Page 29 of Live for Me

My eyes dropped down from the top of the cowboy hat I wasvery familiarwith to the owner’s eyes.

The most gorgeous blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Celebrities had nothing on these eyes.

The summer sky had nothing on these eyes.

The ocean had nothing on these eyes.

They were the most gorgeous work of art the universe had ever created, and, being an artist, I longed to color match that particular blue. It had been over a decade and I still hadn’t made the right shade; no blue in the universe would compare to Beau Marks’ hue.

Time stopped, giving me a second to take in the rest of his face, from his sun-kissed skin to his straight nose, sharp jaw, the blond scruff dusting it, to his lips. Lips I wasway too familiar with. A lump formed in my throat as my heart raced, running as if she was running back to him, and I could feel my depressed soul perk up at the sight of him.

He was drenched, drops of a rain falling from the brim of his hat.

My lips parted as he moved, taking a single step, ready to close the distance between us. Instinctively, I took a step back.

“Beau,” I breathed, my eyes not leaving his as he took another step, forcing me to retreat further back into the foyer.

His jaw jumped three times as he continued advancing me slowly, like a predator. It wasn’t until my back was pressed against the door of the coat closet and he was only an inch from me that tears prickled my eyes, the sting of them reminding me of the endless pain that flowed between us.

The rain outside came down harder, and a flash of lightening illuminated Beau’s face, showing me emotions I was certain I didn’t deserve to see swirling in those blue eyes. A clap of thunder followed after, and I jumped, reaching for the doorknob of the closet, panic rising up inside me.

I hated storms, but I loved the rain.

That was the twisted thing about this universe; you couldn’t have the good without the bad. I fell in love with the rain as a young girl and quickly realized that not all rain was your friend.

Another flash of lightening came then, followed by more thunder, and I closed my eyes, thinking of sunshine and warmth as my breaths morphed into pants. A second later, I felt the heat of his body disappear and heard the door slam.

My shoulders sagged.

He left.

He saw the mess I was and left.

Not that I could blame him.

I counted to ten four times as the lightning and thunder lessoned.

When the only thing I could hear was the soft rainfall, I opened my eyes and lifted my head.

A scream came from my throat as my hand shot to my chest when I found the cowboy leaning against my front door, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed, his jaw still unbelievably tight with anger. None of those things made him any less beautiful.

No, not Beau.

He was the most beautiful man in the world and if, by some twisted sense of fate, the whole world got to see his beauty, I would die of jealousy.

I didn’t know which was worse.

Him being in my home after six years or me realizing that, after said six years, I was still hopelessly, desperately, painfully in love with him.

“Beau,” I whispered, his name coming out as a plea.

A plea for mercy.

A plea for forgiveness.

A plea for redemption.

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