Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

But he doesn’t. “What does it mean?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “Please talk to me, Kacey.”

“You said I didn’t have to.” My voice turns bitter. Trent has effectively tossed a bucket of ice water over my body, dousing the heat from a moment ago.

His hand leaves my leg to rub his forehead. “I know. I know I did say that. I’m sorry. I just want you to trust me, Kace.”

“It has nothing to do with trust.”

“What does it have to do with then?”

I stare up at the ceiling. “The past. Stuff I don’t want to talk about. Stuff you promised me we wouldn’t have to talk about.”

His hand finds its way back to my thigh, his eyes focused on it as he gently squeezes. “I know I said that, but I need to know you’re okay, Kacey.” There’s a twinge of something in his voice that I can’t quite identify. Worry? Fear? What is it?

“What, are you afraid you’ll wake up duct taped to your mattress?”

“No.” I catch a hint of anger in Trent’s voice. The first, ever. It vanishes with the softness in his next words. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” The air in the room grows somber as Trent lifts his eyes to my face and I see they’re full of grief. He leans over enough that he can reach my cheek, brushing a thumb against it.

His words—or more his tone and the pain in his eyes—stirs a need to ease whatever is upsetting him.

I want to make Trent happy.

And I realize that I want him to know me. All of me.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly going bone dry. “I was in a bad car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver hit my dad’s car. The right side of my body was crushed. I have dozens of steal pins and rods through my body, holding me together.” Physically. Nothing but ten tiny breaths holds the rest of me together.

Trent exhales loudly, falling back into the couch. “Did anyone die?”

“Yeah,” I manage to say. A sudden explosion of panic inside curls my tongue, preventing me from saying more. My hands start trembling uncontrollably. Too much, too soon, my psyche is saying.

“Wow, Kacey. That’s … that’s …” His hand smooths over the length of my leg again however it’s lost that intimate feel. Now, it’s comforting. I don’t want comforting. Nothing he can do will comfort me.

“Kiss me,” I demand, glaring at him.

Disbelief widens his eyes. “What?”

“I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what I want.” He doesn’t move. He just stares at me like I’ve set myself on fire. I seize his bicep and squeeze tightly, using it as leverage to pull my body up and onto his, shifting one leg over a stunned Trent’s lap to straddle him. “Kiss me. Now,” I growl. His jaw clenches and I know my persistence is wearing on him. It’s only more obvious a second later when he squeezes his lids shut. “Trent—”

He hunches forward, his head slumping into my shoulder. “You know it’s taking every ounce of me to keep in control, right?”

“Don’t. Forget control. You don’t need it,” I whisper into his ear.

He groans, flopping back. “You’re making this so hard, Kacey,” he murmurs, a pained look on his face.

With my hands on the back of Trent’s broad shoulders, I shimmy forward until I’m right on him, feeling his need for me so acutely. I lean in and let my lips brush over Trent’s neck. “What exactly am I making hard, Trent?” My voice is breathless, an intentional move to entice him.

It works.

Trent’s hands grab me from behind as he pulls my body flush against his, his mouth devouring mine with a new level of hunger. He forces my mouth open and his tongue slides in, entwining with mine. Gripping the back of my head with one hand, he pushes my mouth closer against his.

I’m no less forceful, my hands fisting piles of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, sliding them through eyelets to expose a smooth hard chest as I edge myself closer. His hands push at the bottom of my dress and find their way underneath to clutch my bare hips. I release a small gasp as his fingers skate up and around my thighs to my pelvic bone, fitting under the elastic of my thong and sliding forward and down.

I’m sure this entire ‘going slow’ plan of his is effectively quashed, but then his finger grazes the ridge of another scar and his hand freezes. His lips break free of mine and he pushes my body to the edge of his lap.

“I can’t.”

“You already are,” I mumble, grappling with hands so I can resume my position against him.

But it’s too late. He’s already ducking his head, looping his arms around my legs to lift and reposition me, pulling me to him in a protective embrace. We stay silent for a long moment, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. “I’d fix it all for you if I could. You know that, right?” He whispers. I wonder if he’s talking about my scars or the last four years of my life.

“Yes,” is all I say. Yes to all of it.





Chapter Eleven





I wake up to silver curtains and an early dawn sky peeking in. I’m in Storm’s bed, still wearing my dress. Rolling over, I find Trent laying on his back, bare-chested and in boxers, sound asleep. One arm is tossed over his head while the other rests across his torso. I guess I fell asleep on him last night and he carried me in here.

There’s just enough light that I can study Trent’s body unabashed and see that it is as gorgeous as I expected. It’s long and muscular and flawless, with just a thin line of dark hair trailing down a sculpted abdomen. A tiny silver line along his collar bone catches my eye. It’s so faint and narrow that I never saw it before. Peering closer, I look for stitch marks to identify it as a surgical scar, but I don’t see any.

“See something you like?” Trent’s low teasing voice startles me and I jump. Grinning, I look up to see a sexy, crooked smile. His mood has switched back to playful.

“Not really,” I murmur, but my cheeks flush, giving me away.

His hand cups my face. “You blush a lot. I’d never have taken you for the blushing kind.” After a pause, he offers, “go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

I feel my eyebrow arch. “Carte blanche?”

His other arm stretches back to nestle under his head. “Like I said …”

I decide that Trent really doesn’t get the meaning of taking it slow, but I’m not going to argue. “Okay.” An idea strikes me. Curiosity, actually. “Roll over.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he obliges, smoothly flipping over so I can admire the ripples in his back, his broad strong shoulder, and the span of script that stretches from blade to blade.

My finger trails it softly, spiking goose bumps across his skin. “What does it mean?”

He starts to answer, but then he pauses, like he’s hesitant about telling me. That makes me want to know a hundred times more. I wait quietly, tracing it back and forth with my fingernail. “Ignoscentia. It’s Latin,” he finally whispers.

“What does it mean?”

“Why do you have five ravens on your leg?” he throws back at me, a rare hint of annoyance in his tone.

Dammit. Of course he’d ask that. I’d do the same if I were him. I bite my bottom lip as I weigh my options. Do I shut him down again or do I give him a bit to get a bit? My interest in Trent outweighs my need to keep everything hidden.

“They’re for all the important people in my life who I’ve lost,” I finally whisper, hoping to God he doesn’t ask me to name them. I don’t want to name the one that represents me.

I hear his sharp intake of breath. “Forgiveness.”

“What?” That word hits me like a punch to the chest. Just the sound of it—so impossible—leaves me nauseous. How many times had the counselors pushed me to forgive those guys for killing my family?

“My ink. That’s what it says.”

“Oh.” I exhale slowly, my fists balling up to stop my hands from trembling. “Why do you have that on your back?”