Loving a Wildflower

by Amanda Torrey

  He slammed the door shut behind him, giving her a clue as to how he felt about her intrusion.

  She stopped chopping when her hands started shaking so much that she feared she’d slice off a finger. To hide her fear, she picked up a handful of veggies and added them to the garlic and ginger.

  “This feels like a scene out of a movie about a psychopath.”

  His voice, though chilling, made her toes curl.

  “Don’t worry, I’m simply repaying you.”

  “For?”

  “Don’t act coy. You know what you did.”

  He flung his keys to the table. The sound of metal on wood echoed through the small kitchen. She hid her shiver.

  “You put flowers on my table.”

  “Aren’t they beautiful? I picked them up downtown. I prefer wildflowers, but those are hard to come by this time of year.”

  “This isn’t your house.”

  His words were calm and clipped—the sort of tone one would use when speaking to toddlers or wild dogs.

  She smiled, thankful she had her back turned to him so he couldn’t see.

  She had managed to throw him off balance, and it felt good.

  The urge to fling her arms around his neck and kiss his scruffy face was strong, but she prided herself on keeping it contained.

  As the veggies sizzled in the pan and the quinoa finished cooking, Simplicity began to hum.

  “You’re humming.”

  She could crown him the King of Obvious.

  “And ignoring me.”

  At that, she turned and winked at him, disappointed to see that he clung to the shadows and kept his hood pulled over his head.

  She placed her hand on her hip and pointed her wooden spoon at him. “Would you please stop hiding from me? I know you have scars.”

  He didn’t respond. But he left the room.

  Leaving everything on the stove to simmer, she followed him.

  Before she could turn the corner, he was there—blocking her movement.

  Her chest tightened as she watched his nostrils flare and his face redden.

  The sharp contrast of his white scars to his red skin reminded her of why she was intruding in his life in the first place.

  He stepped closer to her, and since her chest was already practically touching his, she took an involuntary step back.

  What had she been thinking? He could be dangerous. She didn’t know him. Just because they had shared an orgasm didn’t mean they were best friends for life.

  She felt herself fall backward and tried to catch herself. She screeched as her hand came in full contact with the hot frying pan. Currents of fiery pain shot through her nerve endings, making her clutch her injured appendage to her chest.

  “Fuck.” Ethan reached out to grab her hand, studying the bright red skin and then reaching behind her to turn off the burners.

  He pulled her to the sink, where he held her scalded flesh under lukewarm water.

  “I have burn cream.”

  She nodded, accepting his goodwill. He reached over her head and rifled through until he found what he was looking for.

  With his body so close and his fresh scent wreaking havoc with her senses, she could no longer feel the pain.

  She watched his face, fully accessible in the light of the kitchen and even more handsome than she had initially thought, as he dried her hand delicately with a towel and proceeded to apply burn cream to her palm.

  The cream took away the sting of the burn, and his doting took away the emotional sting he had been inflicting upon her since the moment of their first meeting.

  “You’re a good man,” she whispered.

  His laugh wasn’t one of joy—it was the result of hour upon hour of self-deprecation and hatred. Of sadness and hurt and the denial of his inner white light. Of loneliness born of pushing people away. Of the kind of inner torment that no person could ever inflict upon anyone else, but that rivaled the worst imaginable torture delivered to an innocent prisoner.

  His captors may have broken him, but he made himself continue to bleed.

  Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she didn’t want him to see her experiencing his sadness.

  She wanted to be his light.

  Simplicity studied her hand as he wrapped gauze around the injury.

  “Don’t keep it wrapped—you’ll want to let the air in. But let it heal a bit. It will sting.”

  “Ethan…”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” She gazed up at his jaw, enjoying the way it tightened and flexed under the black scruff of a man who didn’t care to impress.

  “Don’t try to paint me as part of some rescue fantasy. I’m the real deal. There’s nothing here but what you see.”

  He flung his hood off, allowing her to see the full, gruesome detail of the scars he usually kept hidden.

  Her chest tightened and she had to stifle the urge to vomit.

  Not because of how he looked—the jagged, wide scars, the missing tip of his ear, the circular burn marks on the outer part of his face—but at the thought that all of this was done to him.

  He may have healed externally, but the horror of what he had experienced was as raw and exposed as the first day he had been tortured.

  “Makes you sick to look at me. I get it. I’m not a fan myself.” He put his hood back up and turned away.

  She rushed forward and grabbed his arm. His muscle tightened beneath her fingertips.

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  He flung around, nearly knocking her off balance again.

  His sneer made her want to run and hide, but she stood her ground.

  “I saw your reaction when I took off my hood. It’s the same reaction I get from everyone. Makes you want to throw up. I’m not hurt by it—you’re human. If it makes you feel any better, it made me throw up when it was done to me.”

  She didn’t know how to express all that she felt at the sight of his wounds. No one ever understood that she could feel the pain of others as if it were her own. She didn’t have the words or the capacity to explain, so she did the only thing she could think to do.

  She kissed him.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought her lips to his. He didn’t kiss her back, nor did he lift his arms to hold her.

  Didn’t matter. This was her gift to him.

  Since his lips remained unyielding, she shifted to his cheek, placing butterfly-flutter-kisses along each and every scar. She took a moment to softly nibble each of his earlobes. She kissed along his jaw line, breathing in his spicy scent. Beneath her wrists, she noticed the tension leaving his shoulders. When her lips completed their journey around his past, he met her kiss with the same level of passion he had shown her before.

  She gasped as he pushed her against the wall, devouring her mouth with his.

  There was an urgency to the way his tongue explored her mouth. He was on a mission, and she was happy to be his wingman.

  He squeezed her breast through her shirt almost painfully. His hips drove into hers, seeking, inviting, taking.

  She’d give it to him.

  His kisses softened as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her. Green sparks shot through his gray eyes as he held her immobile.

  She reached her hand up to the side of his face, leaving her other one on his hip.

  He released her and backed away as if he had been threatened with a grenade.

  “Ethan, don’t stop. Please.” She ran across the room to stop him from leaving his own house.

  “I don’t need this,” he shouted, venom pouring from his curled lips. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “You didn’t ask. I know. But Ethan, I’m here for you.”

  His gaze swept up and down her body, making her feel small and undeserving.

  “And that’s supposed to help me? I don’t need help. Let alone from someone like you.”

  She swallow
ed past the fear and the sadness that welled in her throat. He was hurt and angry. He didn’t mean the words he said. He was trying to drive her away. She wouldn’t fall for it.

  “You can’t fool me, Ethan. You care about people. I know you do.”

  “You know I do?” He laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’ve known me for five minutes and you know me so well. I should applaud you.”

  She ignored his vile tone.

  “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have saved Dylan from that car. You placed yourself in danger to save a child.”

  Something—a memory, a realization?—shot through his eyes, clouding them and hardening his facial muscles.

  He stepped toward her, all sinister and sexy, not stopping when he once again comingled with her in her personal space. She wanted to hold her ground, but she couldn’t discount his intimidation factor. Next thing she knew, she was against the wall again.

  Only this time her heart fluttered with fear rather than desire.

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  He spat the words in her face.

  “Then why?”

  She didn’t know how she found the courage to speak back to him. She knew if she had any sense at all she’d be long gone from here.

  She couldn’t let him win. She needed to help him. He needed her, and she’d burst into stardust if she didn’t see this intervention through.

  He clamped his jaw and pulled away, running his hands through his buzzed hair.

  “Instinct. Nothing more.”

  “Not everyone has that instinct, Ethan.”

  “That’s why I prefer not to leave my house.”

  He sounded so pained by his chivalrous deed. So tormented by his own existence.

  Almost in defeat, Ethan slumped into his lone kitchen chair, spreading his legs and leaning his head back.

  Simplicity rushed forward, kneeling on the floor in front of him, resting her hands on his knees.

  He didn’t fight her touch this time.

  He also didn’t look at her.

  “Promise I won’t tell anyone about the good heart you have hidden under all of your dark shadows.” She smiled, tickling his knee as she teased.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  He bit the inside of his lower lip, and she convinced herself that he was resisting the urge to smile.

  Success.

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  She had meant to sound light and fluffy, but the way his eyes squinted as his gaze shot to her face told her he heard the negativity.

  She cleared her throat and reminded herself to live in the moment. “Ready for some dinner?”

  He didn’t answer.

  His eyes met hers. They smoldered for something far more filling than dinner.

  He was the Big Bad Wolf, and she was Little Red.

  “I’m here to help you.” Her normally high-pitched voice had dropped in pitch. She hoped he’d pick up on her signals without her having to beat him over the head with her seduction. “If you need to use my body, I’m a willing partner.”

  She licked her lips, waiting for his answer.

  His eyes remained focused on hers, and though she wanted to look away, she continued to feign confidence.

  He shook his head slowly, the movement almost imperceptible, and leaned forward.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Without the urgency.

  A deliberate, physical act.

  Instead, he whispered, “I don’t get you.”

  “Do you get this?” Simplicity let go of any inhibitions she had remaining and whipped her top off, baring herself to his perusal.

  She hated wearing bras, and today was no exception.

  Goosebumps spread across her bare flesh as the air in his cold house greeted her, punished her.

  Her nipples pebbled with the cold and his stare.

  His hand became a fist on the table. His foot started tapping wildly against the table’s leg. She wondered if he noticed.

  She stood up as slowly and seductively as she could manage. He continued to stare, but he didn’t make a move.

  She reached up to release her hair from the bun she had tied it in while cooking. He watched her waves tumble over her bare shoulders.

  He also seemed to be watching the stretch and bounce of her breasts as her arms moved.

  She twirled her way to the doorway leading down a short hall. With seductive eyes, she beckoned him to follow. When he remained seated, she leaned against the doorway, cupping her breasts in her hands.

  His eyes lit up.

  Tension burned up the floor between them.

  He wanted her. No doubt. But he didn’t know how to let himself have her.

  If she walked over there now, they’d erupt the same way they had every other time.

  But she wanted him to come to her. She was okay with making the moves, but she had to know he came by choice.

  He had to know it was his choice.

  Simplicity squeezed her small breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers. He watched her like a cat watched a bird before pouncing.

  Needing to increase the value of the show, she licked her fingers, then twirled her nipples in her moisture, moaning as she pretended Ethan’s hands were on her. She opened her eyes, intent upon watching him transition into the man she knew he was—the one with the need and the passion and the humanity.

  He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He would pounce. She knew he would.

  She had to up the ante.

  While one hand continued to toy with her breast, the other slid slowly down her torso, circling her flat belly for a moment before slipping under the elastic waistband of her skirt.

  Ethan started to stand, then pushed himself back into his chair.

  She began to touch herself and gasped at the moisture gathering there already.

  At the sound of her gasp, he finally found his sea legs.

  In an instant he was pressed against her, kissing her wildly. His hands covered hers and took over the job she preferred him to do. She gripped the back of his head as he dipped down to take her nipple into his mouth.

  Sweet goddess. She wasn’t a stranger to sex, but she had never met a mouth like his!

  His tongue swirled and flicked her erect nipple, making her wonder if she even needed any clitoral stimulation to explode.

  He didn’t disappoint there, either. His finger pulsed against her swollen nub before plunging below and deep inside her, letting his thumb take over the job of rubbing her.

  “Ethan!”

  His name escaped her—a breathless, high-pitched song dancing across her vocal cords.

  He nuzzled her neck as he brought her to the highest peak she had ever climbed.

  “Good goddess, you are amazing.” She panted the words, struggling to remain standing.

  “I’m not done.”

  He started to lift her in his arms, but her long skirt tangled around his arm. In frustration, he ripped it down her legs, lifting her out of it and leaving it crumpled on the floor.

  She kissed his cheek and nibbled his ear as he carried her down the hall and into a dark bedroom. The room smelled like hazelnut and fabric softener, and she felt instantly at home.

  He lowered her onto a thin-mattress futon. Metal bars cut through the mattress and the sheet. She had slept on worse—no doubt. But knowing that this was how he—a veteran of the armed forces—lived left her feeling like a swarm of bees had stung her heart.

  “You want to stop?”

  His voice was in control, but the quiver in his cheek told her he was barely hanging on.

  He must have picked up on her tension and sadness.

  She shook her head to let him know her answer.

  She breathed deep in an effort to center herself, filling her nostrils with his clean, musky, spicy scent. She imagined them resting in the long arms of the sun, healing together as they bathed in the warmth Mother Nature provided. She imagined them running
nude along the beach, their toes burrowing in the warm sand. Becoming one heart, one soul.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. His eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed. She reached up and touched his temple, wishing she could show him what she saw in him.

  Wishing he could see himself through her inner eye.

  His erection pressed into her thigh. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her, face to face, quenching their thirst together.

  “Did you bring something?”

  She blinked. Oh, yes. Condom.

  She nodded.

  “In my purse.”

  He leapt off and bolted to the kitchen.

  She stretched out on his futon. Light from outside streamed in, but there was nothing to see. Bare walls. No TV. Just a bureau and a futon. No pillows. One thin, scratchy blanket.

  She forced a languid smile on her face when he returned.

  He hesitated at the doorway.

  “Did you find it?” she asked, wondering why he stood there.

  He approached her slowly, drinking in the sight of her in his private area. She felt his inner turmoil. Their excitement level matched perfectly.

  And he was coming to her, just like she had hoped all along.

  Chapter Five

  Ethan unbuttoned his pants, unable to take his eyes off Simplicity. Stretched out like a cat in a ray of sunshine, she made the room look more luxurious. For the first time since returning from captivity, Ethan wished he had made the room more comfortable.

  She couldn’t hold it against him. He hadn’t planned this.

  He tore the wrapper open and walked out of his jeans. Her dusky blue eyes watched him approach. She didn’t seem to be focusing on his scars. But he kept his sweatshirt on just in case.

  She reached out to take the condom from him. His hands grazed the gauze he had put on her.

  He had hurt her.

  He hadn’t intended for physical harm to come to her. But as long as she was around him, that’s what would happen.

  He kissed her wounded palm, hoping she knew he was sorry.