Of course, the car crash four months ago didn’t help. But what the fuck. I’m alive. Unlike others, and…

I lean back against the headboard and hang my head, drawing a shaky breath. Yeah, the guys are right. No reason why I should break down now. I had my chance when they were there, but I was too numb.

Not anymore. Now I feel too much. Every scar hurts. Every memory aches. And now this girl has turned my world upside down, and I have no clue what’s going on with her. Only that I need to find out, and fix it. Make it right.

Maybe that way I can heal myself, too.

Chapter Six

RAYLIN

Ice cubes. That’s all I find in the freezer of the huge fridge in the kitchen, apart from some frozen baguettes and fish fillets. I wrap the ice up in a towel and stare down at it, my hand going numb from the cold.

Am I leaving or staying? What the heck am I supposed to do?

Yeah, great, Storm is in pain, and I’m here, standing around like an idiot, his compress in my frozen hand.

I cross the hall and start up the stairs. What if I stayed a few more days? What’s the harm in that? Make sure he’s okay, that his leg won’t be giving him trouble. Map the scars on his body, get to know him better.

But then I’d have to explain myself. Tell him everything. At least, the things that really matter, that could put his life in danger if my father’s shady associates somehow find me.

Would they kill me if they found me? The million dollar question. Maybe not immediately. Which is even worse.

But they haven’t found me yet, have they? Maybe they really lost my tracks.

Feeling lighter, a spring in my step that wasn’t there before, I reach the stop of the stairs and hurry into the bedroom. He’s propped against the headboard, his bad leg stretched out on top of the bed.

Stark naked. Perfect. Beautiful, long limbed and strong, cast in bronze and silver, his hair shiny jet. He says nothing as I approach, a wariness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

I sit on the edge of the bed and place the compress on his thigh. He flinches, then moves it down until it’s almost over his knee. I keep quiet, too, not sure how to start. Seconds trickle by, turning into minutes. Slowly the pain etched on his face fades, and he lets his head fall back with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice a little garbled, as if he’s falling asleep. “Feels good.”

Everything about you feels good, I want to say, but I don’t. I fight the urge to caress his face, stroke away every line of pain.

Instead I say something I never planned to say. “I used to have a cat.”

“A cat.” He blinks at me, his eyes gleaming underneath his thick lashes.

“A kitten, really. Horatio.”

“Hor… are you serious?” His chuckle is deep and delicious.

I nod. “My mom used to love the name.”

He straightens slightly, his laughter fading. “Used to?”

“She died years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Me too. “So as I was saying, I had a kitten. Gathered him up in a back alley and took him home. My roommate loved him. Megan. Nice girl. Heart of gold. She’d feed Horatio when I was out, pet him, hold him. She’d make me breakfast and look for me. I was starting to settle down, let down my guard, relax. Be happy. Feel safe. And that was a mistake.”

“Why, Ray?” He shifts on the bed, runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“Because my dad’s associates found me again, and I had to run. Had to leave Horatio and Megan behind. Told you, lives are not worth risking.”

“Christ. Who the hell is your dad?”

“Small-town conman. A nobody who got in well over his head.”

“Okay.” He looks doubtful, and no wonder. “So why are his associates after you?”

“Because dear dad and even my brother pointed the finger at me. Told them I was behind the mess the two of them made, and that if they wanted answers, they should come to me.”

Answers and money, but I’m still not sure I should tell him that much, or the whole truth. Not like he can help me, anyway. He just needs to be aware, and careful. Life fucks you in every turn, and you need to keep your eyes peeled and your walls up.

“Those motherfuckers,” he says and takes my hand, his jaw clenching. “I’d kick their teeth in. How can they put you through this? Their own flesh and blood.”

And strangely, I have no doubt he’s serious. He holds my hand tightly, grinding the bones of my fingers together, but I like it. I like how my sadness and anger flows into him and returns to me through his crushing grip. I like how he doesn’t seem to doubt me for a second, the truth in what I’ve told him, and even though I want him to be suspicious, to watch out… I’m grateful.

Still, I have to push. “You believe me? You don’t think I’m lying?”

He lifts his other hand to my chin, grips it lightly, and studies my face. “I’ll take the risk.”

Oh God, he’s undoing me. “You’re nuts.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He releases my chin and waves his hand back and forth, glaring. “I know. You’ve said it often enough.”

Then he grins, and I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting back laughter. He’s funny, and cute, and so disarmingly nice… I can’t even.

I should pinch myself. Soon I’ll be waking up, alone and on the run.

“They don’t know where I am,” I say. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

I shake my head.

“They won’t find you. I’ll hide you well. I swear. Stay.” His gaze is steady and earnest, his insistence breaking down my defenses.

I let myself go. “Maybe. For a few days.”

“That’s a start,” he says and leans back again, a frown marring his brow. He reaches down and shifts the cold compress. “Should be enough time for me to use filthy, hot sex as a means to convince you to stay longer. To take a risk on me, too.”

Only he doesn’t know it’s not the sex that’s tempting me—although it sure is hot. No, it’s him, his pain, his anger, his kindness, his faith in me. This man has a core of steel and gold, and he makes me want to trust.

Trust is something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

***

I bring Storm a glass of water to take some painkillers I found in the bathroom cabinet, and he promptly falls asleep, still sitting on the bed, propped on the headboard. It looks uncomfortable, but I don’t want to wake him up.

Don’t want to touch his face, either, his lips, those long lashes resting on his cheekbones, or cuddle up to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

That’d be cheesy. Unbearably romantic and sentimental. But damn, I almost give in before I tear myself away and wander the house. I check out the kitchen first. Breakfast would be good. The fridge contains some cheese and ham, and I remember the frozen baguettes.

I could work with that—but I hope there’s a plan B for lunch.

Leaving the baguettes in the sink to defrost, I explore the mansion Storm may or may not have broken into. The owners like him. Huh. I wonder if they know he’s here now.

Trust, Ray. Show some trust.

Yeah, well, it’s hard when you haven’t trusted anyone for most of your life. When your family has let you down in the worst way, and you haven’t been able to keep a friend for years, first because your dad won’t allow you to let anyone in, and then because you’re always looking over your shoulder for your pursuers.

Trusting isn’t easy. What if he’s playing me? What if he lied to me about the owners of the house I broke into? Or everything else for that matter?

Not that he’s said much. Sure, he talked, but it was all vague.

Slipping outside and walking down the beach isn’t much of a conscious decision. I need to see for myself. Need to confirm that at least one thing he told me is true.

So when I reach the house where I spent my first few nights here and cautiously climb the three wide steps to the terrace, I’m prepared for just about everything—but above all, disappointment.