Page 48 of Desire Me
Rae sat as still as possible, staying quiet, her head aching as memories flicked across the screen in her mind faster than she could fully comprehend—Saint with his hands tangled in her hair, holding her still for his kiss. Saint’s eyes, earnest and intense, staring into hers despite the darkness inside the car, assuring her he’d keep her safe. Saint driving while she watched him, nerves skittering in her stomach. Staring out the window of a downtown apartment at the city skyline, Saint’s arms wrapping her up tight.
And then…and then…
“You threw me on the bed.”
A smile darted across Saint’s face, softening the worry that had taken over his expression. “I did. And you laughed. I love the sound of you laughing.”
Her breath hitched at the admission. There were so many things about him that pulled at her, things she tried not to dwell on because, God, wasn’t she in enough of a mess? But hearing the wordloveon his lips? It made her yearn, and not just for sex. For Saint. For his solid presence, his teasing, his satisfaction when he watched her eat or watched her come. For the light in his eyes when he looked at his family or his friends, a light she had thought might be showing up when he looked at her too. She wanted Saint, all aspects of him. And she wanted him to want her too.
“You told me to strip for you,” she said, not even realizing she remembered the words until they escaped her.
“And you did.” His fingers brushed the curls away from her eyes. “I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”
And that’s when it hit her, the full impact of what she was seeing. “That was our first time together.”
His grip in her hair tightened for a second before he dropped his hand back to her thigh to rub up and down the length. She wasn’t sure if he was soothing her or himself. “Yes.”
With that one word, the memory blossomed in her mind, beginning to end—every touch, every sigh, every word. And there had been plenty of words. Sexy words. Drowsy words. Words that made her wish she could stay.
But she hadn’t. She’d left.
And ended up on the street, waiting to cross at a light. Seeing a van pull up. Then an explosion of pain unlike anything she’d ever known, before…nothing.
That was where the memory ended.
“That was the same night I ended up in the hospital.”
She didn’t jump out of his arms, at least not immediately. She was too dizzy from the flood of memories. Too hurt. Because one thing was clear, even if she couldn’t remember it. There was no way they had lived together. Saint was too potent, too virile to live with a woman he was interested in—and his physical reactions told her plainly that he was interested—and not have sex with her. And their first time having sex had been the night of her accident.
He’d lied.
She swung her legs off his lap. “How did we meet?” She’d never asked before, she realized. Had she not wanted to know? Or had she really been as overwhelmed as she told herself she was? Maybe she’d just wanted to believe Saint’s story, and Saint had let her.
“We met at a bar called Big Daddy’s.”
“That night?” But it wasn’t really a question.
Would Saint tell her the truth?
His lips tightened, but he finally admitted, “That night.”
The words were cautious, careful, as if he was waiting for her to blow up. Shouldn’t she? She wanted to. So why hadn’t she?
“I think you need to explain.”
So Saint did, about the bar and the barbecue, about coming over to talk to her, about taking her home. All of it in that careful voice, no emotion. Not like the man who’d told her just minutes ago, awe in his voice, how beautiful she’d been the first time he’d seen her naked.
She finally stood up, moved away from the couch, away from Saint, and began to pace.
“So you didn’t know me before that night.”
“No,” Saint said. “But—”
“Don’t.” She circled the armchair by the fireplace, down the length of the sliding glass doors. He had known her before she was hit. Why had he sought her out afterward? Why try to find her at the hospital? Why lie and take her in?
Was he somehow involved in all this? Was it just pity? She didn’t see herself as the kind of woman who would inspire enough lust for a man to chase her identity for a week with no clue where she was. Hell, lust wasn’t enough for a man to stand by an invalid for almost two weeks while she healed in a hospital bed, much less take that woman into his home afterward.
So why?
