“Then why isn’t he more than a good tumble?”
“This is about you and the fact you’re locked away in a gorgeous hotel suite with Mr. Famous Rock Star. It’s avoidance. I can tell.”
I toed off the tap and leaned back, staring up at the coved ceiling. “He’ll break my heart all over again, Noelle. It’s not mended from the last time.”
“So give him a reason to stay.”
“Why would he want me when he could have—and has had—any other woman in the world?”
“He doesn’t do brunettes, Mila. I double-checked on my break earlier this afternoon. He’s never been photographed with one.” She paused to let those words sink in. I pressed a trembling hand to my chest. Yep, my heart pattered faster than a sprinter’s. “He called me, trying to pry out details he didn’t want to ask you. He cares about you.”
“As he would any woman from his past.”
“As he would his first love. I found the stupid photo that started this mess. Great gooey goodness, Murphy can smolder.” Noelle sighed. “I mean, the way that man eyed you is hot. So don’t throw away this chance before you see where it could go.”
“That’s the trouble. It can’t go anywhere, and I don’t want it to.”
“You are the worst liar.”
Murphy knocked on the bedroom door. “Room service just left.”
“Did I just hear him say room service?” Noelle asked. “Let him wine and dine you. I’ll do the same here. Who knows? Tonight could be the romance we both deserve.”
“Night, Noelle.”
“Night. Call you tomorrow. And, shug?” she said, her voice lowering.
“What?”
“Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
I hung up and tossed my phone onto the counter before ducking my head under the water. I held my breath for fifteen, then popped up.
“Mila?”
Murphy’s voice grew more insistent, almost worried.
“Be right there.”
I clambered out, pulling the plug. I wrapped my head in a large, fluffy towel and then my body in another. I didn’t like hotel robes; I didn’t trust them to be clean. A weird affectation of staying so long—and working—in a hospital, I supposed.
I scrambled into some pajamas and combed my hair, straightening the bathroom. All avoidance techniques. With Murphy right there, on the other side of the door, I was afraid I’d forget myself and touch him. Want him to touch me.
Noelle didn’t understand. While Jordan wanted to own my body—through brute force that would leave me bloody and broken—Murphy wanted to get back that sweet innocent love we’d shared. But we’d both changed so much. Sure, I still loved him, but could he possibly still love me? Would it be possible to pick up the tattered bits of our former relationship and make a go at it again?
Would he even want to?
14
Murphy
I paced the living area, hoping the motion would keep me awake. The adrenaline of the day’s revelations faded and the restless night caught up with me. I was bone tired and not much good for conversation.
But Mila needed to eat. During the years we dated, she tended to skip meals, especially when busy or worried. Now, though, she wasn’t much more than a waif. I didn’t like her so fragile. My Mila was robust. Full of love and fire.
I might never see that woman again. I rubbed my hands over my tired eyes before staring out the large windows at the twinkling lights. They were hypnotic, soothing.
I pressed my forehead against the glass, wanting nothing more than to give in to my need to hold her close as I slept. I hadn’t wanted that for months—more than a year. But the urge, now, was overwhelming. Even stronger than my need to rail at her for destroying our relationship.
Mila’s door opened and she padded out of her room. Catching her reflection in the mirror, I gulped. Her hair fell in wet, messy waves around her face, now devoid of makeup. Her small toes peeped out of her flannel pajama bottoms while the cotton tee hugged her ribs and breasts. Mmm, she might be thin, but she was mouthwatering.
“Why didn’t you start eating?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like.” I turned toward her, swallowing a groan. Clean and soft, ready to pull into my arms and cuddle into sleep. I missed how she’d curled up into my side, her head on my shoulder, a hand flattened on my chest. I’d loved pulling her closer, even during slumber.
“Crab cakes!” She exclaimed. “They’re my favorite.”
I blinked away the fantasy, focusing instead on the food in front of us. She’d always moan and sigh when she ate crab cakes. The biggest turn-on in the world. Probably not the best choice for my continued comfort, but she settled at the table, her face lighting with the simple joy of a good meal. I missed seeing that, too.
I took the seat next to hers, ignoring her stiffening shoulders, and reached for another plate. Some local fish, deep-fried, with coleslaw. Not the Aussie way, but still delicious. Hot and fresh. My stomach gurgled its appreciation. We ate in silence. At least this one was companionable.
“Thank you for ordering,” Mila said after she swallowed the last of her bite. “I was hungry.” She stood up and carried some dry greens over to the bird’s cage, dropping them in as Alpie bobbed her head, saying, “Thank-oo. Thank-oo.”
Polite bugger.
“Me, too. Been a long day, though.”
“It has.”
“Right.”
We stared at each other. I should get up and walk to my bedroom. Shut the door and go to sleep.
“I want to know what happened, Mila. The whole story.”
Her eyelids slid down over her eyes, and she heaved a breath. She pushed her plate back farther. “There isn’t much more to tell.”
“Don’t.” My tone turned sharp. “Don’t block me out of this. I deserve to know.”
Her mouth settled in that tight, angry line, but her gaze softened when she met mine. “All right.” She sighed, her brow pulling together.
“I was nineteen when I met Jordan. My mum’s mum married his father. He’s a few years younger than my mum and I guess they talked occasionally, I don’t know how it all came about, but he stopped over for dinner one night. He watched me the whole meal.” She shuddered, pushing back from the table. “I didn’t like him, but he left, and I went on with my life until he transferred to Sydney, or he moved there—I don’t know. Mum let him stay with us.”
I followed her with my eyes as she moved around the room. “He’d bring presents every day, trinkets really, fixed a leaky spot on the roof. Mum was over the moon to have his attention and help.”
She turned toward me. “Over time, he began to open my bedroom door at night and watch me. One time, he’d followed me to school and sat in his car whilst I talked to my friends. Another time, he pulled me out of a bar because the boy I danced with got too close.”
“Did you tell your mum?”
Mila gave me that impatient flick of her eyes that said more than words ever could. “I was paranoid, stupid, crazy. That’s what she told the counselor when I told her about Jordan opening my bedroom door at night.”
Sounded like Mrs. Jones and ran true to what I learned yesterday so far today. Right then.
“When he pinned me to my bed and . . .” she blew out a breath. “Mum came home, freaked out. While she cried and screamed, I ran out the door and stayed the night on a friend’s couch. But I needed to move out for good, which I did, and I changed universities in hopes he wouldn’t find me. Then I met you.” She sank onto the couch, her voice changing. “I told you I shouldn’t date you.”
My heart pounded. “And I pushed.”
Her eyes met mine and even across the distance some of that old passion sparked. I clamped my hands on the edge of the table.
“You persisted. And I wanted you to,” she said, her voice soft. Her lips flipped up in an insouciant grin. “Best time of my life.”
I dipped my head in response. Our years together were the hi
ghlight of mine as well.
“Everything was fine whilst you were toiling away, just another musician with a dream. But your music was so good, and you gained fans. The media took notice. And then that picture of us came out in the paper.”
She sighed, her throat convulsing. She wasn’t aware of her fingers playing with the ring on her finger, but my gaze stayed there. I’d noticed it on her hand within moments of seeing her today. The ring I gave her. Satisfaction mixed with regret, a strange boil of emotions that didn’t set well in my gut. Or my head.
“Jordan found me, at the hospital. The article said where we’d met, mentioned my residency position in labor and delivery. Jordan was so angry. Angry enough to force me into his car and drive to your mum’s house and threaten her, too. I sat in the car, too scared to get out. He’d taken my phone. I couldn’t call for help.”
Mila licked her lips. “He said next time he’d start carving and he’d start with you. Murphy, I . . .” Tears pooled in her eyes as she met my gaze. “He didn’t just want to hurt you, he planned to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen. So when he drove me to your gig from your mum’s house, I did the only thing I could think to do. I lied to you. And I disappeared.”
“Because it worked before,” I said, my breathing just as ragged as hers.
“Except it didn’t. You wrote that song. It immediately blew up, the band was everywhere online. Some reporter in Perth spotted me, made the connection. I didn’t know he’d written about me, but Jordan found the article. He found me. I’d picked up a pushy at a yard sale so I didn’t have to walk to work.”
The tears shimmered on her lids for a long moment before they spilled over. Great big tears that held worlds of pain. “I went over the handlebars.” Her throat convulsed and her eyes blazed. “I might’ve been able to hang on through the shock. But Jordan dragged me into the alley. I bled. A lot. That’s what finally did it. I bled too much and there was nothing left for Kyle.”
I didn’t want to close my eyes. I’d picture her, broken, bleeding, needing help.
“He was perfect,” Mila whispered against my shirt. “I got to see him. One more month and his chances of survival were between fifty and eighty percent. Four weeks. His life ended because I couldn’t stay away from Jordan for twenty-eight days.”
I gathered her closer, wanting to kiss away the sadness that clung to her lips. I didn’t move, aching for all we’d lost. This past year, I’d searched for intimacy, impossible to achieve without baring one’s secrets, one’s fear and thoughts, with a partner.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, meaning the words. “For not being there. For you losing the baby. For everything you were dealing with that you couldn’t share with me.” But under those words was that anger—a big, thick pit stewing in my gut.
“I was scared that you’d leave me if you found out,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
My chest tightened. Had I done such a poor job of loving her that she’d had to worry I’d quit? Soon as she walked away, I tried my damnedest to hate her. When that didn’t work, I’d turned to other women. Many of them. But the solace was empty; their arms were wrong.
“You were there alone? You didn’t call your mum?”
Mila shook her head. “I didn’t want her there. She never believed me. She didn’t back me up when I went to the police after he made threats against your family. In fact, she gave him an alibi for the night. They never would have picked him up at all if he wasn’t parked outside your mum’s house when the police drove by.”
I brushed her hair back from her pallid cheeks, liking the weight and tangled softness as it stuck to my fingers. The first time I saw her, in that dingy bar, she’d seemed small, compact but self-assured in her worth. Hearing her talk about her classes, about her past, I’d been knocked on my arse. She was smart enough, capable enough to make great changes.
She wasn’t the woman standing before me now: this Mila was vulnerable, fragile, fighting to keep her life from tipping her over the edge. But both the Mila of six years ago and this older version ripped at my heart. And yet, there was a piece to the story I couldn’t resolve.
“So what changed? Why did you come to the Tractor Tavern last night?”
She glanced up for a moment, her eyes flashing darker, the green swirling like bits of mosaic amidst the deep brown. But her lips pulled down at the corners like they did when she felt guilty about something.
“I wanted to see you,” she said, her voice too soft. But I heard her. She dropped her gaze as if she’d just admitted a giant sin. Her words were a punch to the gut. Well, just . . . fuck. I leaned in, needing to taste her.
She didn’t try to stop me, and when my lips touched hers, I wanted more. No, I needed it. We’d always shared amazing chemistry. In this kiss, I poured all my sorrow at what we’d lost. Mila did, too. So deep. Just lips caressing, testing, re-learning each other.
The best kiss. Because this connection meant something.
“Because I planned to listen to you sing ‘She’s So Bad’ and finally—finally—put you in my past.”
A moment ago, I wanted to gather her closer. Lay her back on the couch and make her forget her sorrow. Now . . . I ran my hand through my hair. Bloody hell. She wanted to get over me? I was the injured party here—she’d broken up with me.
Noelle’s voice rang through my head. She knows every one of your exploits and conquests. Each one cut her a little more. So why are you pushing this?
Why indeed?
I wasn’t sure yet, just knew that for the first time in months, I was whole. Maybe . . . maybe Mila was exactly what I needed.
Problem was, I had no idea how to convince her to give me another chance. Worse, I wasn’t sure I could ever get past my anger—the betrayal of her leaving.
“Fu-‘atoo,” Alpie growled.
That bloody bird was smart.
15
Mila
Maybe in the months since I knew him, that was his go-to; he’d kiss a girl to get her to shut up. If they ended up in bed, well, so much the better.
I was a cynical, cynical being. I ducked my head, shuffling my feet to put more space between us.
Both our phones rang. Murphy snagged his out of his pocket while I dashed back to my room to grab mine off the night stand. I missed the call; I frowned at the local area code but not a number I knew. I debated calling back.
“Mila? You’d better come see this.”
I wandered back into the living room, staring at my screen, waiting for the voice mail message to pop up. I glanced up at the telly, which took up most of the wall near the fireplace. My phone slid from my fingers.
“That’s my house,” I whispered.
Flames licked with cheerful hunger from the windows and out the doors. The roof heaved and steamed.
Vaguely, Murphy’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me to the couch. The back of my knees hitting the cushion forced me to sit, my eyes never leaving the horrible image on the screen.
“I’m so sorry.”
“My house,” I whispered again. I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to hold in the ache. Nothing there wasn’t replaceable. They were just things. But they were my possessions—the ones I purchased to surround myself with something more than the sad, white walls of Jundaloo or even Noelle’s guest room.
Gone.
I still had Alpie. I rose, ran to her cage and let her out. She side-stepped up my arm. “Nuff,” she said. “Shush.”
“Detective Davenport called me. Jordan’s the prime suspect. If they can connect him to the fire, arson is on his growing list of crimes.”
I nodded, my eyes still glued to the hypnotic view of my house being consumed by flames. “Did they get him?”
“No.”
Again, I nodded. I needed a pill. I made to stand when the scene cut to a newsroom. “Breaking news: Jackaroo’s lead guitarist’s on-again-off-again girlfriend Mila Trask’s house in flames here in a Seattle suburb. The fire department believes they
’ve contained the fire to just Ms. Trask’s residence.”
I breathed out a deep sigh. Mr. Henley lived next door in the house he’d moved into with his wife a half century earlier. Mrs. Henley passed before I moved here, but Mr. Henley loved to show me all her crocheted blankets and the pictures of their four rowdy boys growing up. Jordan couldn’t destroy that man’s memories as he did mine. Again.
“Do you think the police will find him?” I asked.
Murphy sat next to me, hauling me closer to his side—the opposite side from Alpie, who screeched and dug her talons into my shoulder at Murphy’s manhandling. I let him, in part because I wanted the warmth from his skin, but also because I loved that I still fit him.
Murphy would go back to his big life—soon. But in this minute, I needed his solid presence.
“Hard not to. We’re the main story both here and back in Oz.”
Heat flamed over my skin as my back bowed straight. “No.”
“Nuff, shush.” Alpie rubbed against my neck.
“Sorry, love, we’re the ‘it’ couple.”
I shouldn’t have eaten; my stomach sloshed in an unhappy morass of shame and guilt.
“But we’re not together,” I blurted.
Murphy turned my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. I wanted to ignore how good his fingers felt against my skin. I couldn’t. “We have a sad history. For some people, it’ll be an interest in my life. For others, they’ll pay attention once they learn you were ever connected to me. Some will cheer for you because of your stalker. Anyway, the story’s interesting enough for some staying power. And we’ll use that.”
“How?”
“To get more pictures of Jordan out there and find the bastard. It’s free PR.”
I shuddered, my eyes squeezing tight. I didn’t want to be plastered on the news. After a deep breath, I forced my gaze to the television where the reporter still spoke about Murphy and my failed relationship. “Sources tell us Ms. Trask spent a few weeks in Jundaloo, a trauma hospital in Perth, Australia after she was hit by a car biking to work. Her injuries were extensive and she allegedly miscarried Murphy Etsam’s child then.”
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