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I close my eyes.Baby. That word. Out of his mouth. Addressed to me.
I’m swooning.
“That made you mad?” I ask, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You looked so mad.”
He shakes his head. “Not anger. Guilt.”
I want to ask him—oh God, do I want to—but I can’t. I don’t want to scare him off, not now that he came back, and he isn’t mad at me.
“You caught me off guard so fucking bad.” Our foreheads are touching, and he kisses me, spreading a love potion through my veins.
I pull away from him. “I broke up with him.” I wait for his reply, then add: “And don’t feel bad for me. We both know I wanted to have sex with you long before this morning.”
He’s so close to my face, his entire body aligned and pressing against mine. I want him again and again and again.
“You broke up with him?” He whispers next to my mouth,the curiosity blooming out of him. His voice when he asks me this is the sexiest thing, and I fall for him a little deeper as I nod.
His breath, his lips, his mouth. They’re actual weapons of war.
He drags me in for a kiss, a hard kiss, as both his hands palm each side of my face. I moan into him, holding on to his red tie. When he lets go of me, we stare at each other, both of us breathing deeply. He looks happy with the news, and I’m sure I have hearts all over my eyes.
“Tonight . . . stay with me.”
“Okay, Damon. Tonight.”
Two and A Half Years Ago . . .
Everything is black. Dark. Bleak.
My eyelids feel heavy. Disorientation and confusion zing through me before a sterile white room appears in sight. Even the dim light above the hospital equipment couldn’t wash away the darkness swirling through me.
I suck in a sharp, painful breath. It hurts so much I wish I could stop breathing. I hear the wheezing and realize the noise belongs to me.
With one glance ahead of me, I notice a man standing at the end of the hospital bed.
Am I dead—dying? Why else would a beautiful angel be standing with me?
Does he know my mom?
“Wat—” I clear my throat, which irritates it even more. I cough and cough and, thankfully, he gets the hint as he moves in closer to grab the glass of water on the nearby tray.
I finally see all of him as he comes to me and places the straw against my cracked lips—dark hair, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of raw chocolate.
“Easy,” a coarse voice greets me as I take a few sips. The water feels nice until I swallow. My throat is begging me to keep going while my pained chest is sending out burning signals all over the place.
Yet, through the pain, all I can focus on is the rough timbre of his voice.
And the fact that this angel was sent for me.
“W-will. ..” I force my speech through the dryness and ache. “Will you... take me to her?”
He places the water back in its original spot. “Take you to whom?”
“My mom. She’s dead.”
He shakes his head. “Then, no. You’re not dead, beautiful.”
“S-so.” I swallow. “Why aren’t I screaming... bloody murder.”
