Page 26 of Romancing the Rude Guy

For a moment I don’t understand and then I do. He’s mentioned an accident before but didn’t go into any details. And I suppose I’m finally ready to hear about that part of his life if he wants to tell me. “You weren’t born disabled,” I say softly.

That grin widens as he shakes his head. “No, but don’t worry. I was probably just as much of a jerk before. The only difference was I could walk then.”

My lips tighten and I stop swinging my legs. “That’s not funny.”

He turns away to plate up the pancakes and pour more batter into the pan for the next batch. “Sure it is,” he says over his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alice.”

He wheels over to me, and I open my legs so he can be between them. Once more, I’m looking down at him from my position on the counter. This time the difference isn’t so vast, though.

His hands land on my thighs and he gives them a squeeze. His eyes lock with mine and I meet him more than half-way, our lips brushing and then clinging.

As we kiss, the simmering desire that I’ve felt since I’ve met him bubbles fast to the surface. I think how easy it would be to head into his bedroom and continue this conversation another time. I don’t know if I’m prepared to hear about him being hurt. The thought of that hurts me.

It would be easy to put this off.

And wrong.

He lived this and to be with him, I need to know what he’s gone through. What has shaped him into the man he is.

Pulling back from the kiss, I ask softly, “What happened?”

Instead of answering, he wheels back to the stove and flips the pancakes. “These might be a lost cause, but probably nothing some butter and syrup can’t fix. Some sweetness can fix everything, right?” The smile he gives me is full of heat, and I feel a pulse between my legs.

His smile drops and as he cooks, he talks.

“My then girlfriend and I had an argument.”

I tense up, worried about where this is going. I have my past and I know he must have women in his. I’m not sure I want to hear about them, especially not if they hurt him.

“I wanted to end our relationship. She didn’t. I left.”

He gives me that crooked grin of his again. “In the hospital, and then in rehab, I spent far too long in bed staring up at the ceiling and wondering if only I wouldn’t have left and had instead stayed to talk things out how I might not be there right now.”

A forced chuckle fills the silence between us as he finishes up the pancakes. “But I didn’t stay and the drunk driver that hit me going ninety, the wrong way down the highway, also didn’t stay home. Our paths crossed and while I didn’t walk away, at least I lived. He didn’t. He had a wife and three kids. I had nobody.”

My hands slam over my mouth as I struggle with what he just disclosed.

What do you say to that? Sorry doesn’t cut it and putting the blame on a dead man does nothing.

“It was an incomplete spinal cord injury. I got damn lucky.”

Lucky? How could he call that lucky?

Blinking, I force back the tears as he rolls over to me and urges my hands down from my face.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It was six years ago. I’m still here, as healthy as I’m going to be, and dating a woman I can’t get enough of. Not a bad life at all.”

His words make me blush, as does the clear affection in his voice and gaze.

“What happened to your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he gently corrects me before grimacing. “She ran to my bedside, wanted to be all noble and ‘be here’ for me. Forget that noise. I broke up with her for a reason and that reason still held true, broken body or not.”

I’m sure there’s more to it than that. If Marcus wanted to tell me, he would have. So I let it go. The past is the past.

“Let’s eat our slightly burned pancakes,” he says.

At the dining room table, we follow his excellent suggestion and slather our pancakes with copious amounts of butter and drown them in sweet and sticky syrup.

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