If You Were Mine
Page 5
And I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt. It has been instant, even brutal. He wasn’t like any man I had ever met or seen before. He had this darkness behind his eyes, this torment that he tried to hide but that I could see clearly.
I ducked my head, my hair falling across my face. I was hiding myself from him. I felt vulnerable around Rofus, as if he could look at me and see exactly who I was. I thought I put on a good front, had this wall around me that protected me. But with just his intense blue gaze spearing into me, that wall crumbled to my feet.
When I heard the door shut softly behind me I lifted my head and looked around. The air was humid, moist, and the walls and ceiling, which were made of glass, allowed the sun to shine through. Despite it being a cold November day outside, the room was warm. And all around me were the most beautiful flowers, the sweet scent filling my head and making me dizzy.
Rofus moved in front of me. He was so much bigger than I was, at least a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. His body, made up of lean muscle and golden skin, spoke of his power. And his scars attracted me even more to him, made me want to find out who he truly was.
I could tell he was strong even though I had never touched him.
The sight of bright red roses had my attention instantly, and I found myself walking toward them, the color so vibrant that it almost seemed unreal. Droplets of water lined the silky smooth petals, and I looked up to see a water system above. I brought my attention back to the roses and leaned down to inhale, closing my eyes and moaning at the floral fragrance.
Without thinking, I found myself reaching out and wrapping two fingers around one of the stems. Pain lanced up the digits and I gasped, snatching my hand away and looking down at the droplet of blood that covered the pad of my thumb.
Rofus was by me an instant later, his big hand cupping mine, his focus on my bleeding thumb. It wasn’t even a bad wound, but the intensity and concern on his face startled me.
“Come on, we should get this cleaned up.”
I wanted to argue that I was fine, that a dab of toilet paper on the pinprick-sized wound would be fine, but I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to lead me out of the greenhouse, down the hall, and into one of the bathrooms.
The feel of his hand wrapped loosely around my wrist sent fire up my forearm. I couldn’t describe the sensation that consumed me at that small touch. My body came alive, this feeling, one I’d never experienced before, consuming me.
He helped me sit on the edge of the claw-footed tub, and then he turned and grabbed the first aid kit out of the cabinet. I sat there in silence, watching as he tended to me. There was something comforting about watching a man such as Rofus, who exhibited brutality and strength, and who made me feel on edge yet wanting so much more, take care of me. This was all so strange, yet exhilarating. I didn’t know him, yet I felt like I did.
He was tender and meticulous as he cleaned the blood off, put some ointment on my finger, and placed a small bandage over it.
I found the act slightly humorous, given the fact I didn’t need all this attention for a tiny cut from the rose thorn. When it was all said and done he took a step back and I lifted my head to look up at him. He seemingly filled the entire bathroom, his body so big, so muscular.
“Thank you,” I said so softly I wondered if he’d heard me. I swallowed and looked at my hand, my flesh still on fire from where he’d touched me. “Why are you doing all of this?” I looked back up at him.
He took a second to respond. “Doing what?”
I licked my lips and broke eye contact for a second. When I looked at him again I wondered if he saw, sensed how vulnerable I felt. I was so confused, not sure why he was being so nice, why he was paying so much attention to me.
“Why the breakfast, the greenhouse?” I exhaled slowly. “Why are you taking care of me?” I lifted up my hand as if he wouldn’t know what I was talking about.
He took a step toward me again, helping me up from the edge of the tub, and I allowed myself to take his scent into my lungs.
“I did what I did because…” He stopped speaking, his gaze locked with mine. “Because I wanted to get to know you.” The air became thick, heated. “Because I want you as mine.”
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