Chapter Seven
Cara
I know he’s gone before I even open my eyes.
Am I surprised that his side of the bed is cold when I reach out to touch it?
Well, not so much surprised as disappointed.
By now, I should be used to him running off every time we share an intimate moment.
It shouldn’t affect me the way it does when I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room.
There are so many unresolved issues between James and me that we cannot comfortably lie together and pretend everything’s okay.
No, everything is not okay.
I didn’t just steal a huge portion of his life from him, I also ruined his career in the process.
When I turned fifteen, I took myself to the library and looked him up.
Before his sentencing, James Loxley served as a battlefield medic.
He went to medical school while in the military and was just starting his career when the incident happened.
According to the police report—my account of events—James attacked an innocent man and, in the process, killed him.
I close my eyes at the memory of it. Reading that report chipped at the bits of my heart that hadn’t crumbled yet. He was labeled a killer and he lost his job and his reputation. I bet working as doctor had been his dream as much as working as a social worker is mine.
And I stole that away from him.
Now as a convicted felon, it’s unlikely James will ever get a license to practice medicine again. The closest he can get is working as an unlicensed medic for the Steel Rebels.
Would I find it in me to forgive him if our roles were reversed?
If I couldn’t work with women and children anymore—if I couldn’t help them find better lives—would I ever forgive the person who stole it from me?
Kiss and hug them? Touch and bring them pleasure unlike anything they’ve experienced before wrapping my arms around them and letting them find comfort in my embrace?
Would I stay in bed with them all night?
Ours could have been an epic love story if we’d met under different circumstances. I allow myself to imagine meeting a handsome doctor without all this guilt and heartache between us. There wouldn’t be hesitation and second guessing every time we were together.
Maybe I’d wake up to his face after a night of pleasure.
And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t second guess every touch and caress between us. I need to get a hold of myself. I can’t afford to fall into delusion.
“Too late now,” I whisper to myself, pushing the covers to the side and climbing out of bed.
My eyes cross to the bedside clock and wince when I notice it’s already eight before remembering that I have today off.
I typically spend mine studying and trying to get ahead in classes.
But I know that won’t be enough to distract me this morning.
Looks like I’ll be heading downstairs and begging Samantha to give me something to do.
There’s a heavy weight the size of a boulder sitting on my chest as I drag my feet to the bathroom.
The warm shower does little to take it ease the burden, and a few minutes later, when I find a single coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter, the weight intensifies.
There’s still coffee left inside, it’s gone cold now.
I bring my finger to the cup, running it around the rim and imagining James drinking from it.
I bet he looks so darn sexy in the morning, that neatly combed hair all mussed up.
His voice… God, I can hear that deep voice rough with sleep murmuring in my ear. Those lips trailing my skin as his hands seek my body under the blankets, touching me, guiding me into touching him back until we are both panting.
I sigh, grabbing the cup and walking to the sink, daydreaming as I wash it. I’m still in my head, staring into space, when a knock comes. It snaps me right back into the present, and my first thought is Samantha. She wouldn’t come to my door on my day off unless there was a problem in the building.
Oh God, do we have a new resident? Even then, she’d only come to me for help on my off day if it was a real emergency. The new arrival must be in really bad shape.
I drop the cup in the sink and rush to the door, remembering how Abby had looked when she’d arrived and starting to panic as I unlock it. The panic quickly morphs into surprise when I see the person on the other side of the door is not my boss.
My breath hitches when my eyes lock on his, the man I’ve spent all morning thinking about.
He’s standing there, bathed in the morning light and…
Wow. Dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a couple of buttons undone, and those tattoos I adore peeking out.
His dark hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his olive skin seems to glow in the light.
Christ, he looks so good, and for some reason, he reminds me of one of those old movies about Italian Mafias.
He looks just as dangerous too.
My mouth runs dry when those brown eyes meet mine. “You changed,” I say lamely as my mind runs blank. I wasn’t expecting him to come back, and to see him standing outside my door is a shock to my system.
“Yeah, I got a bit of blood on my other clothes, so I had to shower and change while I was at the clubhouse anyway.”
“Blood?” I gasp, eyes widening in horror. I rush forward, panicked as I press my hands over his chest, running my eyes over his clothes as if expecting to see through them. “You’re hurt? Where? How?”
He laughs. “It wasn’t my blood, Cara.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I had to run out this morning to treat a fool who shot himself.”
Oh.
He didn’t leave just to escape me? Of course he left for work. The man’s a doctor who deals with adrenaline junkies. I feel the boulder on my shoulders diminish and curse myself for a fool.
I can’t afford to slip back into delusion, but as I look at him, I find myself longing to feel those lips on mine again. To have his hands touch me in places only he ever has. And I hope only he ever will.
“If you don’t stop doing that, Cara, we’re going to have a scandalous scene in this hallway.”
My brows draw in confusion. “Doing what?” He smirks, and I follow his eyes to his chest, flushing when I realize my hands are still on him, caressing his pecs. Embarrassed by my own lack of control, I push back.
“Are you going to let me in?”
Right.
“Yeah, sorry,” I murmur, moving aside to let him go before following him in.
I close the door, and I’ve barely turned around before I find my back pressed against the wall and his lips on mine.
All the warnings and that pep talk I gave myself this morning fade away when I feel the press of his hard muscles against me.
My eyes flutter closed, and my hands instinctively move to his shoulders as he kisses me.
His breath is just as ragged as mine, and I moan, opening up for him with such hunger, it sends fire lighting in my belly.
I want this, I realize. Not just for a moment or a day.
Forever.
Jesus Christ, I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with a man who could crush me. Who has every reason in the world to want to crush me.
James makes an impatient sound and pulls back. “You’re doing it again,” he says, holding my gaze. “Cara, I don’t have any ulterior motive when I touch you.”
I lick my lips, resisting the urge to lean in for another kiss. “Don’t you?”
“Damnit. No, I don’t,” he says, his voice controlled, but I sense the anger behind it.
Surprisingly enough, I don’t flinch in fear as I have in the past when faced with rage.
Perhaps it’s because everything the man has done from the moment we met is treat me with kindness and touch me with care.
Even when he was being rough, he was careful.
“James—”
“Fine, let’s talk about this and get it out of the way,” he says, pulling back, and I immediately miss his touch when he does so. I watch him stalk toward the kitchenette and follow behind. “I need another cup of coffee first.”
I sit on the stool and watch him prepare his coffee.
I shake my head when he offers to share, not sure I can stomach anything in the moment.
We sit in silence as he drinks the first cup, and I know I should say something, but I am terrified by the prospect of digging into the past. When he starts pouring the second cup, I figure one of us needs to get this conversation started.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, letting out a breath with a shudder. “I know you keep saying that you don’t blame me, and I don’t understand it. I blame myself—”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laugh without mirth. “James, I ruined your life. Most people would feel guilty about it.”
“You were a child,” he counters. “An abused child who witnessed something they never should have.”
“But I…”
“Look,” he says, pushing the cup aside and taking my hands in his.
“Let’s get one thing clear first. You did not ruin my life, Cara.
” His eyes drop to our joined hands, and I watch them soften.
“Before I came home on leave, I’d spent a year deployed to one of the worst places on Earth.
I spent twelve months in a war-torn country.
I saw things I will never be able to forget no matter how badly I want to.
My leave was to last thirty days, then I would be re-deployed to the field, back to rolling the dice with my life. ”
“That’s…”
He sighs and his eyes turn sad when he looks up to see the horrified look on my face.
How the hell can he talk so casually about something like this?
“So much of what I saw was horrific and I almost became numb to it.” His eyes drop back to our joined hands.
“I thought I’d left the violence behind on the battlefield.
I wasn’t prepared for was to witness what was happening to you at home in my own country.
That level of anger and violence inflicted on a child—”
“I wasn’t a child.”