Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

My whole body ached as regret sliced through his handsome features. I fought the urge to soothe him, but that wasn’t with words or a friendly hug. I yearned to pull him into my arms and place a deep and lingering kiss to his lips—and never stop. Maybe take him to bed…

“Bread!” I exclaimed, ducking out of his reach. “I bet you could use some. How about something to eat to soak up the alcohol?” After discarding my coffee on the counter, I rushed to my pantry-and-laundry-room combination and shut the door behind me.

Once alone, I blew a long-suffering sigh out. What in the hell was I thinking?

He was drunk and I was contemplating jumping him? A lot could happen in four years. For all I knew, the guy was married and trying to relieve his conscience.

Dear God, was this a booty call? I was no expert in the department, but wasn’t there usually some declaration of attraction or intent before said booty call took place?

I barely knew Jude—at least not the real version of the man. All I knew was the one who had been born in my imagination and brought to life through the strokes of my computer keys. But, as Jude had whispered his tortured, guilt-ridden apologies into the top of my hair, I had begun to believe they were one and the same.

The sound of the pantry door opening snapped me out of my head.

“Rhion,” he called, his tall body filling the doorway. His gorgeous, gorgeous, mouth-watering body. “You okay?”

“Um…” I trailed off.

No. No. I was not. And it must have read on my face because his fell in understanding.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I’m gonna call a cab. You—”

Now that I was faced with the idea of him leaving, my mouth, as it so often did, flipped into overdrive. “Please don’t go,” I blurted. “I’ve been wanting to see you for years.”

Only that wasn’t all I said.

Oh, no. That would have been too easy. And, if life had taught me anything, it was that the easy path did not exist for me.

For over ten minutes, I filled Jude’s ears with confessions of my own.

Like how I’d dreamed every day for years of the moment when he’d show up at my door.

And how I’d typed J-U-D-E so many times that I’d worn the letters off the keys.

And that, in the pages of my books, he was very much alive—and very much mine.

But, most importantly, I told him that, while he’d saved my life, it was the memory of him that enabled me to continue living.

I wasn’t sure there was any oxygen left in that that pantry by the time I finished talking. Not that he appeared to need any as he stood there, not breathing, propped up on the doorjamb, staring at me with wide eyes, surprise covering his face.

Yeah. So maybe talking was a bad idea. I should have let him leave.

With embarrassment overwhelming me, I spun to face my washer and cursed my overactive mouth. “I’m sorry. Maybe a cab wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I mumbled.

“You dreamed about me?” he asked in disbelief, but it didn’t come from the doorway. It came from directly behind me.

I lifted my head at the same time he slipped his hand around my waist.

“A lot,” I found myself admitting.

“Jesus,” he breathed, turning me in his arms.

I craned my head back and mentally prepared myself for his reaction.

Even still, I wasn’t prepared. His eyebrows pinched together and his lips thinned in confusion, but his eyes held the most heart-stopping display of relief I’d ever seen.

“Why?”

I shrugged. “You’re Jude.”

He stared down at me, shaking his head. “And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

But I did. So fucking badly that it hurt.

When he rocked toward me, I lifted my hands to his chest to help him keep his balance. But, when I touched him, it was as though a live circuit had finally been closed. His gaze darkened, and it flicked down to my chest.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers brushed over the marred skin on my chest, dipping low before retreating.

It probably wasn’t as much sexual as it was sad, but my nipples peaked all the same.

“These are mine,” he whispered, trailing his fingers over my scars.

Taking a step forward, he backed me to the washing machine. A wave of chill bumps washed over me, but more than just my skin became aroused.

Licking my lips, I pushed my hands higher up his pecs and to his shoulders.

He groaned in agony as I curled my fingers around the back of his neck.

“Oh, fuck, Rhion. Don’t,” rumbled in his throat as though he could barely stand the touch.

As cruel as it was, I didn’t let it stop me. If he wanted to take responsibility for my scars, I damn sure was taking it for his.

“Then these are mine,” I declared.

Faster than I thought possible in his state, his hand snaked up and caught my wrist, his eyes burning with a mixture of heat and anger. “No. Those are fucking mine, too.”

“But—” I started softly.

“No goddamn buts,” he growled. Gripping hard on my hips, he lifted me and set me on the washer.

I opened my legs, and he did not delay in fitting his hips between them.

“They’re all mine, Rhion. Every fucking one.” He teased his fingers down my chest to the orange and red tips of the burning butterfly tattoo peeking out the front of my tank top.

My breath froze in my lungs as I watched in absolute awe as he dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to the ink.

“Yes,” I breathed, linking my legs at his back for fear we’d both topple over.

“My Butterfly,” he breathed, kissing lower.

Suddenly, my mind fogged, Jude’s intoxication becoming contagious.

“More,” I pleaded, arching toward his mouth.

“So fucking beautiful.” Another kiss.

Need pooled in my stomach, and I reached up to tug the neck of my shirt down until the pink of my bra was exposed. “More.”

“Say you forgive me,” he murmured against my chest.

“Nothing to forgive,” I moaned.

He suddenly righted himself, keeping himself close with a hand on either side of me. “I—” He didn’t get it out before I finished for him.

“Saved my life.”

My heart raced as his eyes narrowed on me, but I was sick of Jude’s apologies.

We hadn’t gotten there by happenstance. Not the night of the fire. And not right then.

As a woman who had lost her entire family and had been walking through life alone for years, I didn’t believe in chance.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take advantages of the opportunities presented to me.

Leaning up, I grazed my lips across his and whispered, “No more. It’s done.”

He breathed in deep, but that was the only hesitation he gave.

With a hungry growl, he grabbed the back of my head, anchoring me in place as he began devouring my mouth. There was nothing gentle about it.

There was desperation.

Two broken souls fighting for control of a wildfire.

Our teeth clanked together, and I nearly fell off the washing machine while furiously trying to get closer, opening my legs wide enough to find friction against him.

“Fuck,” he slurred, starting to pull away.

I stopped him by ripping the front of his shirt open, buttons dinging against the metal, before I stripped his undershirt over his head.