All of Me (Confessions of the Heart 2)

By itself.

The area desolate and deserted.

The girl was nothing but a sitting duck.

I’d seen enough monsters lurking in dark corners to know this was a bad call.

She knew it, too, because she pushed herself harder, like she felt a menacing presence slip in from behind.

I was a second from grinding to a halt. Calling out to her like some kind of blathering fool that I was just checking to make sure she was okay and not some bastard who was there to hurt her.

So yeah, I wanted to fuck her. But I’d never force a girl into doing what she didn’t want to do. Not once. Not ever.

But it was already too late for that.

The spike of her heel caught in a crack in the road, and I watched in helpless horror as the girl went flying. Body propelled forward, arms shooting out to try to stop herself from falling.

A cry of pain struck the air when her knees and hands hit the hard, unforgiving ground. She skidded on the rough pavement, her dress tearing at the side. Her clutch slipped from her hold and sent the contents scattering across the ground.

My body jolted back like I could feel the impact. For a beat, I froze before worry and concern hijacked my veins, and I rushed across the street toward her.

She heard me coming, and she flew around, scrambling back, those blue, blue eyes going wide in fear.

Those legs were bent at an odd angle, the thin material of her dress bunched up at her thighs, one shoe gone where it was stuck in the road.

I was the sick fuck who thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

A battered Cinderella.

An angel with a broken halo.

I pushed my hands out in front of me in a show of surrender, trying to carve my voice into the most placating sound I could find. Kind of hard to do when it was typically filled with bitterness and hate. “Hey . . . it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

But I sure as fuck wanted to hurt the fucker that’d put that look on her face.

She kept fumbling backward for a second before she heaved out in both shock and relief when she finally realized it was me, like she got that I wouldn’t touch her unless she really wanted me to.

And fuck, I wanted to.

That overpowering sensation hit me again, growing stronger with every inch that I took toward her. Urging me to wrap her up. Maybe rock her and soothe her and tell her everything was going to be okay like some kind of punk.

Hell no.

I needed to turn around and walk.

Turn my back.

Because this girl was making me have urges that were not okay.

I would have, too, but that was right when she tried to choke back a sob. It erupted from her throat, her bloodied palms going to her face as she began to weep.

Might be a dick, but there was no turning my back on that.

She could be . . . hurt.

I crossed the street, edging forward like I was approaching a wild, caged animal.

There was no question in my mind the girl was close to coming unhinged.

I could feel it, the helplessness that might cause her to snap seeping from her pores. Pooling on the ground around her like the blackest puddle of mud.

Slowly kneeling in front of her, I pried her hands from her face. Blood was smeared across one cheek and down her chin. I pulled her palms toward me, searching the superficial scrapes that oozed red beneath the moonlight.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It didn’t come out sounding like much of an apology, considering my teeth were clenched and my stomach was seething.

One hundred percent on edge.

Lust still blazed, and that crazy feeling of possession that left me itchy was making me feel like I was going to lose my goddamned mind.

She turned her face away, shoulders heaving as she cried almost silently. Like she was trying to rein it in, pull it back, hide it behind the strength I could see radiating from her.

Like she was ashamed to be seen that way.

Broken down.

Vulnerable.

I took her by the chin, a gentle prod for her to look at me.

And I tried to remember every reason I’d ever given myself not to get involved.

How women couldn’t be trusted.

Tried to remember the oath I’d made.

But when she looked up at me with a river of mascara running down her cheeks, I fucking forgot everything.

My mind. My sanity. My reason.

“Hey. Are you okay? Tell me where you’re hurt. Let me help you.”

What was I saying? Offering? But I didn’t know how to stop.

Wide eyes stared back at me.

Vast.

Endless.

A churning, icy sea.

“I . . .”

“It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I need . . . I need . . .”