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“You heard me. Stay. Stay longer.”
“You serious?”
“Hell, yeah. Why not?
I shake my head. It might be nice, to hide from the real world a little longer. To explore Storm’s body and mind. Crack the Storm codex.
But… “I still don’t know you, and you still don’t know me.”
His brows draw together, and his jaw clenches. “To hell with that. What more do you need to know? I’m not a serial killer, Ray. I won’t hurt you. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t think you have, either.”
“And you know that, how?” I pull on my panties, my shorts, and spot my bra by the coffee table. I put my arms through the straps and clasp it at my back. I walk around the bed and lift my blouse from its foot.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a sigh. “What else do you need to know? Just tell me.”
I close my eyes, torn. It isn’t you, I think, and the urge to laugh like a crazy person grips me. It’s not you, it’s me.
He swings his legs off the bed, and I do my best not to stare at his body and his cock, now lying semi-hard against his strong thigh. “So you’re really leaving. You won’t give this a chance.”
I pull the blouse over my head and tug it down. “I can’t.” I need to put some space between us. His proximity is wreaking havoc with my mind, my attraction to him drowning out logic and caution. “I just can’t.”
He stands up quickly. “Ray—” He slams a hand into
the wall to steady himself, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Fuck.”
Holy shit. I sprint to his side and put a hand on his arm, steadying him, taking in his pale face. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. “It’s my leg.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I try to look down, but he grabs my waist and drags me against his tall body. “Tell me.”
“Car accident,” he whispers, his mouth on my hair. “Drunk driver slammed into us.”
“What happened?”
“Broke my leg.” He draws a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “And damaged my spleen.”
The surgical scar on his side.
Christ. “When was that?”
“Four months ago.” He curses softly, his body tensing. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?”
“Because I asked?” Four months. My heart is racing. Get a grip, Ray. It was months ago, and he’s mostly fine now. “And the older scar?”
“Knife wound. Got caught in a bar fight last year.”
“Sounds like a lot of bad luck.”
“Doesn’t it?” He shift his weight and mutters a curse under his breath.
“Need to sit down?”
This time he releases me. “I’m fine.”
“But you’re in pain.”
“I said I’m fine.”
