Wounded Hearts

by Julia Sykes

“I loved this one,” Lizzy said, her bright enthusiasm clearly meant to perk me up. She gestured with a copy of one of my darkest titles before propping it on a stand in the center of the table.

  I gave her a wry smile. Lizzy’s love of the darker side of BDSM was no secret. Well, it wasn’t a secret when it came to her kinky circle of friends.

  “Of course you did,” I teased, but I flushed with familiar embarrassment. Even after six years as an author, I still had a hard time taking a compliment.

  More recently, I was also having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the darker concepts had come from my own brain. My therapist had suggested that I wrote abusive relationships with a happily-ever-after because I’d hoped for a positive outcome to my own abusive relationship.

  I’d just thought the Stockholm Syndrome content was a reflection of my love for Beauty and the Beast.

  Turns out, not all beasts have a secret heart of gold once they learn to love. Not in the real world, at least.

  After that disturbing revelation, I’d struggled to write anything. And what I had released had been light and fluffy in comparison. I couldn’t face the dark, so I’d turned to sweeter love stories.

  I suppressed a grimace as I pulled one of the lighter books out of the box: a mafia ménage that had initially been conceived as a dark romance. What had come out on the page was a desperate fantasy of a loving relationship, where my heroine was worthy of being cherished and protected by not only one, but two men.

  I realized I’d been setting up my table on auto-pilot, rudely ignoring Lizzy. My thoughts were tangled up now that I was back in York. I’d shared a home with my husband here. I’d thought I’d live here for the rest of my life. I couldn’t help falling prey to darker thoughts when I knew he was nearby. I struggled with the fact that I was on the same continent with him, not to mention the same city.

  I have every right to be here, I told myself. I’m not going to live my life in fear of Thomas. This is my city.

  He’d never wanted to live here, anyway; yet another reason he’d claimed I was the source of his depression and therefore his inability to treat me well. It was my fault we lived in a city he hated. My fault that he was cruel to me. My fault that he couldn’t find fulfillment in his life.

  “I know something’s bothering you,” Lizzy told me. “Are you nervous about the signing?”

  I fiddled with my fingernails, my signature anxious habit. “A little,” I hedged.

  “And?” she prompted for more, her hazel eyes meeting mine in a silent demand for honesty.

  I blew out a breath. “I’m nervous about seeing Thomas. What if he shows up today?”

  My pen name was no secret, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to track my signing schedule online, even if I had blocked him on social media. He could be aware that I was in York, and he’d know exactly where to find me today.

  Lizzy reached for my wringing hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Then I’ll be here to tell him to fuck off.”

  I offered her a weak smile. “Thanks.” I appreciated her loyalty, but even her fierce, protective presence wouldn’t shield me from the emotional consequences if Thomas decided to show up.

  “You haven’t bumped into him in town, have you?” she asked. “It’s a small city. You’re bound to run into him.”

  “I haven’t seen him yet. I hope I don’t, but I know that’s wishful thinking.” York was primarily a pedestrian city, with most of the shops and pubs concentrated within the city walls. I could walk from one side of town to the other in fifteen minutes.

  I straightened my spine. “But whatever,” I said with flippancy I didn’t feel. “I’m not going to spend my life hiding from him. I’m not going to stay away from York because of him.”

  Lizzy nodded her approval. “Good. We want you here. Do you know anything new about the visa situation?”

  My chest tightened. I wanted to live in York more than anything. Over the last decade, I’d come to identify the city as my home, but I wasn’t able to settle here without the proper paperwork.

  Getting a visa to live in England was next to impossible in my situation. My only feasible avenues were to quit writing and take another job that would sponsor me, or I could get married again.

  I wasn’t interested in getting married again. Ever. I didn’t believe in soul mates, and I wasn’t even sure if I believed in spending a lifetime with one partner. The likelihood of finding that kind of romantic match seemed impossible.

  It was the primary reason I’d been struggling to write lately: I no longer believed in happily ever after. Most days, it was hard enough forcing myself to get out of bed, much less hit my word count.

  “Nothing good on the visa front,” I replied, trying to sound like my heart wasn’t breaking at the admission. “But I’ll figure it out. Maybe the laws will change soon.”

  “I hope so,” Lizzy said, but her tone told me she doubted it.

  “Five minutes until we open the doors!” the organizer called out, shouting so all the women in the ballroom could hear.

  Butterflies danced in my belly as nervous excitement began to override my tumultuous thoughts. In a few minutes, I’d be greeting readers and gushing about our mutual love of all things romance. I truly loved this community and the wonderful women who lifted each other up every day. I owed many of them my sanity. They might not realize how much they’d helped me get through the tough times, but I was immensely grateful for their presence in my life.

  “There,” Lizzy declared as she finished erecting my banner. “I think we’re all set.”

  I straightened the stack of black and red faux-leather paddles I’d fanned out on the table beside my books. As far as swag went, I was pleased with how they’d turned out. I hoped readers would come by my table and give their friends a little playful smack or two. Gleeful giggling and the sound of sisterhood made me happy. Not to mention the prospect of people embracing and normalizing BDSM. I might be out and proud, but most of my kinky friends had to hide their lifestyle so they didn’t face personal or professional ramifications.

  “Thanks,” I gave Lizzy my first real smile of the morning. “I really appreciate you being here to help me.”

  “Of course. I’m going to sell so many of your fabulous books.”

  I blushed. “You don’t have to do that. I just need you here to hold my hand under the table when I get anxious.”

  “I know I don’t have to do it, but I’m going to,” she declared. “Your books are awesome, and everyone needs to read them.”

  My heart swelled with gratitude. I hated that I couldn’t live in the same city as Lizzy. Usually, an ocean separated us.

  I gave her a quick hug and thanked her again before we took our seats behind my table.

  “Here. Have some coffee. You’re going to do great.” Lizzy handed me my signature Starbucks cold brew, and I took a long draw of the mocha-flavored beverage. I could use the caffeine to get me through the day.

  The doors opened, and a chorus of cheers emanated throughout the ballroom as women began to flood inside.

  No. They weren’t all women.

  My heart stuttered. I blinked hard.

  It couldn’t be him. I had to be mistaken.

  Because there was no way Scott was striding into the room, at the very front of the crowd. I’d tried so hard to remember every detail of my gorgeous, tortured mystery man’s appearance. My memory didn’t come close to reality.

  He paused inside the threshold, his pale eyes searching the room. His gaze landed on me.

  I forgot how to breathe. The man who had embedded himself in my memories was closing the distance between us. I’d thought about him so often over the last ten months, wondering if he was even alive. I’d thought about him late at night, alone in my bed with my vibrator.

  I hadn’t been with anyone else since our one-night stand in Nashville. I’d told myself I was just avoiding boring vanilla partners, but really, no one had measured up to Scott. No one had come close t
o the intoxicating connection I’d shared with him.

  Excitement should have shot through my system, but my hands trembled with anxiety instead. He wasn’t smiling at me as he advanced, purpose in every sure step. His expression was blank, unreadable. His granite jaw was even sharper than I remembered, and his aquamarine eyes pierced the space, pinning me in place.

  I shrank back in my chair, intimidated.

  What was he doing here? Had he followed through on his promise to read my work? Had I somehow offended him with my more outlandish suspense plots or the darker elements of the sexual scenes in my books?

  And even if that were the case, why would he be here, in York of all places?

  His face gave nothing away: not a hint of a smile, nor a grimace.

  Too soon, he was standing in front of my table, towering over me. How had I forgotten how tall he was? I felt small and vulnerable in his shadow. Nothing could have prepared me for this, and my wits deserted me. My mind was uncharacteristically blank, numbed by shock.

  “Addison.” He said my real name in that deep, rumbling voice. It made me recall other, dirtier words rumbling over my thighs as his face hovered near my pussy.

  “Scott,” I managed to gasp, sucking in oxygen for the first time since he’d entered the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Lizzy said in a hard tone that held no contrition. “How do you know Addison?” My friend grabbed my hand beneath the table.

  “We met in Nashville,” he said in a monotone. He didn’t take his eyes off me.

  My belly quivered, and my core heated. I couldn’t read him at all, but my body reacted to his nearness, despite my trepidation.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked on a puff of air. It was difficult to breathe normally when he was staring down at me.

  “I came for a book.”

  “What?” Was this some bizarre dream? Maybe I was still asleep, and the signing hadn’t started yet.

  For the first time, his lips twitched, tugging up at the corners. “I told you I would read them. I want a signed copy.”

  “But you’re in England,” I said, somewhat stupidly. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he was here.

  He nodded. “I’m here for business.”

  Business. I knew what he meant. I’d asked my dad’s friend about Delta Force after meeting Scott. He’d told me that sometimes operators trained with the British S.A.S. I supposed it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that Scott really was here for his work.

  But why was he here? There was no way he’d been stationed near York.

  “But how did you end up in York?” I pressed, completely out of sorts.

  He flashed his brilliant white smile, and I could have melted into a puddle under the table.

  “I came on the train,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone. He reached out with his big hand, his long fingers tracing the spine of one of my books. I shivered as I remembered those fingers inside me, penetrating deep and stretching me for his cock.

  “I want this one,” he declared, picking up a copy of my ménage title.

  Now, I definitely wished I were under the table. It seemed like a good place to hide for the rest of my life. Mortification made my cheeks burn. This was one of the filthiest books I’d written. Had he really read it?

  The glint in his eye and the curve of his lips told me he knew the contents of the book.

  Oh, god. I kept the horrified groan locked in my chest.

  “Will you sign it?” he prompted when I didn’t move a muscle.

  I realized I was staring at him in shocked silence. My entire body seemed to have locked up, my brain stalling.

  “Of course she will,” Lizzy said breezily. “It’s twelve pounds.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said quickly. I couldn’t take Scott’s money. I couldn’t let him buy the book. Even if he had already read it, handing him the physical copy would be more humiliating than I could bear.

  “Yes, it is,” Lizzy insisted. “You’re not here to give away books for free.” She spoke with asperity that was clearly directed at Scott. She didn’t understand what was going on, but my protective friend wasn’t going to sit there and let a man intimidate me.

  Scott reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out the notes and coins to pay. Lizzy took the money from him, but I still didn’t make a move to sign the book. I couldn’t even look at him anymore. My eyes dropped to the paddles on my table, and my mortification increased tenfold. How was this happening?

  “You can make it out to Melissa from Minnesota.”

  I peeked up at him. I didn’t detect any mockery in his stunning eyes. Instead, I sensed…

  Yearning? That couldn’t be right.

  But there was some deeper emotion tightening the fine lines around his eyes. Memory stirred, and I recalled the pain that had filled his blue gaze as I held him all those months ago, our naked bodies entwined.

  Drawn to ease the strain from his brow, I reached for the book. My fingertips brushed his, and I shivered at the electric contact. Our connection was even more visceral than I remembered. Or maybe it had intensified because I’d fantasized about his touch so often on long, lonely nights as I traveled the world alone.

  We both froze, staring at one another as we held the book together.

  “Here’s your pen,” Lizzy prompted, her voice a little softer as she addressed me.

  Suddenly, my gold Sharpie was in my hand. I jolted out of my reverie and yanked the book away from Scott as though he’d burned me.

  My hand shook slightly as I made the dedication out to Melissa from Minnesota, my trembling ruining my usually elegant cursive. My signature was a squiggly mess.

  I was a mess.

  I closed the book and shoved it across the table, not daring to make contact with Scott again. Nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear.

  “Thank you.” The earnestness in his tone brought back more memories.

  Thank you for trusting me.

  That night had been burned into my brain, haunting me for months. So many times, I’d wondered what Scott was doing, hoping he was even alive.

  And now here he was, standing in front of me at a book signing in York, England. It was all too surreal.

  “You really came all the way here for a signed book?” I asked, incredulous.

  His pale gaze burned into me, blue flames flickering in the depths of his eyes. “No. I came here to see you.”

  My mouth went dry, and I realized my jaw had dropped. I closed it with an audible snap of my teeth.

  “Oh,” I said, struck dumb.

  He smiled again, and the sight of his levity knocked all the air from my chest. After the intensity of his declaration, his pleasure sent my mind reeling. My emotions were tangled, my stomach in knots.

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  “What?”

  Was he really asking me on a date? I could hardly accept the reality that he was here, let alone think about going out to dinner with him.

  “Okay.” The agreement tumbled out of me. “I have my signing all afternoon, but I’m free after that.”

  He beamed at me. “Great. Where do you want to go? I’m not that familiar with York.”

  I scrambled to come up with a worthy suggestion. “Do you like Indian food? Akbars is great.”

  “If you like it, then I’m happy to go there.”

  How had I forgotten how swoon-worthy he was when he smiled? How had I forgotten how heady it felt to have him regarding me so intently, like I was the only woman in the world?

  “Addison,” Lizzy said in an undertone. “You’re getting a line.”

  I blinked and managed to tear my eyes away from Scott. To my amazement, there actually were several women waiting behind him. Although, they seemed far more interested in checking out his ass than looking at my books.

  He was facing me, so I couldn’t admire that perfect ass. But that meant my gaze fell directly on his crotch. My mouth watered as I remembered the
thick cock that was confined by those jeans.

  “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  My gaze snapped back to his to find his eyes glimmering with amusement. My cheeks flamed impossibly hotter.

  “Okay,” I practically squeaked. “I’ll meet you at seven?”

  He beamed at me, and my heart did a funny flip. “It’s a date.”

  He picked up the book he’d purchased and turned away from me. I couldn’t help staring at his ass as he strode away.

  Lizzy poked my leg hard. “You’re going to have to explain that to me later,” she muttered. “But for now, you have some fans to greet.”

  “Readers,” I corrected her automatically. I felt like such a diva if I referred to people as fans.

  “Right,” she said with a dismissive wave. She turned her attention to the first woman in line, who was still watching Scott walk away. “Hi, how are you?”

  The woman jolted to attention at Lizzy’s greeting. I managed to plaster on a smile and start chatting about romance novels. I wasn’t at all certain how I’d make it through the signing with my wits intact. With each passing minute, I got closer to seeing Scott again. It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 2

  “Hiya, how are you?” The host at Akbars greeted me with a smile and a familiar handshake. I frequented this restaurant often—probably too often—and they knew me here. Well, it had been one of my favorite haunts when I’d been allowed to live in York. Now, it was a special treat, since I was only a visitor.

  I summoned up my practiced, bright smile to cover my grief. “I’m great, thanks. How are you?”

  “Good.” He returned my smile, oblivious to my pain. I must be getting really good at concealing my darker emotions. “Just you tonight?”

  “I’m meeting someone. I’ll wait over here.”

  I’d arrived early. Eagerness and ingrained anxiety about tardiness had brought me here five minutes prior to seven PM.

  I fiddled with my fingernails. Would Scott realize just how desperate I was to see him? Would he think I was pathetic?

  Before I could become consumed by my worries, his voice sounded behind me.