Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

“Fantastic. Care to fill me in about what that conversation entailed?”

It must have been one hell of a chat if it had ended with her half naked in my arms. I refused to believe that alcohol could magically transform her from the woman who haunted my dreams to someone who could set me ablaze from across the room. However, as my gaze drifted down to her breasts, it seemed it had.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she whispered, “Jude.”

I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel that one syllable drift over my skin as if she’d breathed it against my neck in the throes of passion.

For all I knew, maybe she had.

My frustration grew. “What. Happened?”

Her eyes popped open as she exclaimed, “Nothing!”

But “nothing” didn’t explain why I knew what the curve of her hip felt like as I glided my hands up her sides and over her breasts. Or, worse, why, as I stared down at her sleep-mussed, blond hair, makeup-free face, and her body in nothing but a white tank top and a pair of light-pink shorts, I longed to feel it again.

Actually, maybe nothing was right. Because not one thing she could say would explain that.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “Rhion, sweetheart, I’m going to be blunt here. I know what it feels like to have you riding me. I’m gonna say that’s a hellova lot more than nothing.”

Yeah, okay, it had been really blunt, but I’d woken up in a world that didn’t make sense and she held all the answers. That all-too-familiar guilt settled in my stomach when her head jerked back as if I’d slapped her.

“I did not ride you,” she whispered, the pain thick in her voice.

I barked a cringe-worthy laugh. “Yeah, you did. Maybe not my cock. But you were definitely straddling me. I remember that much. All I’m asking is that you tell me how we got there, because whatever went down last night was definitely a mistake.”

“A mistake,” she whispered in disbelief.

Her whole body jolted, but she held her ground as I stalked toward her.

I pretended that the hurt in her eyes didn’t shred me.

“What did I say to you?” I asked.

Her face crumbled, but she covered it with an agonizing smile. “You said you were sorry.”

Phew. Okay. At least I’d pre-apologized before feeling her up. Fucking hell.

“I am,” I swore. “I’m so goddamn sorry. For the fire. For last night. For everything. I never should have come here. I never should have touched you like that.” Though, if memory serves me correctly—which it fucking isn’t—it appeared you liked it quite a bit. “I’d spent the whole night drowning myself in a bottle of Jack while trying to forget the nightmare of meeting you. I wasn’t in my right mind.” I fisted my hands on my hips—mainly to combat the urge to keep from dragging her into my arms and pulling the memory of her soft skin on mine into the present and out of the foggy past. Why did I suddenly want that from her?

She stumbled back a step, throwing her hand out to catch herself on the counter. “The nightmare of meeting me?” she breathed.

A knot formed in my throat as regret clawed its way up. “I didn’t mean—”

“Get out,” she whispered.

I should have gotten out the moment I’d woken up, but for reasons I couldn’t explain or understand, I had no desire to leave her.

She stared at me for several seconds, tears welling in her eyes with every blink.

I once again pretended like it wasn’t destroying me.

“You need to leave. Now,” she said forcefully.

Suddenly, a man’s voice joined the conversation. “You’re done here, Levitt. She asked you to leave.”

I spun and found Devon standing in her entryway. What the hell was he doing there? Were they tight? He’d been at the bar last night. But I’d thought she was with Johnson. It had sure seemed that way on the elevator up to her apartment.

“Fuck. Me,” I groaned when that reality bitch-slapped me.

She was my boss’s woman. The one who already hated me. It was safe to assume trailing my tongue up her cleavage was going to earn me a pink slip.

Out-fucking-standing.

My head was pounding. I was dehydrated. In desperate need of more coffee—and possibly the removal of whatever part of my brain controlled my impulses. Rhion wasn’t going to tell me anything about the night before, and maybe that was best for both of us. Less memories to forget.

“Great idea,” I grumbled, heading toward the door.

Her bare feet padded against the wood floor as she followed behind me.

Devon glowered at me as I passed him and headed straight to the elevator.

“You good?” he asked her, but I didn’t hear her reply.

I also didn’t get on the elevator because, as I patted down my pockets, I remembered that my phone and my wallet were on the nightstand in her fucking ridiculous—but somehow quirky and charming—ocean room.

I groaned and dropped my head back between my shoulders to stare up at the concrete ceiling of the breezeway before calling out, “I need my stuff off the nightstand.”

“I’ll get it,” she answered, her voice breaking at the end.

It broke me too.

Jesus. How in the hell was this happening? It seemed liquor and Rhion Park didn’t mix well for me. Due to this magical concoction brewed in Hell, I’d once again hurt her.

Yeah, jackass. Now, she wears the scars of your fuck-ups both inside and out.

“You know Johnson’s going to destroy your life for this,” Devon said behind me.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I shot back in defeat, “Too late. His girlfriend back there ruined my life years ago.”

I heard her gasp, and there was no way to pretend that it didn’t crash down on me like a million shards of glass.

I spun around, pissed off at the entire world, but mostly at myself. She didn’t deserve my bullshit. Yet, as tears pooled in her blue eyes, her chin quivering as she fiercely struggled to keep them in, I knew I’d given it to her.

And it had cut her deep.

That knowledge slayed me.

“Rhion.” I started to apologize, but I didn’t know where to go from there. My list was growing by the minute.

With shaky hands, she passed my stuff off to Devon. Then her teary gaze made it back to mine, the hollowness inside serving as a weapon of its own. “You know, Jude. My version of you was a hell of a lot better than the real one.”

“Your version?” I asked.

She didn’t reply. She simply turned to Devon, gave his arm a squeeze, and walked back inside her apartment.

“Butterfly,” I whispered as I lost her behind a closed door.

Again.





Brianna: No fucking way! Jude Levitt. In the smoking-hot flesh. Was in your apartment?