Page 56 of Filthy Lovin Heroes

“Go to hell, Aron!” Despite her tears, her voice is strong and steady.

Well, that answered that.

“I know what you’re trying to do. But it didn’t work. You didn’t make me afraid of you. Or want you any less.” She tugs at the sides of the robe, locking away her beauty. Her chest shudders with heavy breaths. When she looks at me again, fury and rage replace every ounce of passion once flushing those cheeks a pretty red.

“But you’ll get your wish. I’ll never bother you again. You see, I’m old enough to know what I want, and I want you. You don’t believe me. You think it’s only puppy love or infatuation, well, that’s not my problem now is it. But don’t worry you’ll never see me again, because I hate you, Aron. Now and forever.”

Tears stream down her face as she turns and flees the room.

And that was the last time I saw Willow Pierce, the woman who’d somehow stolen my heart and soul with her heartbroken, tear-stained face and scathing promise.

Until tonight.

Two

Willow, Present Day

Ihave a bad case of the trembles. I know the second Aron walks up behind me and I can’t keep the tremor of nerves from attacking me in full force. I don’t need to turn around to check if he’s there.

I just know. I can feel him like I can feel the warmth of sunlight on my face in the summer. And the cold biting winds of winter. You see the devilishly handsome doctor is both for me. Warmth and cold. Love and hate.

I swallow.

My fingers grip the edge of the bed I’m perched on, the room tilting a little to the right, as the nurse cleans the last of the scrapes along my bare arms. The cops have come and gone with their report, leaving me with no false hope of ever recovering my laptop bag and wallet. Lucky for me I stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket after paying for lunch. Tomorrow will be a nightmare to face when I show up for dress rehearsal all cut up. Pretty in Pink? HA! Try fugly in black and blue.

“Willow.”

Husky and deep. Strong fingers caress over my bare hip where my shirt has ridden up to expose unblemished skin.

God, I’ve longed to hear him say my name again, to feel his hands on my body. When I arrived at the emergency room and they brought me back I wished it had been him to undress me and check over my body. His hands on my skin tenderly cleaning my scrapes. Maybe kiss away the pain of where I fell on my ass thanks to my mugger.

But no dice. Technically, I knew the chances were zilch of that ever happening, but my brain liked the fantasy despite reality.

“I’ll take it from here, nurse.”

Tingles wash down my spine and I fight a shiver. Fully clothed, I can’t claim it’s the cool air of the hospital.

The nurse flashes a puzzled look over my shoulder but stands to move. “Yes, doctor.”

I watch as the nurse disappears on the other side of the curtain blocking out the rest of the staff and other patients.

“Aron.” I squeak out to my utter embarrassment. Where’s a pile of sand to bury your head when a girl needs it? Of all my body parts, it is my voice box that betrays me the one time I wish to sound strong.

Blinking up at him, all the snide smart remarks I dreamed up telling him one day dissolve in a vapor of uncertainty. Sure, I might still hold a grudge at how we left things, but the man thought he was doing me a favor. I can’t hate him for that as hard as I try.

And none of that changes one fact. Our two years apart did nothing but make him intensely sexier. Gorgeous even. Like wet my panties in three-point-five seconds kind of hot.

He towers over me, those broad shoulders of his filling out the white doctor’s coat with his name stitched across the left pec. Mmm...taut and well-formed if memory serves and it does. Trust me on that.

Dark hair and darker eyes make up the complete package of Doctor Hottie. He lifts my hand in his powerful one, examines the scrapes across my palm in silence, then moves to the next. Rinse repeat with the rest of my body all without saying a word. Not even a hello, damn him. Just a few grunts and I swear a growl or two at the bruises appearing on my chin from where my mugger took a pop shot at me when at first I refused to give up my bag.

I chew at my lip. I probably shouldn’t have come. It’s not like I won’t live with my minimal injuries. More hurt pride than anything.

It felt wrong in so many ways, but when he steps into my personal space I don’t hesitate in spreading my legs for him to come closer.

And then he does.

He leans in until our chests are nearly touching and his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I gasp, ready for I don’t know what, but my bandaged hands come up and grip the sides of his coat.

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