Page 65 of Heart of a Rebel

With me.

Right where she belongs.

“I’m fine.” I roll until she’s flat on her back and I’m looking down at her beautiful face. Her cheeks etched with the kind of smile that makes art of her expression.

I might as well still be dreaming with her naked next to me. Looking like a goddess on display. Every inch of her a fantasy I never thought I’d deserve to see, to touch, to feel. I’m tempted to bury myself inside her to show her just how deep she’s got her hooks in me.

Because I’m fucking gone for this girl.

Eloise’s eyes say so much right now. They’re gentle and she’s relaxed, but the slightest pinch reveals how she’s trying to read me. And for the first time in years, there’s a vulnerability in them. She’s handing me the pieces she doesn’t hand anyone, trusting me with the part of herself that disappeared after the band became famous.

The real Eloise.

Her fingers run over my chest. Tracing me, memorizing me. They might as well be knives slicing through so she can embed herself where she belongs. Her hands send an electrical current over my skin as she blazes a path from my neck to my stomach.

“What do you dream about?” she asks.

One hand moves to the ink scattered on my arm, where I hide stories I don’t say out loud to anyone. It’s been years since I’ve added to my tattoos. Years since anything felt like it deserved a place on my skin.

But Eloise’s hand.

Her fingertips.

She might as well brand me with her touch and replace all of them with her.

“Nothing good.” I bring my hand up to her face and brush her hair away.

I roll to my side and draw her back against my chest, wrapping my arm around her.

Eloise continues to trace the designs on my arm one at a time. “Tell me.”

Burying my nose in her hair, I inhale deeply. In all the years I’ve spent with the band, my time in the military remains something I haven’t talked about. Almost as if I could bury what I don’t look at. A lie I’ve hidden behind, as evidenced by the fact that one incident was all it took to drag me back into that place in my brain.

Ever since that first rose landed on my doorstep, it was like my bones could feel danger closing in. The nightmares I’d escaped for years were back, made worse when Eloise admitted what actually happened. And now, I feel like I can’t close my eyes without seeing the demons that live in my head.

“It’s always the same.” I hold Eloise in my arms. “I see Sam off at a distance—”

“Your friend?”

Eloise is the only person in recent years I’ve talked to about Sam, not that I’ve said much. She knows enough to understand why I’ve got Sam’s dog tags, and she’s perceptive enough to probably see that I’ve never really gotten past her death.

I nod against the back of Eloise’s head. “I see her clearly, just standing there in the middle of the desert. There’s smoke, but it’s all white noise. And then I see the tank. But I can’t get to her. Not until it’s too late.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian.” Eloise squeezes my forearm with her hand.

“Except, today it changed.”

She rolls onto her back so she can look up at me. “What do you mean?”

“It was Sam.” I brush the side of her cheek with my thumb. “And then it was you.”

Eloise’s eyes pinch before they widen in understanding. “It’s not—”

“I know.” I scrub my palm over my face. “It’s not my fault.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

If only saying it and believing it was the same thing.

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