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I lay back and don’t fight the sleep that overwhelms me.
When I wake up next, it’s dark outside the windows. Illumination from the safety lights highlights the face of the person sleeping in the chair. The pale skin and the sweep of auburn hair flowing over the chair indicates it’sher.
Her chest rises and falls, and she has her cheek cushioned in her palm. The dark curve of her eyelashes rests against her cheekbones. She stirs in her sleep, then settles again. When her breathing evens out, I glance away and spot the pack of cigarettes and lighter on the side table. Guess Seb came through for me.
I reach for the lighter, flick on the flame, then hold my palm around it. The warmth seeps into my blood and I sigh. I click off the lighter, place it on the bedside, then swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the ground, then I take a deep breath and push myself to a standing position. My thighs burn, my calves hurt, and my knees threaten to give out from under me. I dig my heels into the floor, and thankfully, my legs seem to hold me up. I lower myself to the ground. Every muscle in my body protests, but I ignore the pain. I manage to lower my body weight onto my palms and feet, and fuck! My entire body trembles. My biceps spasm and my calf muscles scream in protest as I bend my elbows and push down, then thrust upward. My shoulders convulse and the still unhealed wound at my temple throbs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I grit my teeth, push through the pain, force my muscles to comply as I flow into another push-up. My vision flickers. Sweat trickles down my temple, trails down my chin to plop on the floor. My entire body turns into one pulsating vector of pain as I push down, then up. Again and again.
"What are you doing?"
I lose my balance and face-plant on the floor. "Fuck." I pant, try to roll over, but find my arms no longer obey my command. "Bloody fuck!" I growl, then stiffen when she grips my shoulder.
"Let me help you."
She sits down cross-legged next to me, and grips the underside of my shoulder. She leans in closer and the scent of apple blossoms fills my nostrils. I draw in her scent, fill my lungs with it, use it to center myself. Her pushing, combined with my own efforts, means I finally manage to turn over on my back. I collapse on the ground, my breath coming in pants. My heart thunders in my chest like I have run for miles. At this rate, it’s going to be weeks…maybe months before I return to my former strength. I cannot let that happen. I need to get back to full health as soon as possible.
I close my eyes, focus on regulating my breath, on getting my pulse rate under control. When I open my eyes, I find her scrutinizing my features.
"What?" I growl. "Happy to see a man falling apart in front of you."
A stricken look crosses her features. Fuck, why did I have to say that? Why do I have to hurt her every time I see her. I close my eyes again. "I told you stay away from me, didn’t I? I am not good for you, Theresa."
"Let me be the judge of that."
I crack open my eyes and meet her gaze. She holds it, then color stains her cheeks. Jesus, how innocent is she that she can’t even hold my gaze without blushing. How sheltered has she been? What little I know tells me the Mafia are protective about their women. And the Sovrano’s consider her one of theirs. So, chances are good, she hasn’t seen much of the world outside of Palermo, or been with any man except for Xander. Or has she?
"Are you a virgin?"
6
Theresa
OMG, that inevitable question. Why is it such a big deal for these men anyway? And why is he asking me that question now? Is he interested in me? Is that what this is about? But all of his actions so far indicate the exact opposite.
"What do you think?" I shoot back.
He blows out a breath, "I’ll take that as a yes."
"That’s not what I said."
"You didn’t need to." He tries to sit up, only to collapse back onto the ground. He growls in frustration, then pushes up off his elbows. This time, he makes it halfway up before gravity pulls him back onto the floor. "Fuck," he yells. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." The tendons of his beautiful neck strain, the skin glistening with sweat. The hospital gown he’s wearing gapes in the front. I take in the groove between his pecs, the design of a tattoo that creeps up over his shoulder. It’s something I had noticed before, but now I can make out the intricate whorls, the pattern, the colors. Does it flow down his back as well? Does it cover his biceps?
A bead of sweat trails down his temple and I lean down and lick it up.
His entire body goes solid. His shoulder planes tense. He glares at me as if he can’t quite believe what I did. Truthfully, I can’t believe I did it either. Maybe it’s because he guessed that I was a virgin. Maybe because I am pissed at myself for having stayed a virgin for a man who may or may not have loved me; something I’ll never know now because I didn’t have the lady balls to confront him about it. For some reason, I have been given a second chance here with Axel. Who isnotXander. I may have wanted him to be Xander when he was unconscious, but now that he is awake, now that his blue gaze bores into mine, now that the awareness behind those eyes is focused on me, it’s clear to me that this man is nothing like Xander.
Xander had a laid-back charm about him, a goodness that seemed to permeate everything around him. He had a charisma which made me feel that the world could be a better place than what people believed. It’s why I wanted to be with him. He gave me hope. He was everything Axel is not.
Where Xander was all light and brightness, Axel is darkness—he is deeper, more complex, more intense, more secretive…in a way that makes me want to dig in and unearth what it is that he holds so close to his heart, what it is that he is concealing under the mask he shows to the rest of the world. And it’s not only because his memories haven’t returned completely… It’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on, something that pulls me closer, makes me want to throw myself at him and sink my teeth into his skin until I unearth whatever it is that lurks just under the surface.
I bite down on my lower lip and his gaze drops to my mouth. His nostrils flare. He stares at my mouth like he wants to taste me, consume me, absorb me into himself and never let go, and somehow, I have a feeling I wouldn’t protest if he did so. I gulp, the sound audible in the silence.
"Don’t start something you won’t be able to see through," he drawls.
I scowl, "Good to know you already have a preset impression of me that has nothing to do with what I actually am."
"Oh?" He raises his gaze to mine, "And what are you?"
"I am not as innocent as people make me out to be."
