at me. Wasted like my dad. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
“You aren’t wasted. And so what if you had a little to drink? You’re allowed to drown your sorrow every now and then.”
“You were always there for me when I needed you.” She held his face in her hands and rose onto her toes to kiss him. “Will you be here for me now? I don’t want to be alone.”
His heart pounded in his throat. “You want me to stay the night?”
“I promise I won’t try to make a move on you.”
What if I want you to? No…he couldn’t think like that. “Good, because I don’t think I could resist you if you did.” Dear Lord, he was going to do this. Was he insane or a glutton for punishment?
She led him by the hand to her bedroom and switched on a lamp. A deep-purple duvet covered her queen-sized bed, and an ornate, oval mirror sat propped against the wall on a desk in the corner.
Erica slipped off her shoes and glanced at the mirror. “Probably best if we keep our clothes on, huh?”
“Probably so.” He groaned inwardly. Keeping his clothes on was the last thing he wanted, but in her condition and with the significance of the date, doing anything more wouldn’t be right.
They climbed into bed, and she snuggled into his side like she did all those years ago. With her head resting on his shoulder, she draped her arm across his chest, and he held her tight.
“When I called you that night, back in high school, and you came over…I was fully prepared to lose my virginity to you, but you never made a move. Thank you for that.”
His stomach tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. God, how he’d wanted to make a move that night. Like he wanted to make one now. But when he made love to Erica, he wanted it to be for the simple reason that she wanted him. Not because she was hurting, and not because alcohol had lowered her inhibitions. “You needed a friend. I was happy to be that for
you.”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
He stared at the ceiling. A shaft of moonlight cut through the room, illuminating two of the ceiling fan blades. How different would his life have been if he’d had the courage to tell her how he felt all those years ago? If she had offered herself to him that night, would he have had the nerve to take her? Probably not, and it didn’t matter anyway.
She was here now.
The woman of his dreams lay in his arms, and he wasn’t doing a damn thing about it. He needed to tell her how he felt. To let her know friendship wouldn’t be enough this time. He wanted her to be his and his alone.
He swallowed the thickness from his throat. “Erica?”
Her only response was the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept on his shoulder.
Chapter Eight
Bright sunlight painted the back of Erica’s eyelids red. She rolled to her side, and the dull ache in the base of her skull spread to the front. Clutching a pillow, she inhaled deeply, filling her senses with Gage’s masculine scent, and her stomach tightened. She blinked her lids open and ran a hand down her side. Still fully dressed.
She sat up. The sound of something sizzling in a skillet and the rich aroma of brewing coffee beckoned her. She smiled. After everything she’d put him through, Gage hadn’t left yet.
Sliding out of bed, she tiptoed to the bathroom mirror and glanced at her reflection. Mascara stains streaked her cheeks, and her braid had matted itself into the precursor for a giant dreadlock. She grimaced. She’d been a mess last night and all but begged Gage to stay during her breakdown. He’d asked her on a date, and she’d turned it into a fiasco.
She washed her face and rebraided her hair before padding into the kitchen.
Gage slid an omelet onto a plate and smiled. “Good morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?” The cheerfulness in his voice warmed her chest.
“A little headache.”
He put the plate down and held her gaze, concern tightening his eyes. “You were pretty upset last night. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” She half-smiled. “Thanks for putting me back together when I fell apart.”
His eyes softened, and he pulled her into a firm hug. “Any time.”
She leaned her face into his chest and breathed in his musky scent, enjoying the way his strong arms felt wrapped around her. He smelled like comfort. Felt like home.
She cringed as the memory of last night flashed through her mind. “Thank you, also, for making me keep my clothes on. I’m sorry for…everything.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” Kissing the top of her head, he guided her into a chair and then put the other omelet on the table. With two cups of coffee in hand, he slid into the seat across from her. “They’re ham and cheese. I hope that’s okay.”
“This is great. Thank you.” The myriad of emotions tumbling through her body had her stomach turning, but she forced herself to eat the food he’d made for her.
Gage took a few bites of his omelet. “I noticed you salted your apartment. Are you having trouble with ghosts here too? The one you talked to before we came in?”
Somehow, she’d managed to drag him through her door without breaking the protective ring last night. Had he been anyone else, she’d have made up an excuse for the salt being on the floor, but she didn’t have to with him. The burden of that heavy secret no longer weighed her down. “No trouble. It gives me some peace while I’m at home.”
“Makes sense.”
She gazed at the man before her, his blond hair still disheveled from sleep, and her heart gave a squeeze. Gage was sweet, sexy, honest…and he was there for her when she needed him, like he always had been. “I meant what I said last night. You really are the best friend I’ve ever had.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he took a deep breath. “Had you been sober last night, and come on to me like you did, things would have ended very differently.” He pinned her with a heavy gaze as if willing her to understand the meaning in his words.
She did understand. He wanted more than friendship, and honestly, she did too. There was no denying the way her pulse raced every time he was near. Gage was the only person who truly saw past her disfigured skin to the human beneath. But if they weren’t compatible as a couple, she could lose him as a friend. Was she willing to take that chance?
“I should go.” He rose and carried the plates to the sink. “Sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I’m fine.” She followed him to the kitchen and put a hand on his arm. “I’ll clean this up.”
Pausing, he took a deep breath and turned to face her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he blew out a hard breath and shuffled toward the door.
She needed to say something. To give him an answer to the silent question hanging between them. Could they be more than friends? Would it be worth the risk?
“Gage, I…” She hugged him. She didn’t have an answer.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Erica.”
“Bye.”
She watched through the window as he shuffled through the parking lot and climbed into his Jeep. What the hell was her problem? The most amazing man she’d ever met just walked out her door, and she’d let him go. He could meet another woman tonight and forget all about his feelings for her. How would she feel if that happened? What would she do if it didn’t?
Well, that was a royal fuck up if he’d ever experienced one. Gage put his Jeep in drive and headed home to change into his running clothes. A nice, long jog through the park might clear his mind and help him figure out exactly what he’d done to screw this up.
And maybe how to fix it.
Somehow, they’d gone from her trying to undress him, to undressing herself, to him trying to be a gentleman and not take advantage of her. And in his efforts to do the right thing, he’d landed himself smack in the middle of the friend zone. Again.
He made it home, changed, and then headed to the park. With his sneakers laced tightly and his headphones blasting a classic rock playlist, he jogged along the path around the man-made lake. A family of ducks waddled down the bank, each fluffy duckling plopping into the water and paddling off behind its mother. Thoughts of his nieces and nephews, with their chubby cheeks and high-pitched giggles, curved his lips into a smile.
Coming from a family as large as his, he’d always assumed he’d have three or four kids of his own someday. He’d be the kind of dad who was always around. Home on the weekends and right after work. Helping with homework and baseball practice, driving to dance classes. Whatever his kids needed, he’d provide it. He’d be the man his own father never was.
But if he couldn’t get his act together and convince Erica he was worth her time, he’d never have a chance of seeing that dream come true. Building a future with anyone but her was inconceivable. It had to be Erica. He picked up his pace as he passed the lake and followed the gravel trail into a wooded area of the park.
Erica had feelings for him. That had been obvious at the theater that afternoon. Friends didn’t kiss each other the way they had in the auditorium. Maybe she was embarrassed this morning after her emotional display the night before. Maybe she just needed a little time to compose herself.
Cooking breakfast in her apartment might have been overstepping his boundaries. He had made himself at home in her kitchen. Could she have been upset about that?
Who knew? Her emotions had been like an old, rickety, wooden rollercoaster, jerking one way only to spin around and jut in another direction. She’d lost her job. She’d relived the memory of her mother’s death, which was way more guilt-ridden than he’d ever known. She was busy trying to run a theater. How could he expect her to want to start a relationship on top of all that?
More than anything, Erica needed a friend…and being friends seemed to be his specialty.
Erica let out an exasperated breath and marched to her bedroom. Add her mixed up emotions for Gage to th
e long list of problems she needed to solve. Her number one priority should have been figuring out how to make her theater successful, but she couldn’t get her mind off the way she’d felt wrapped in Gage’s arms.
Plopping into her desk chair, she gazed at her reflection in the antique mirror. Some of the silver had tarnished, leaving dark spots around the edges of the glass. Maybe if she had it re-silvered, the renovation would wake up the ghost sleeping inside it. Haunted or not, the thing was so old it had to be worth at least a few hundred dollars. Lord knew she needed all the money she could get. Her savings account would run dry eventually. “If you aren’t going to talk to me, Colette, I think I’m going to list you on eBay.”
The image shimmered, clouding her features in a sparkling fog. She straightened, leaning forward to peer into the glass. Her heart raced. “Colette?”
The fog receded, revealing the image of an elegant woman with dark, curly hair piled high on her head. A few shiny ringlets hung down around her face, accenting her delicate jawline, and a black choker with an ivory cameo adorned her slender neck. The spirit narrowed her dark eyes. “You wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Colette!” Erica grabbed the mirror frame and fought the urge to kiss the glass. “I was afraid you weren’t there anymore!”
The ghost flipped a hand in the air. “I’m trapped in here. Where would I go?”
She released her grip on the frame and leaned back in the chair. “I tried to summon you. Why wouldn’t you talk to me?”
The spirit arched an eyebrow. “No one summons Colette DeVeau. I hadn’t decided if I wanted to speak to you. You’ve been a blubbering mess since you brought me here.”
Erica straightened her spine. “I’ve gotten all the blubbering out of my system.” Colette never had patience for weakness or tears. If she wanted her to stick around, she’d have to be strong from here on out. She had so many questions, needed so much help, but the one that had been burning in her mind for months had to come first. “What happened to Mrs. Spencer?”
To Free a Phantom (Spirit Chasers Book 3) Page 9
