TWENTY-SEVEN
Laia
Leaning forward to see over the dashboard of the truck, I pull the blinker down and turn onto my street—mystreet. I smile. I can’t help it. I have a street, and a home, and a Kenzi and, after this morning, I think I might even have a Felix too. And the most shocking thing? I think I want to have him. For real. Not just to distract me or make me forget. I just—I like him. More than that—I think I trust him.
The smile I’ve barely managed to remove from my face all day falters as I round the bend to the bungalow. A red Mustang is idling by the curb. Mycurb. I pull into the drive, watching it in my wing mirror, my heart clunking against my ribcage, unease settling around me like a scratchy second skin. Of the few people I know here, none of them own a Mustang. My tummy drops. I shake my head. It doesn’t have to mean … I blow out a slow breath, my fingers trembling as I turn the truck’s lights off. The hopeful happiness from just seconds before now, so far gone I’m finding it hard to believe I had the audacity to feel it at all—to actually believe it was here to stay. The sun set an hour ago, and the security light above the garage door isn’t doing a whole lot to banish the rising nerves winding their way up my spine.
It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.
Still staring at the Mustang, I cut the engine, failing miserably at keeping my flailing heartbeat under control. It could be anybody. But why here, in front of my house? The question doesn’t do anything to steady me. I grab my cell from my purse then sling the strap over my shoulder, glancing into my wing mirror again, swallowing past my bone-dry throat. Nine-one-one. I swipe my cell open and dial in the number. This is ridiculous. I’mbeingridiculous.
But what if I’m not?
The door opens with barely any trouble for once, and I slide down from the truck, the heels of my gray pumps hitting the concrete drive with a dull click. I’m being paranoid. My cell still in my hand and my heart still stubbornly lodged in my throat, I slam the door closed.
The Mustang’s door opens before I manage to take a step—before I even figure out where I was stepping to. My stomach doubles in on itself, every single time I was stupid enough to stand up to Damon flashing in my mind in a slide show of tears and pain and regret.
I hit call, my breath caught in my lungs, the second it takes for the low red door to open refusing to tick by. It’s him. It’s over. The police won’t get here in time. Nobody will.
A Converse covered foot swings out of the car, followed by the rest of Felix.
It’s Felix. Not Damon. Felix.
A laugh puffs out, releasing from my chest in a weird sort of hiccup as I watch him walk towards me. Relief and the dwindling adrenaline spinning my head by the time he makes it to me.
“Hey.” His gaze moves over my face, his almost smile falling when it drops to the screen of the cell still clutched half-way to my ear. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.”
The faraway voice has me staring dumbly at my cell too. Wait. Shit. I lift it to my ear, my cheeks blazing with my over-reaction. “Yes. Sorry. False alarm. Sorry. I thought I saw something.” I glance up into Felix’s concerned face. “No, I’m fine. Sorry again.”
I close down the screen. “I thought—” I press my lips together, the truth the only thing I can come up with to explain myself. “I thought you were someone else.”
His jaw ticks, his neck contracting with his swallow. “Who?”
I hold his stare, pull the one side of my bottom lip through my teeth then glance away from the pity already beginning to form in his eyes. “You should probably come in.”
He follows me to the front door, waits silently as I unlock it then slip off my shoes and drop my purse on the console in the entrance. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t smile or say a word, just watches me, jaw tight, forehead creased. I haven’t even told him yet and things have already changed.
I pad through to the kitchen, the tiles cool on my tired feet, the spike of paranoia from minutes ago making me shiver despite the warm night. It wasn’t him. But it could’ve been. It could’ve been and I’d have been just as useless and helpless as I ever was.
“Laia.”
I start at Felix’s voice behind me, my fingertips pressed against the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on the grain of the butcher block worktop. “Damon used to beat me.” My cheeks burn, shame at myself for being so weak back then making my hands shake—making every part of me shake. “He beat me every day for years, and I just—let him.”
I flinch before Felix’s hands even make contact with my shoulders, not even his nearness or his fresh-air and mint scent enough to drive out the chill.
His hands fall to his sides when I turn, his brows knitted, his face tight at whatever he’s reading on mine.
“He told me if I ever ran, I’d better not stop because if he found me…” I lift my chin, force myself to hold his stare. “I thought—I didn’t recognize the car. I thought—”
Felix’s steady gaze moves over my face, his chest lifting, his jaw ticking, a million unreadable emotions flashing behind his blue, blue eyes.
Seconds pass, the weight of his pity, his judgment, heavy on my shoulders. I shouldn’t have said anything. My chin trembles along with the rest of me, but I lift my hand, my fingers curling slightly before they touch his cheek. “Say something.”
This time it’s him who flinches, his gaze refocusing on my face. “You’re cold.”
I pull my hand back to my chest. “I’m fine.”
His throat contracts and he shakes his head. “Where’s your bathroom?”
Ten minutes pass and he’s still not back. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
The view when I walk through the bathroom door is almost enough to make me forget it all.
Felix—his beige cargo shorts pulled tight where he’s leaning over the bathtub. Solid muscle and smooth, tan skin exposed where his white T-shirt has ridden up his back.
He straightens as the door clicks closed behind me, his hand lifting to the back of his neck when he turns.
My stomach sinks. I know that move.
It’s his I’m uncomfortable move.
“Felix, if—” I take a step towards him and rub my forehead, steeling myself against his excuses, or reasons, or whatever he’s about to throw my way. “If this has put you off, I get it.” My teeth rake my bottom lip, but I hold his stare. Better him to decide I’m not worth it now than later.
His eyes darken and narrow, his jaw clenching and releasing as he closes the distance between us and tucks a curl behind my ear, curving his body back so he can meet my lowered gaze. “Laia, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would put me off.”
I shake my head and look away, looking anywhere but into his face when my chin starts to tremble again. Crying doesn’t help anything.
“Don’t.” His warm, steady hands cup my jaw, forcing me to look at him. To meet this head on. “This changes nothing.” His thumbs brush my cheeks, the truth of his words written in the serious tilt to his lips and the hard line of his brow.
I nod jerkily in his hold, swallowing past the ugly sob blocking my throat.
His hands slide lower, tracing down the side of my neck.
I inhale a shuddering breath.
He trails them further down, over my collar bones to the top button of my blouse, “You know what you need?” The corner of his lips lifts into a half smile when he slips the first button from its hole, then the next, and the next until the pale pink lace of my bra peeks between the white silk.
I lean into his touch. It does the same thing it always does. Smooths the jagged edges of my past until I can almost see past them. Almost feel past them. “What do I need?” My voice catches at the openness in his stare.
“You need to get into the bath.” He undoes the rest of my buttons then slowly tugs my blouse from where it’s still tucked into the high waist of my skirt. “And relax.” His voice is soft, genuine, his eyes on mine even as he gently pushes my blouse over my shoulders and guides it down my arms, letting it float almost weightlessly to the floor. “No more crying. No more fear. He’s not here. I am.”
I lift my chin in a small nod.
His warm hands return to my shoulders and urge me to turn from him.
I bite back a smile at the mass of bubbles floating atop the over-full tub and breathe in the comforting vanilla scent of my own soap.
He runs a finger down the curve of my spine then slowly unzips my skirt, letting it fall in a puddle around my feet.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers slip under the clasp of my bra.
A groan escapes when he unclips it and pushes the lace from my body, my nipples tightening as his hands slide down my sides to push my panties down my thighs. “But know this, Laia.” He straightens again and wraps his arms around me from behind, the cotton of his T-shirt soft against my naked back. Warm and comforting. “If that son-of-a-bitch ever shows his face around here, he’ll have me to worry about.”
And just like that, the weight I’ve carried since I left Damon lifts—just a bit—but it’s enough to let me breathe a tiny bit easier.
If he ever does find me again. I won’t be alone.
“Get in the bath,” Felix whispers into my ear and walks me forward, his presence behind me begging me to reach back and touch him. Begging me to show him how much this means to me.
The slight bite of heat when I slip, first one, then the other foot into the water almost makes my eyes roll, goosebumps flaring over every inch of me. Exactly the way I like it. I sink down into the bubbles and my eyelids flutter closed. Perfect.
This is perfect.
He’s perfect.
He’s still watching me when I open my eyes again, leaning on the vanity, arms folded, the serious lines of his forehead and the slight pout to his lips impossible to read. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”
I press my lips together and hold his stare.
He tugs on his ear, his chest expanding. “About anything.”
I rest my arm along the edge of the bath and flex my fingers, the ache in my ring-finger knuckle throbbing. “You know what almost hurt more than the physical stuff?”
His jaw clenches and for a second, I hesitate. He’ll think I’m ridiculous.
“What?”
I blink up at him. “The way he took away my … me.”
Something flickers over his face, and he crosses his legs, shifts against the vanity. “You can get you back.”
“I know.” I sink my finger into a little point of bubbles. “And I think I might be. I’m baking again. I’ve even made friends here. And then there’s—this.” My cheeks flush when I lift my gaze from the bubbles. “You … I mean … I don’t mean we’re … I know this isn’t anything.” I barely resist sinking completely under the water and staying there. Indefinitely. This is why I don’t share.
His rough chuckle sets a desire-flavored buzzing off in my tummy, but that’s nothing compared to the full-body vibrations when the crinkles around his eyes stay even after his smile fades.
Tension crackles thickly in the steam-filled air.
The flip from caring concern to undiluted sex when his gaze drops to where my breasts break the bubbly surface of the water is undeniable. He’s not lying. My past hasn’t put him off. At all.
“It’s kinda lonely in here.” I lift myself up the rolled edge of the bath, suds sliding down my body, my nipples tightening even more with the sudden change in temperature.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
I arch an eyebrow and purposely allow my gaze to move down his body, all the way to the tell-tale bulge beneath his shorts. “I am relaxed. You?”
His groan is almost pained. “Laia, I don’t want to—”
“You don’t want to what? Break me? Scare me? I’m no more fragile now than I was this morning.”
“I don’t think you’re breakable.” A muscle in his jaw flickers like he’s fighting some internal battle. I’m not sure if he wins or loses, but he stalks across the bathroom. “Your tub isn’t big enough for two.” The muscles in his forearms tense when he grips the edge of the bath and leans down to press a kiss to my forehead then dips his face so that his eyes are level with mine. “Just enjoy the tbubbles.”
The scent of him blended with my vanilla soap makes breathing like a mini party for my nostrils. Without so much as a slither of doubt, I slide my hand around the back of his neck and kiss him. My tongue teases his the second his lips part and I shift in the water, sending a little wave over the side.
He jerks back.
Something inside me freezes. A spark of fear shooting down my spine.
It fizzles as quickly as it sparks at the sight of his wicked grin as he grabs the back of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head in that sexy way men do.
His abs … that V…
He offers his hand out to me, a dimple flashing in his left cheek.
I tuck my fingers into his grip and let him pull me to my feet, water and bubbles cascading down my body.
I’m barely on my feet before I’m lifted into his arms.
My heart does a somersault in my chest, his touch already soothing everything back to bearable. “I’m soaking you.” My giggle is breathy, my wet skin slipping against his chest as I wrap an arm around his neck. “Don’t drop me.”
“Never.” His laugh is seriously the stuff of romance novels. A touch of gravel, with a hint of a rasp and a whole lot of delicious deepness.
I yelp when my butt hits the cold, polished concrete that tops the vanity, but the discomfort is instantly forgotten when my knees are nudged apart, and he leans his big body between my thighs.
“I’ve thought of nothing but this…” He flexes his hips and dips his head to press a kiss to my jaw, right beneath my ear. “All day.”
“All day?” I slide my hands up his chest and over the round muscles of his shoulders, his skin hot against my palms. “Fun.”
His smirk lights his eyes, and then his gaze flicks from my face to the mirror behind me. The smirk disintegrates, and whatever heat was there morphs into something cold. And shocked. And pissed.
My blood congeals.
“Tell me that wasn’t him.” His stare stays fixed over my shoulder.
I don’t have to look to know what he’s seen. I try to push him back so I can slip off the vanity, suddenly uber-aware of my complete nakedness and the marks my time with Damon left me with.
He grips my hips, holding me still. The muscles in his throat contracting are the only thing I can bring myself to look at. I forgot they were there because that’s what he does—he makes me forget. He makes me feel like a normal scar-free person. But I’m not. I never will be.
“It’s nothing.” Before my chin can tremble. Before I can push him away, I’m wrapped in his arms, my face pressed into the crook of his neck, his hand covering the thin, jagged white scar on the back of my hip.
His body warms my rapidly cooling skin. “Tell me.” He clears his throat. “Tell me what he did to you?”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to do this.”