by Aly Martinez
“I’m… Well, I’m not really sure,” I lied.
My attention fell to his perfect lips as they thinned into a grimace.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “Look. Did…I do anything…inappropriate last night?”
Oh. My. God.
Inappropriate? No. It was all very, very appropriate. And not nearly enough for the things I wanted to do to him. The same things I had told him about in great detail.
Suddenly, the last thing I wanted was for Jude to remember—anything.
I twisted my lips and stared off into the distance. “Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?”
His cheeks puffed as he blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m getting these little snippets from last night. And…” He stopped talking and wrenched his eyes shut. “You know what… I should go.”
Yes, you should. That’s what my mind screamed, anyway. Only, when I opened my mouth, that wasn’t at all what came out.
“No, wait! Please don’t go. You haven’t had your coffee. And, without that, I can’t get the memory eraser into your bloodstream.” Note to self: Find out if that shit is real. “That was a joke,” I announced. “Well, not the ‘don’t go’ part. I meant that. But the whole bloodstream thing. I’m not planning to poison you or anything.”
His eyebrows shot up, and for a second, I swear it looked like he was fighting a laugh back. “Good to know.”
“I have a really awkward sense of humor sometimes.” I rocked up onto my toes and then back onto my heels. “Especially when I’m nervous.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he’d cocked an eyebrow at me. It was only out of the corner of my eye because my gaze was trained on his tan bicep flexing as he gripped the back of his neck.
When he caught me staring, I carried on with the word vomit. “Not that you make me nervous or anything. I’m sure you’re—”
“Rhion,” he started.
My gaze jumped back to his, and for the first time since I’d met him, there wasn’t a hint of guilt in his deep-greens. An unbelievably beautiful megawatt smile nearly blinded me.
My mouth dried at the sight, but for the love of all that was holy, the words kept pouring out. “Okay, so that was a lie. You make me incredibly nervous. And, now, I’m rambling along with telling bad jokes. But, with all of that aside, assuming you don’t think I’m completely insane, I’d really like it if you’d stay and let me cook you breakfast.”
His smile grew wider, and I forced myself not to focus on it—at least not for long.
He still noticed.
“I did, after all, hold your hair while you threw up. You kinda owe me.”
Seriously. That’s what came out of my mouth.
To the man who saved my life? He owed me?
Shoot me!
His whole face morphed into horror. “I puked?”
I slapped a hand over my mouth, talking around it as I cried, “No! I was joking. I can’t stop.”
His lips twitched, and he tilted his head to the side. “Did you actually have a contractor make you an ocean room?”
My head snapped back at the randomness of that question.
He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “It just sounds like a joke.”
I shook my head. “I love the beach.”
“Oh, look. You can speak in single sentences,” he said, his grin playful.
I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring his posture, while praying that he hadn’t seen my nipples harden at the sight of that fucking grin.
“Yeah, but don’t get used to it. Paragraphs seem to be my preferred method of communication where you’re concerned.”
A deep, masculine laugh sprang from his throat. It was better than the smile.
So, so, so much better, and it soothed my exposed nerves as much as it sliced through me.
Last night, I’d dared to hope that his smile would be aimed at me all the time. Maybe on my couch as he held me securely in his strong arms, or maybe even in my bed as I traced my fingers through the smattering of light hair that covered his sculpted chest.
And, now, thanks to his laugh, I knew exactly what I was going to be missing.
I pretended that it wasn’t devastating as I quietly asked, “So, is that a yes to breakfast?”
He smirked, and I decided right then and there that Jude Levitt’s smirking was enough to make me speak in short stories. For the rest of my life. Which wasn’t going to be much longer if death by embarrassment was possible.
“Right,” I mumbled, turning toward the kitchen before I had the opportunity to gawk at him any longer.
“Wow. A single word. We’re making serious progress here,” he teased, following behind me.
I ignored the ache in my chest as I poured him a mug and then passed it his way.
He casually propped his hip against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankle as he took a sip.
I stared because…Jude.
After he’d downed at least half a cup, he asked, “So, how long you been living here?”
“Two years.” I walked over to the fridge, praying that I had something I could make the man for breakfast after I’d all but begged him to stay.
He remained in the kitchen but turned so he could see the rest of my apartment.
My heart stopped when his gaze lingered on my bookshelf for a beat too long.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Just seconds before I jumped out of my own skin, he put me out of my misery by saying, “This place is huge. You live alone?”
I vowed right then and there to go to church on Sunday.
“Yes!” I exclaimed on a rushed exhale.
He arched an eyebrow at me.
I avoided explaining my reaction by asking, “How about an omelet?”
A sound registering somewhere between a groan and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. “Honestly, I’d be better with some toast and Tylenol.”
“I’m not sure if that was a good guess or if you magically knew that toast was my specialty, but either way, you are in for quite a treat,” I replied, closing the fridge and heading for the pantry.
For the way things changed a moment later, you would have thought my pantry was the doorway to an alternate dimension. That dimension being my personal Hell.
When I reemerged, I found him still leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand and frozen in midair, but he was staring at the door in what could only be described as mortified recognition.
My heart slammed into my ribs as I set the bread on the counter.
As he lowered the cup, his gaze jumped to mine. His eyes burned with some emotion I couldn’t quite read, but I felt the singe all the same.
“What?” I asked hesitantly.
“Your washer and dryer are in there,” he whispered.
Uh oh.
“They are,” I confirmed cautiously and then attempted to explain his memory away. “Just like they are at Guardian. We have the same floor plan.”
He blinked. “You have a tattoo of a butterfly on your chest.”
Uh oh.
“I have a lot of butterfly tattoos.” I lifted my arms in his direction as exhibits A and B.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he stated firmly. “This one…” He trailed off and then mumbled a curse under his breath. “It’s on fire.”
Uh motherfucking oh.
“Yeah. I told you about it last night,” I whispered. It wasn’t a total lie. It wasn’t the truth, either.
He half growled and half laughed, raking a hand through the top of his hair. “Only half of it’s visible. The other half is hidden under your bra.”
Shit! Chills pebbled my skin at the memory of his tongue laving over the flames of that butterfly while his finger hooked under the fabric to tease my nipple.
“Why do I know that, Rhion?”
Because, after I tore your shirt off in the pantry, you were kind enough to return the favor.
“Um…” I quickly turned away and, with shaking han
ds, began wrestling with the twist tie on the bread.
My stomach somersaulted when his chest brushed my back.
“What happened last night?” he demanded, his tall body looming over me.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear—or, worse, turn in his arms and bury my face in his chest.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Your bra was pink,” he said gruffly as he plucked the bread from my hands and tossed it down on the counter.
“Jude,” I breathed around the massive lump in my throat.
He inhaled sharply before exhaling a horrified, “Dear God.”
Chapter Eleven
Jude
“Out of my way,” I growled at the older man flanked by two bodyguards. “Rhion!” I was inching forward when a hand shot down and landed on my chest.
“You go in that room and you’ll lose more than your job.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, not a whole lot more you can take away from me. Fucking move!” I pushed forward, but I was once again stopped.
A slow grin grew on his lips. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He shoved his hands into his pockets of his navy slacks. “One word with my attorneys and your entire life becomes mine in a civil suit.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I have neither the time nor the desire to go after the pennies in your bank account, but if ruining you is what I have to do in order to get you out of Rhion’s life forever, I have no compunction in doing just that.”
I gritted my teeth and seethed, “You want my fucking life? Take it! I have absolutely no use for it anymore. I’m already ruined. I’m a good cop who did the best I could to get her out of that fire alive. Now, get the fuck out of my way and let me see her.”
“Oh please,” he scoffed. “You were drunk.”
“I wasn’t fucking drunk!” I roared.
At my explosion, his bodyguards protectively closed in.
But I kept my anger leveled on him as I repeated, “I wasn’t drunk.”
He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “You’ve been warned. Am I to take our continued conversation as a challenge, Mr. Levitt?”
The muscles at my neck flexed, sending a stabbing pain to my burns. I didn’t even wince. I’d deserved that. And so much more.
“No challenge.” I stabbed a finger toward her door. “That woman wants my pennies, she can have them all. She wants my house? She can have that too. My car? It’s hers. I’m not here to cause her any trouble. But I will not fucking leave without seeing her.”
“And what makes you think she wants to see you?”
I cut my gaze to the floor as a boulder of guilt settled in my stomach. “I…”
Nothing else came out. I had no idea if she wanted to see me or not. But I needed to see her. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to breathe again without it. It wouldn’t take long. There were only so many different ways I could say, I’m sorry.
“Fine. Let me hear her say she doesn’t want to see me and you’ll never see me again.”
“Oh, I’ll never see you again regardless. And neither will she.” He laughed.
My soul caught fire. “That is not your decision to make!” I yelled, slamming my fist into his face.
“Get him the hell out of here,” the man spat, blood dripping from his lip.
Hands roughly landed on my shoulders, but I continued to fight them off. It would take more than two men to keep me from her.
“I walked through fire for her! Just let me say goodbye!” I roared.
“And yet our supposed hero wears the scars on his back.”
My head snapped to the side from his TKO blow. If there had ever been a time to throw in the towel, that would have been it.
But it was Rhion. My desperation to see her far outweighed any punishment he could dole out. Physically or verbally.
Adrenaline surged through my veins. “You son of a bitch!” I shouted, diving toward him.
One of the men caught me at my chest and sent me crashing to the floor.
“Get him out of here,” the older man ordered, brushing me off like the trash he assumed I was.
He wasn’t completely wrong.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Higgins,” one of the men replied, lifting me off the floor.
“Rhion!” I yelled as the older man pushed through the door to her room.
My entire body froze when I caught a glimpse of her.
The air thinned and my lungs suddenly went up in flames as her agony-filled eyes landed on me. Her arms were extended out to her sides as if she’d been mounted to a cross. Gauze was wrapped around her breasts to cover her, and tears streamed down her creamy, white cheeks.
“Butterfly,” I whispered.
Her face crumbled, and she turned her head away as though she were unable to bear the sight of me. I couldn’t blame her. God knew I couldn’t anymore.
But that one reaction carved out a piece of my soul that I would never be able to reclaim. I hadn’t been responsible for the fire, but I owned those burns all the same.
“Butterfly!” I yelled as the door started to swing closed. I frantically leaned to the side to keep her in my sights while hands forcefully pulled at my shoulders.
I couldn’t leave. Not without telling her I was sorry. Thus selfishly relieving myself of the overwhelming burden of that night.
I fought against their grip. “Butterfly!” I yelled. “Let me fucking go!” I barked as they dragged me away. “Butterfly!”
The pain at the back of my head was agonizing as I fought against them. But nothing could compare to the madness that would happen inside my head for the next four years.
With the sultry whisper of my name, a rash of memories of the night before came tearing through my thoughts.
Rhion opening the door.
Her body flush against mine.
A million whispered apologies.
A cup of coffee.
Rhion escaping to the pantry-slash-laundry-room.
Me following her.
Her talking.
And talking.
And talking.
More apologies.
My fingers tracing over her tattoos as I held her.
Her head slowly craning back.
Pale-blue eyes staring up at me.
Her lips brushing mine.
My mouth opening.
Her tongue meeting mine.
Her hands tugging at the hem of my shirt.
Buttons flying.
Me tearing her shirt over her head.
Her lithe body pinned against the door.
My tongue laving the swell of her breasts.
Her peaked nipples rolling between my fingers.
Her whispered moans.
My deep growls.
My fingers teasing the soft flesh beneath her waistband.
More apologies.
Her guiding me to the bed.
Her weight settling over my hips.
More apologies.
A moaned, “You’re real.”
A whispered, “Butterfly.”
A breathy, “Jude.”
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled in disbelief, backing away from her.
How could I have let that happen? This was Rhion. My Butterfly. The woman who had been haunting my dreams. The same one I’d nearly gotten killed.
And, as if I hadn’t fucked up enough when it came to her, I now had firsthand knowledge of how perfectly her breasts fit in my palms.
“Jude, wait,” she called as she spun to face me.
I rubbed my temples in a worthless attempt to ease the pounding in my head. “How the hell did my getting drunk end with us in bed together?” I continued my retreat.
But she followed after me, pleading, “Wait.”
“Did we…” I trailed off.
“Did we what?” she asked softly, her voice holding an alarming combination of hope and regret.
I ran a hand over the scars on the back of my head and ask
ed curtly, “Did we have sex?”
“No,” she answered immediately.
“Thank you, God,” I rushed out.
I didn’t miss her flinch, but I was too relieved to process it.
“What exactly happened?” I asked.
She shook her head entirely too many times. “Nothing really. We watched Terminator, ate ice cream, and then you passed out.”
More lies.
“Something else happened,” I stated.
Her gaze cut to the ground as her fingers went up to her necklace. She remained silent as she dragged the large diamond back and forth across the thin, silver chain.
“Rhion,” I called through my growing frustration.
“Fine, it was Pretty in Pink, but I didn’t figure you’d want a reminder of those two hours you’ll never get back,” she informed the floor.
“There was no movie.”
Her head snapped up, embarrassment carved in her smooth skin. “We just talked, okay?”
“Fantastic. Care to fill me in about what that conversation entailed?”
It must have been one hell of a chat if it had ended with her half naked in my arms. I refused to believe that alcohol could magically transform her from the woman who haunted my dreams to someone who could set me ablaze from across the room. However, as my gaze drifted down to her breasts, it seemed it had.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she whispered, “Jude.”
I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel that one syllable drift over my skin as if she’d breathed it against my neck in the throes of passion.
For all I knew, maybe she had.
My frustration grew. “What. Happened?”
Her eyes popped open as she exclaimed, “Nothing!”
But “nothing” didn’t explain why I knew what the curve of her hip felt like as I glided my hands up her sides and over her breasts. Or, worse, why, as I stared down at her sleep-mussed, blond hair, makeup-free face, and her body in nothing but a white tank top and a pair of light-pink shorts, I longed to feel it again.
Actually, maybe nothing was right. Because not one thing she could say would explain that.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “Rhion, sweetheart, I’m going to be blunt here. I know what it feels like to have you riding me. I’m gonna say that’s a hellova lot more than nothing.”
Yeah, okay, it had been really blunt, but I’d woken up in a world that didn’t make sense and she held all the answers. That all-too-familiar guilt settled in my stomach when her head jerked back as if I’d slapped her.