Too Much to Lose

by Holt, Samantha

  “Did you sign for them?”

  “Probably. I was busy trying to get the place ready for tonight. Don’t have time to be dealing with your admirers.” He says this casually enough but it still sounds defensive. I can’t figure out why.

  I fling the flowers in the trash in the kitchen and pause to take a breath. What the hell am I going to do? I’ve finally got a good job. I can’t start again. Am I in danger? Whoever this person is knows where I live and where I work. And what can I do? I can’t go to the police. I don’t know anything and I’m not willing to draw attention to myself. What if I end up in the papers or something? The thought of being exposed brings bile into my throat.

  Pain and humiliation swamps me. Memories of being physically exposed in front of strangers swim through my head. Gripping the kitchen table until my knuckles hurt, I concentrate on breathing and trying to forget. At times, I used to self medicate and it’s so tempting to fall into that trap again—the empty ache throbs in my chest and begs me to give in. I still have the pills from earlier in my bag. Strong painkillers often helped when working for hours on end. No one cared if it hurt or if you were exhausted. As long as they got their shots, that’s all that mattered.

  But my life is different now. I’m strong, I can deal with this. I was only eighteen when this all hit—still raw from running away from my aunt’s home and my uncle’s behaviour. It probably is just someone I’ve blown off, like I said to Eddie. Guys do come onto me at work but I never give in, no matter how charming they are.

  Until Hunter, that is.

  Pressing my fingers to my temples, I attempt to shake myself out of my thoughts. Now is not the time to be thinking about Hunter or this mysterious flower giver. I rub my forehead and straighten. Time to get to work and forget either person exists.

  ***

  At three a.m, the streets are quiet enough but my head bangs as I wait for Eddie to lock up. Though the other staff came in eventually, it was a busy night and having only just recovered from a migraine, this shift took its toll. I dodged a few overly amorous and drunk customers while trying not to remember when Hunter had come to my rescue. Regret swirls in the pit of my stomach. Funny how I kind of miss him being my alpha male now.

  Eddie stuffs the bar keys in his pocket and I check the locks, a duty that falls to me since I seem to have become second in command recently. Mostly because I will work at short notice I think.

  “See you next week, Jess.” Eddie heads off to his car with a wave and I wave back.

  A shiver wracks me and I pull my jacket tight. Spring might be considering giving way to summer but it’s still cold at night. Yeah, that’s why I’m shivering. As I turn and head toward the bus stop to catch the night bus, a shadow catches my eye. There’s people around—party goers, workers like me, tourists—but something has me on edge.

  I breeze past a laughing tipsy couple and keep my head down until I reach the traffic lights. Fighting the urge to tap my feet as I wait for them to change, I barely suppress a scream when a hand curls around my shoulder and I whirl around.

  “Hunter!”

  His lopsided grin makes my toes curl.

  “Princess.”

  I frown. Why does he keep calling me that? I am nothing like a princess. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I hold my jacket around me. “It’s three a.m.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  The implication he was concerned about me hangs in the air between us, crumbling another brick of my resolve. That migraine has a lot to answer for. His hair is slightly dishevelled as if he might have been tossing and turning or running his hands through it repeatedly.

  “You really didn’t need to—”

  “I know, I know.” He holds up a hand. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that playing hard to get only encourages men?” Hunter chuckles at my shocked expression.

  “I’m really not—”

  “Maybe.” He cocks his head. “But I can’t resist a challenge. Guess I’m a sucker for punishment.” He jerks his head toward the opposite side of the road. “Will you at least let me drive you home? For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

  “I don’t—”

  The screech of tires makes me snap my head around. I spy a car weaving between vehicles, way up the street, effectively pushing other cars aside. The car barrels down the road, close to where we’re standing.

  It happens slowly, like in the movies. I can’t seem to move as the car swerves and takes the corner too hard. It’s going to hit me and I try to scream but no sound comes out. Totally frozen, the only movement my racing heart, I brace myself for the impact as the lights blind me. Pain bursts through my arm—it must have hit me—as I’m slammed to the pavement but weirdly I only feel a soft push from the car. The sound of the engine picking up speed tells me the driver hasn’t bothered to stop. I shove myself up and peer around, cradling my arm that seems to be in full working order but very painful.

  Then I spot Hunter on the ground.

  “Shit.” I scoot over to him and scrabble with his blood tinged T-shirt. He groans and tries to sit up but I press a palm to his shoulder. “Don’t move. You might have broken something.”

  “I’m okay,” he protests.

  “You just got hit by a car.” And saved me. He must have pushed me to the side and, by the looks of it, the car swiped him.

  Hunter’s determined to stand so I help him up and try not to wince as he grips my bruised and battered arm.

  He lifts his T-shirt and prods his ribs.

  “Careful!” I exclaim.

  Eyeing me from under his brow, a smile flickers on his lips “It’s okay. Nothing’s broken.” He lowers his shirt and grimaces. “Just a little bruised.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “I guess you just saved my life.”

  A smirk sits on those tempting features. “You’re very welcome.”

  “W-we should get you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I consider the blood I saw on his firm stomach. “You’re hurt.”

  “I don’t need a hospital,” he insists.

  Christ, the man is almost as stubborn as me but I can’t very well send him on his way. I’ll be the one having a sleepless night if I don’t do something.

  “Will you let me at least bandage your side? You’re bleeding.”

  Both brows rise and he glances at the blood on his shirt and then on his fingers. “Yeah, I guess you better do that.”

  “Right. Are you okay to drive?”

  “Sure.”

  I want to laugh at his macho behaviour but I’m still concerned. Hunter might look tough but he’s just been side swiped by a car. A thought occurs to me. “Should we call the police?”

  “Jess, stop worrying.” He takes my elbow and leads me across the road. I hear his breath press through his teeth and realize he’s in more pain than he’s admitting. “They’ll be long gone by now.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Did you see a license plate?”

  One dark brow rises as we stop outside his black BMW. “I was a little busy.”

  “Of course, sorry.” Heat fills my face. Why does he disconcert me so much? You’d think after two years playing a role, I’d have no problems dealing with him. I think it’s the idea he sees through me that puts me on edge. “The cameras will have seen it.” I wave a hand around.

  He opens the door for me and motions me in. “Forget it. Trust me, I’ve dealt with enough people like that driver to know nothing will come of it.”

  I climb in and scowl. Does his investigation business mean he deals with criminals a lot? I really don’t know much about him. Not that I want to find out more. I keep forgetting I don’t want to get close to Hunter. The door slams and he gets in on the other side. It’s as though a vacuum has formed inside the car. Each breath feels stifled and the air is hot. His leather clad arm brushes mine and even through the material of
my jacket my skin tingles at the contact.

  “Strap in,” he orders and I do as I’m told.

  I’m not sure when I became so obedient. Probably the same time he glanced at me and turned my insides to mush. He flicks me a grin and starts the engine. We head out of Clapham and take a right at the park.

  “We’re going to my place? Wouldn’t it be better to go to yours?”

  “Yours is closer.”

  For some reason, I was curious to see where he lives. A trendy apartment perhaps, or a converted warehouse. Somewhere dark and mysterious. I smile to myself. Living in London is insanely expensive—which is why I live in a dump—and I know his mortgage payments aren’t huge so maybe not.

  He pulls into a parking bay and I climb out quickly, keen to get him seen to. With what seems to be deliberate moves, he locks the car and a hand comes to the base of my spine while he ushers me into the building. His palm leaves me as we climb the stairs and I miss it. I’m aware of his gaze burning into my back, conscious of each movement I make. The tiny part of me that still craves attention longs for him to be enjoying the sight.

  We reach the front door and he stands too close as I put the key in the lock. His body radiates heat and the desire to lean back into the comfort of his chest is overwhelming. How would it feel for his arms to come around me and those lips to touch my neck?

  Heavenly. That’s how it would be. If he can incite excitement in me from brushing my arm, I know being with him would be insane—mind-blowing even. What I wouldn’t give to recreate that kiss. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed so passionately, so possessively. The kisses I got when filming were usually pretty disgusting.

  “Uh, Jess?”

  I jolt and stare at the key in the lock. “Right, sorry.” I let him in and the glint in his eyes hints at him knowing what distracted me, but how could he possibly know?

  My breath sticks in my throat. Was he thinking the same thing?

  Shutting the door, I chuck the keys on the kitchen side and motion toward the bedroom. “You’d better lie on the bed. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at… at your—” I wave a hand, biting back the various inappropriate ways I want to describe his sexy body “—injury,” I finish lamely.

  As if he owns the place, he carefully shrugs off his jacket and flings it on the couch then saunters into the bedroom. I remain standing by the kitchenette but I’ve got a good view of him. My feet are weighted as if gravity has suddenly increased and I can’t move. Hunter lies back on the bed and tucks his hands behind his head—waiting for me.

  I shake my head, strip off my jacket and fling it aside then force my leaden legs forward and stop in the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ll just grab some stuff… I mean, bandages and stuff…”

  I scurry to the bathroom and tear open the medicine cabinet. It’s not exactly well stocked but I find a gauze pad and an antiseptic wipe I took from the first aid kit at work when I cut my hand slicing lemons for cocktails.

  Medical supplies in hand, I hurry back to the bedroom and try to ignore how my stomach flips at the sight of him on the bed. It would be so easy to straddle him and—

  “Oh.” I pick up the pad I just dropped and dump it on the bedside table. Hands on my hips, I worry my lip and survey him. It’s no good. “I think you’re going to have to take your top off.”

  “You think?” I hear laughter in his voice but his expression twists when he goes to sit and I’m forced to help him up.

  My fingers shake as I peel up the grey cotton and pull it over his head, revealing taut skin that makes my mouth water. He slumps and puts his hands back behind his head as if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if need isn’t tearing through him and making his heart pound unnaturally.

  I envy him.

  Seated next to him on the bed, I recall how he’d done the same not even twenty-four hours ago. The sensation in the pit of my stomach reminds me. I wish I’d been more lucid and able to enjoy how he took care of me. It’s been so long since someone did.

  I drop my gaze to his torso. “Oh, it’s only a scratch.” Admittedly, it’s a big scratch—red and angry down his side. I run a finger around the abrasion that is easily larger than my hand. “The car did get you good though.” His muscles contract with my touch. Mesmerizing.

  “Told you it wasn’t so bad.”

  “Bet it hurts though.” I glance up. “Don’t give me any macho bullshit.”

  He chuckles and grimaces. “Just bruised. But I won’t be doing anything particularly active for the next day or so.”

  The way he says active, his voice low and gruff, conjures up images of the kind of activity that might put a strain on his side. Hunter’s body slick from sweat and straining for release… now there’s a picture I really don’t need. I find myself fanning my face and I have to clamp my hand under the other one on my lap.

  I grab the wipe and tear it open, casting aside the sachet. He hisses when I press it to the laceration. “Sorry.”

  I’m more sorry for letting myself enjoy the sight of him. It’s only going to add to my longing, increase my pain. Hunter can never be mine. No one wants a woman like me, not even Hunter, and I will not put myself through the agony of betrayal and the humiliation or the bullying that comes with it.

  But it doesn’t stop me from looking. Black letters in an almost medieval font are written just above the waistband of his jeans spelling out Remember. The lower part of the letters dip beneath his waistband and my fingers twitch as I imagine tracing them. What does he want to remember? Another tattoo, some intricate roses that should have looked too feminine, twine up the other side of his torso. On him, they’re beautiful and only add to his appeal. I can’t tell what the ink on his arm is as he’s still lounging as if sunbathing on a beach instead of being nursed by someone with very little medical knowledge.

  The ripples in his stomach tense while I continue cleaning. I never really wanted to taste a man’s skin before but I want to run my tongue over those ridges and follow the dark line of hair down. The lightest scattering of hair over his pecs begs for me to splay my hands across them and touch his flat nipples. A smile tugs at my lips. How would he react if I started licking and caressing him?

  “What’s so funny?”

  I peer up to see him watching me closely. I’m probably blushing again. I can’t believe I just got caught eyeing him up. “Nothing.”

  I cast aside the wipe and pull open the gauze pad. Lining it up with the scratch, I place it gently over and press down the sides, eliciting a faint groan from him.

  “There.” I study my handiwork and meet his intense gaze again. What now? Do I send him on his way after he saved my life? I’ve never had a hero before. I’m not really sure what to do with him.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “A drink would be nice.”

  “I don’t have any alcohol.”

  “Water will be just fine,” he assures me.

  “Water, sure. Give me a minute.”

  Expelling a breath, I gather up the rubbish and carry it out to the kitchen. After I dump it in the trash, I wash my hands and dab some water on my heated neck and chest. I’d wash my face too but I don’t really want to ruin my make-up. I’ll look like a member of Kiss for one if I do, but I’m sure he sees too much as it is. Don’t need him seeing the real me too.

  I grab a glass from the cupboard, rinse it out and fill it. Then I place it on the counter and rest my hands on either side of the sink so I can take a few breaths before going back to face him. Just a little more time and I’ll get him out of my life. I’m not an animal for Godsakes. I can be in the company of a shirtless man without jumping on him and begging him to take me.

  Yeah, you’ve got this. I snatch the glass and head back to the bedroom.

  “Oh God,” I whisper.

  I haven’t got this.

  He’s asleep. The sounds of heavy breaths and those parted lips threaten to send me to the floor. I step in, set down the drink and study him. My heart beats like a
kick drum and I swallow heavily. His arms are still sprawled, one sneaking onto the other pillow. His chest rises and falls with each deep inhalation. The way his relaxed jaw and closed eyes make him look almost angelic is fascinating. Before I realize what I’m doing, I touch his lips.

  I recoil back and retreat a few paces. What the hell am I going to do with him? I glance at the clock. It’s heading on for morning and I can hardly kick him out after what he did. While the car might have only grazed him, who knows what would have happened if it had hit me. He might really have saved my life.

  With a resigned sigh, I tug the duvet from underneath his legs and draw it over him. Hunter mumbles but shows no sign of waking. I swing my gaze between the couch and the other side of the bed. Either way I won’t get much sleep. Perhaps I’m kidding myself—maybe I just want to enjoy lying next to a man—but I decide to sleep on the bed in case he has hurt himself more than we thought.

  I drag off my jeans and fling them in the laundry along with his bloodied T-shirt. My nightshirt is under the pillow his head is resting on so I dig out a T-shirt and some of my less skimpy underwear. I won’t sleep anyway so I can probably be up and dressed before he even awakes. I eye the polka dotted panties and chuckle to myself. These would really ruin my image if he saw them but better these than the lace thong I’m wearing.

  Aware of the gorgeous man who could awake at any moment, I flick off the bedroom light and put the T-shirt and panties on in the dark. The rest of my clothes end up dumped somewhere near the laundry basket and I slide into bed, grateful he at least chose to pass out on the side I don’t sleep on.

  Heat envelops me when my toes brush his legs and I feel the crisp hair on them. An ache balloons in my chest. I’ve missed this so much. The company of another person—not just a man. My aunt tried her best when she became my guardian after the death of my parents but it was never quite the same. Once she married Carl, that was it. Things would never be the same again. I suppress a shudder. If I hadn’t run away at seventeen, I don’t know what he would have done to me. My aunt left him once I got up the guts to phone her and tell him what he’d done. Presumably he’d admitted to it. She wrote to me while I was still living outside of London. Carl ruined both our lives, I suspect.