People dubbed Keaton “America’s sweetheart” because of how genuinely nice everyone said she was, always doing the right thing, always positive. No wonder he fell in love with her.
Keaton had met the love of her life.
And he tragically died in her arms at the age of twenty-seven.
News reports said they could hear her screams echo through the entire hospital.
It was still front-page news when I woke up from my coma. The first thing I read about, Keaton Westbrook and the love of a lifetime. Meanwhile my brother was sleeping with my fiancée.
And I remember thinking, It could be worse.
I could be dead.
Only to look up at the news channel and realize that while I was able to say that, he wasn’t.
He’d been in the same hospital.
The news crews followed me like a madman.
And a young girl with a single red rose passed me in the hall with tears streaking her face, and all I kept thinking was how pissed I was at my own family.
So when I ran into her and the rose fell from her hands, I did nothing.
When the petals scattered across the floor, I kept walking.
When her sobbing reached my ears, I ignored it.
And when I watched the news later that night, the guilt came.
His final gift to her.
A single.
Red.
Rose.
After his death she honored him by going every day and bringing roses to cancer patients. And what did I do?
I’d stepped all over the fucking petals.
Chapter Nine
KEATON
His face was stone as he stared down at me like he was putting the pieces of the puzzle together, like he was seconds away from saying something he couldn’t take back, like I’m sorry.
I didn’t want his sorry.
His pity.
Or an apology.
I’d suffered through enough of those, and they were meaningless words people used in order to fill the awkward void at a funeral, or when they didn’t know what else to say.
Chills still wracked my body. He pressed in next to me again.
I went from being searing hot to icy cold within seconds. My brain was still sluggish, but not enough that I didn’t realize I was very much naked in a friggin’ billionaire’s arms, and he wasn’t pushing me away.
Yet.
My hands felt heavy as they wrapped around his body to keep close. His eyes searched mine before he bit out a curse. “Death is . . .” He looked away. “So very fucking final, isn’t it?”
Not the apology I was expecting.
I nodded, my voice would have come out scratchy and hoarse, filled with emotion a stranger didn’t deserve, and if I couldn’t even cry in front of my own parents . . .
Or at his funeral . . .
Then it would be ridiculous to cry in this man’s arms, this man who didn’t seem to care about anything but himself.
“The cabin, my cabin,” he clarified. “Why did you rent it for thirty days?”
“Vacation,” I said quickly.
“Bullshit.”
“Why are you here?” I countered.
His lips turned upward into a tense smile. “Same.”
“Bullshit.”
Julian Tennyson was too good-looking to be naked against me, and my body was too aware of the fact that he had more muscle than I originally thought. I expected him to be soft hands, soft everywhere from too much whiskey and late nights at the office.
He was the exact opposite of soft.
It was a problem.
A growing problem.
I cleared my throat. “So now what?”
“Now . . .” He sighed and looked around. “We pray that our cells start working, and I get you out of here as soon as possible.”
I scowled. “A little injury isn’t going to get me out of your hair. Unbelievable!” I started to move away from him when he gently pulled my body down. I had no choice but to follow since I was weaker than I expected.
“Listen.” He tilted my chin up gently. “I found you passed out in the snow, you have frostbite on your hands, and this is the first time you’ve been coherent enough to carry on a normal conversation where you don’t call me the wrong name.”
“What?”
“Not important,” he said quickly. “The point is, you need medical attention I can’t give you, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if—” He stopped talking, his throat moving in a swallowing motion as he sighed. “You need a doctor. And lucky me, I had some of the best in the city. I’ll take you in, and we’ll assess the damage.”
“And then what?” I whispered. “You come back here, and I lose the cabin for good?”
“Anyone ever told you you’re stubborn as hell?”
“It’s part of my charm.” I blinked my eyelashes at him, thinking it was sexy when it was probably so slow and awkward that it looked like I was inebriated.
“Uh-huh.” He licked his full lips. “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it, and do you really want to come back up here alone for thirty whole days?”