Page 9

Nic

Rain seeps through my T-shirt and yoga pants and mingles with my tears as I stand in front of the Pacific Coast Trauma Center, praying Uber finds me a ride before my phone battery dies.

Why am I even still here? It won’t make Bella’s broken leg heal faster or her mom forgive me.

Or erase the humiliating but true words Jenna Anderson hurled at me right in the middle of the children’s ward.

You have no right teaching dance therapy to kids who can barely walk. When you have one of your own, you’re welcome to try to kill them, but until then, stay away from my daughter!

I should’ve said something back. I should’ve defended myself. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot, letting her words gut me.

It’s my fault, though. She’s right.

Bella fell because of me. Because I didn’t see that damn puddle in time. Because I was too stupid and reckless to think anywhere would do for a training spot as long as those kids were determined to heal.

I managed to keep it together long enough to call an ambulance for Bella, who’d almost passed out from pain and shock.

I dropped off the rest of the kids with Bea, then headed back here to check up on Bella.

As if I wasn’t kicked enough, halfway to the hospital, my van picked that golden moment to sputter and die.

If only I wasn’t too proud to take Theo’s money and get them a better studio. Or buy myself a new van.

I wanted to prove I could do this without him. And clearly, I can’t. I’m stranded in the rain and soaked to the bone.

I swipe my phone open. The screen remains stubbornly black. Yep. My phone just died. And I left my purse back at the city hall gym in my mindless scramble.

I shiver, blinking against the downpour, as my last option becomes clear: hang around the parking lot like a desperate junkie and beg for a ride.

Freaking perfect.

I cross the flooded asphalt to the far end of the lot, trying to avoid the worst of the puddles. I don’t see the SUV until it’s too late.

Headlights. A horn blares. Tires screech.

I stumble to the side, and my foot slips out from under me. The cold, rough asphalt is unforgiving against my palms and knees, knocking the wind out of me.

The SUV’s headlights are mere inches from my face. Blinding. Suddenly, I can’t take in a breath beyond the crushing tightness in my chest.

I almost died just now. Or maybe I’m already dead.

The door swings open and quick, heavy footsteps approach, as well as a muttered swear.

“Are you okay?”

I flinch because . . .

That voice.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I tilt my head up.

Of fucking course. Seems the universe isn’t done shitting on me yet.

Through the curtain of rain, and wet strands of hair, I recognize that face that shows up at the most inconveniently helpless times in my fantasies.

And now?

It seems to be filled with something that looks like pity.

I dig my nails into the rough pavement to push myself up to my feet, turn around and leave

My body won’t cooperate, content to just kneel there in the rain, heart pounding like a jackrabbit, while I struggle for breath.

He takes a few steps closer, only stopping within a few feet of me. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

The politeness, the fucking tenderness in his voice makes me glare at him. “You almost ran me over!”

I see the shock of recognition in his eyes before he schools his gaze, crouches down, and holds his palm out to me. “I know. I’m sorry. Can I help you up?”

I recoil so fast I slip again and end up sprawled on my butt.

Pain sparks up my tailbone, and my humiliation stings worse.

A sound rumbles from deep in his chest—not quite a laugh, but something close. “I’ll take that as a ‘fuck off.’”

I finally manage to push myself up, but the second I find my footing, my knees buckle like the traitorous bastards they are.

His hands close around my arms.

No.

“Let me go!” I grit out. Every point of contact between us burns like a fresh wound.

“I don’t think so.” His voice carries that quiet authority from last night.

One arm sweeps under my knees, the other anchors around my back, and suddenly, my world tilts as he lifts me off the ground.

A startled gasp leaves me. “What are you—hey!”

My body reacts before my mind catches up, my fingers curling into his soaked T-shirt before I start to push against him. It’s no use. He’s too strong, his hold on me effortless.

His face is inches from mine, rain slicking from his jaw onto my cheek, and my stomach flips—part fury, part something much worse.

“How the fuck are you even here?” I choke out through chattering teeth.

How is this my life?

“Where are you parked?” he asks, and I realize the sooner he has a place to put me, the sooner he’ll leave me alone.

I open my mouth to pick a random car in the lot.

“Don’t even think about lying, Nic.”

My breath stutters. Of course he knows my name. He must have found out from Lana.

And he’s still waiting for an answer.

My throat bobs. “I don’t have my van. It . . . broke down. But I can walk.”

“Okay.” He turns and strides back toward his SUV like I haven’t spoken at all.

I don’t have any more strength to fight him. Not when my whole body is shaking so hard.

The rush of warmth from the car’s interior hits my rain-drenched skin, even before he lowers me into the seat.

His hands linger—just for a moment—as if he’s making sure I won’t tip over.

As if he has any fucking right to care.

The overhead light flicks on, and for the first time, I see him fully.

No shadows to blur the edges. No masks to hide behind. Just him. And suddenly, what little air I’d managed to drag into my lungs disappears.

I know his face. Of course I do. I’ve memorized it. Filed away every detail like a lunatic.

But now? Now it’s real.

I shut my eyes. Hold my breath. Try to block him out. The scent of him, the heat of him, the fucking gravity of him.

But it’s impossible.

The image is burned into me—deep-set eyes, charcoal with an inner ring of amber, like fire wrapped in smoke. Thick lashes, darker now, wet with rain. Those brows, always drawn together, like he’s thinking something too sharp, too dangerous. I should look away. I should stop.

But I can’t.

His cheekbones carve shadows into his face under the dull hospital parking lot light. His stubble is thicker from the rain, coarse, rough, the kind that would scrape my inner thighs raw if he—

Stop. Stop. Stop.

But then there’s his mouth. Full. Soft. Still bruised where I bit him last night. I want to bite him again. I want to sink my teeth into him until he bleeds.

I want him to press that mouth against mine until I forget everything.

I hate him. Hate that I want him.

As if to underline my thoughts, a tightening begins south of my belly.

He leans in, scanning me from scalp to feet, and I can’t believe that my first instinct is to hold still for him.

I feel sick.

He picks up my hand, tilting it toward the light. I try to snatch it away, but he doesn’t let go.

“It’s only a graze,” he mutters, running his thumb over the raw skin.

An unexpected, full-body shudder rips through me at the pleasure-pain his touch triggers.

My eyes slam shut. God, get it together, Nic.

When I open them again, I find him watching me, tracking my reaction, and something shifts in his expression.

Then, without a word, he reaches up and flicks off the overhead light.

Darkness floods the car.

My breath hitches as his hand reaches for mine, threading through them like he has every right, then his fingers twirl my ring. Slowly, deliberately.

“How are you?” he murmurs, his voice brushing against something deeper.

I almost laugh.

How am I? I’m trapped in a car with the one man in the world I hate the most.

“I’m fine,” I force out, trying hard not to stare at the bruise on his lip. “Let me go.”

His gaze drops to my chest and my pulse spikes. But when he looks back up, he doesn’t look hungry. He looks . . . angry.

He steps back. Bends down, then straightens. Something hits the floor of the car. Then he shuts the door, trapping me in.

I bend over to see what he dropped. It’s my sneaker. I didn’t even realize I lost it during my stumble. I grab for it, fingers trembling as I claw at the laces.

Get it on and get out.

Get it on and get out.

The words pound in my head in time with my racing heart, but my numb fingers refuse to cooperate.

If I can just get it on—

The driver’s side door opens.

Shit.

He slides into the seat, and the space shrinks until I start to suffocate. My face feels tingly and numb.

He’s too close. Too warm. Too solid.

I pull harder at the laces. My fingers burn from the cold, but I can’t stop. If I don’t leave now—

He leans toward me, stealing the last bit of space I had left, and my lungs seize, tremors wrack through me now. “Please leave me alone—“ I whisper.

Warm palms clamp around mine, and he takes the shoe from me and throws it on the floor. Before I can protest, his other hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading into my wet hair.

“Breathe,” he commands.

“Let go of me!”

His grip on my nape tightens, his thumb pressing on a spot at the base of my skull.

My body goes still, and the edges of my vision blur, leaving just him. His voice. His command. Just like last night, like that moment at the bar when I couldn’t not do what he asked.

I shake my head, shutting my eyes tight.

“Listen, you’re cold. You’re shaking. And you’re going to work yourself into shock if you don’t breathe with me.”

“I don’t—need your help.” I sob, but the betrayal is already complete because I am breathing with him.

“Tough. You’re getting it. Take a breath in.”

His thumb presses deeper, and something inside me unlocks.

I inhale.

“Out.” His hold loosens slightly, just enough to let me go if I wanted to. If I could make myself want to.

I exhale.

“Again.”

I obey.

“Good girl.”

The praise sends a shudder through my body that has nothing to do with the cold. This time, he doesn’t have to tell me to breathe. I just keep going, letting his scent and warmth seep into me.

“There. Better?”

I swallow hard and nod, the feeling rushing back to my face.

Silence stretches for what feels like hours, then he asks softly. “What happened tonight, Nic?”

I’m powerless to resist the pull of the one question I needed to be asked. Like a dam breaking, I blurt. “One—one of my kids. Her name is Bella. She—” My voice cracks. “She broke her leg during practice today. If only I’d been more responsible . . .”

The memory of Bella’s mother’s vicious and totally justified fury, the way she looked at me like I was poison—punches through my ribs and cuts off the rest of my words.

My throat closes up, and I gasp, dragging in much-needed breaths.

“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice throws me.

His grip on me suddenly loosens, and so does the pressure I didn’t realize I was leaning on.

“I–It’s okay.”

Except it’s not.

Because his hands have fallen away completely, and I’m starting to feel adrift again.

My eyes flicker up to his face, really seeing him for the first time.

Not as Cass’s killer. Not as the man I hate. But as a man who just helped me out of a full-on panic attack.

And he looks . . . exhausted.

There’s tension in his jaw, deep shadows under his eyes. It occurs to me that we’re in a hospital parking lot.

“Are you—Is someone you know sick? Are they going to be okay?”

Pain and guilt flickers in his face—almost too fast to catch, but I know enough of both emotions to sense that I just hit something real.

He leans back, suddenly creating space between us.

“I’ll take you home.”

The moment is over. Whatever just passed between us, he’s shutting it down. My panic surges back.

I don’t want him to retreat. I don’t want to be back in the cold and alone with my racing heart. Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out, closing around his. “Don’t take me home.”

He makes a sound—a scoff, maybe, or a chuckle—but there’s no humor in it. The rain pounds against the roof, emphasizing the silence as he waits for me to say what I want.

Don’t do this, Nicole. My rational mind begs.

“Actually, um, on second thought, can you drop me off in downtown L.A.?” I ask, my voice pitched a little too high.

The muscle in his jaw flexes. “I’m not in the mood for games, Nic.”

The rawness in his tone makes heat pool in my belly. “Then don’t play.”

He moves before I can get another word out, his hands are back on me, this time cupping my jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing—” I squeak.

He kisses me.

It’s not like the violent clash of last night, but a slow, deliberate takeover. A test. A tease. A gentle, almost playful nibble that shouldn’t steal my breath.

When I gasp, his thumb strokes over my racing pulse in my neck—as if to reassure me

For the second time tonight, everything else falls away. My mouth parts in a soundless moan and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against mine with a boldness that makes me melt.

His teeth nip at my lower lip, just hard enough to sting, before soothing it with another sweep of his tongue.

My hands clench as need explodes in me and I start to kiss him back.

He pulls away just enough to murmur against my lips, his voice rough and knowing. “Talk to me, Nic.” His breath is warm against my cheek. “Where do you want me to take you?”

My stomach tightens.

I should tell him to go to hell. I should go back inside and beg the staff to let me crash in the waiting room. I should walk all the way back to Valencia in this pouring rain. Hell, I should stand on the side of the road until a bus flattens me—literally do anything except look up into those dark, unreadable eyes and open my big mouth.

“Somewhere you can fuck me.”

The air snaps. For a split second, he’s completely still. Then his grip tightens—just a fraction, just enough to feel possessive.

He nods once. His voice drops to something lethal as his lips brush the shell of my ear.

“You want it in the backseat, savage and quick, with your nails in my shoulders and my hand over your mouth?”

A choked noise escapes me.

“Or you want me to take you to bed and make it all better?”

Make it all better.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The implication in his words—take you to bed, make it all better—sends heat flooding through me even as warning bells scream in my head.

A quick and dirty fuck in a car, I could forgive myself for. Blame it on shock, on exhaustion, on temporary insanity.

But a bed . . .

A bed means choosing this. Means admitting I want him. Means betraying everything I’ve aimed for these past eight years.

“I—” My voice cracks.

“Say it, Nic,” he commands, and his words hit their mark in the deepest, darkest parts of me.

“Bed,” I whisper.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “Good choice,” he murmurs, and the words send another bolt of heat straight through me. I press my hands, fingers digging into my thighs, trying to ground myself.

The engine hums to life, and he pulls out of the parking lot with the same quiet control that broke through my panic minutes ago, while I’m barely hanging onto my sanity, feeling like an iron filing caught in a magnetic field.

For the rest of the drive, Kai doesn’t speak or reach for me. He doesn’t even glance my way to see if I’ve changed my mind.

It’s as if I’m already a forgone conclusion.

And the worst part?

I am.

It would take an act of God to stop this.