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Finding that out would have to wait, because Olivia was looking at him with equal parts horror and confusion.
“How did I almost kill you?”
“It doesn’t matter now, Livvy. I’m fine.”
“Don’t patronize me, Hawke. I deserve an answer to such an accusation. How did I almost kill you?”
He should’ve talked to her about this already. All of this could have been avoided. He blew out a ragged, weary sigh. “The explosion the night I disappeared.”
“Yes, what about it?”
She acted as if she had no idea what he was talking about, as if things had gone just the way they’d planned.
“The bomb went off seven seconds sooner than it was supposed to.”
“No, it didn’t. I watched the live feed. You came out of the back of the building. I saw you exit. At exactly 4:01 a.m., the bomb detonated. It worked just as we planned.”
“It didn’t.”
She shook her head, confusion darkening her eyes. “That’s not possible. I watched it.”
“It went off seven seconds sooner.”
Her knees buckled, and Hawke quickly shoved a chair beneath her. “That’s just not possible… It couldn’t have…” She looked up at him, horror dawning in her eyes. “How badly were you hurt?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine now.”
“It damn well does matter. I’m tired of being told only what you want me to hear, Hawke. Tell me the truth. How badly were you injured?”
She was right. She deserved to know everything.
“Skull fracture. I was in a drug-induced coma for ten days. Second-degree burns on my back. Broken hip, busted knee, and about five pins in my leg.”
“Dear God,” she whispered. “How did this happen? I watched the feed… I watched the clock. Someone faked it? How? Why?” Her eyes searched his face, the horror continuing to grow in them. “How did you…what happened…after?”
“Kate. As you know, she and I were supposed to meet that night. When I didn’t show up, she went to the site and found me. After I was stabilized, she had me taken to a private hospital in Switzerland, where I stayed for three and a half months.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t let me touch you,” she said faintly. “You have scars.”
Unable to deny that truth, Hawke gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Livvy, I’m fine now.”
The expression on her face was one of both shock and sorrow. Hawke cursed his lack of forethought. This could not have happened at a worse time. Iris Gates had known that. Maximum damage equaled maximum payout.
“No wonder you thought I was a traitor.” She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear her.
He hadn’t though…not really. Even in his most excruciating moments, when agony had ripped through him with every breath, he’d had his doubts. There’d always been a gut-deep voice whispering to him that it was all a lie. That Livvy could not have done this to him.
Hawke shook her shoulders harder, his fingers digging into her skin. “I don’t think you’re a traitor, Livvy.”
As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “That’s why you never came back. You believed I tried to kill you.”
There was a distance in her eyes, an unawareness of what was happening around her. He’d seen this happen to her only one time before. It had been his fault then, too. Shame washed over him at the memory. But no, not this time. He would not lose her again, especially not to the bitch in the next room.
More out of desperation than because he had a plan, Hawke hauled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. He ground his lips against hers until she allowed him entry. Then he devoured. Sweeping his tongue into her mouth over and over again, he kissed her until they were both breathless. How long it went on, he didn’t know, but finally…finally, he felt her respond. She threw her arms around his shoulders and swept her tongue over his lips and then went deep, tasting, exploring. They were lost to everything but the magic they always created when they were in each other’s arms.
Swept up in the passion and heat, Olivia let it overwhelm her, let it take her away from here, from this darkness that seemed to follow her. Hawke hadn’t allowed her to kiss him as she’d wanted to when they’d made love, hadn’t allowed her to touch him. Even through the layers of his suit jacket and shirt, she could feel the ridges of scars. Scars that he had received in an explosion she was responsible for.
She moved her hands over his back, into his hair, and then touched his face, all in an almost desperate attempt to assure herself he was here, alive. She had lived with the belief that he had been killed and had mourned him. She hadn’t known that he had come very close to being dead—because of her.
