Bastard.
Of course it’s him. He let himself into my family home all those years ago. I don’t know what he did in the army. For all I know, that could have been another one of his lies. He probably wasn’t even in the army. But he makes breaking and entering look like an art form.
Storming down the stairs, I set the wine on the console table and rifle through my flight attendant jacket pocket and find the card he gave me. My nail chips as I tap the numbers into my phone with force, but my nails are the least of my worries.
His smarmy voice answers on the second ring. “Missing me already?”
“Go to hell.”
“I’ve been there before. I’d rather not go back.”
“Well, you can get your arse round here and clean up the mess you’ve made.”
“Mess?”
“The flowers you left are all over my kitchen table. And take your flippin’ shoes off the next time you break into my house. I have dirt all over my floor.”
He laughs down the handset. “You said you liked it when I left you flowers.”
“That was before I knew you were a lying piece of shitwho was using me for intel. I don’t know what you’re after now. But I don’t have any information for you. I left all that behind when I changed my name.”
“You might not have any intel on your family, but you do have something I want.”
My throat closes up as if I can’t breathe. My fingers curl around my neck, remembering his hand there, and I stare at the photograph of my son on the console in the hall. “What do you want, D’Angelo?”
“You.” He growls down the phone. “I want to make you pay for what you did. I want you to remember who you belong to. Who owns your orgasm. I want you on your knees begging for my cock like you were that first time.”
“You’re more delusional than I thought if you think that’s ever going to happen.” With a trembling finger, I cancel the call, march into the dining room, and gather the bunch of roses in my hand. Thorns prick my skin, but I welcome the pain and clench my fist tighter around the stems. The sharp edges sting my palm, but it’s nothing compared to the dull ache that lives in my chest after what he did to me. It’s easier to stay angry when I don’t have to drown in those silvery, grey-blue eyes that reflect memories I’ve fought to forget. Our painful past keeps rising to the surface, no matter how many times I try to bury it.
I crank my front door handle down, yank it open and step back as Dan’s tall frame blocks out the sun. My knees weaken, threatening to buckle underneath me as his heated eyes stare down at the roses gripped in my hand.
“Get the hell off of my property.” I throw the flowers at him, but they just hit his chest and fall to the ground.
He doesn’t flinch, as if they’re invisible. His eyes glued to mine. “You’re hurt.”
“No Dan. I’m just pissed that you have the audacity to think you can show up in my life, break into my house, andleave me fucking flowers as if the last thirteen years never happened.”
He enters my hallway, stepping over the roses and flattening a stray one on the welcome mat underneath his polished shoe.
I stand frozen, my jaw lax at the nerve of him. I was that pink rose under his shoe. He thought he could just walk all over me. Well, not anymore. “Get out.” With the fury burning up inside me, I expect smoke to come out my nostrils, I’m breathing so hard.
He steps closer, trespassing into my home just like he trespassed his way into my heart another lifetime ago. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
I clench my fists, another heavy breath leaves my lungs. “It’s you who’s making me like this.” My fist flies at his chest but his arm swoops in to block me and he grabs my wrist. He’s close. Too close. His scent overpowering, making me dizzy.
“Rose. You’re hurt.” He holds my wrist in his hand as he shuts the door behind him. Having him close like this messes with my head and weakens my resolve. It’s as if my body remembers his touch, the way he made my body sing, but my head knows he played me like a fiddle and I fell for every single one of his tricks.
My heart splutters in my chest as if it’s weeping. Red pools around my wrist where Dan holds me. It’s like my body’s weeping for him still, but I won’t allow him to take advantage of me for a second time. More blood trickles from my clenched fist. My head is light and I realise I haven’t eaten today.
“Rose?” His voice sounds far away, his face fades.
I’m weightless, floating on a cloud, the familiar scent of his cologne, woody like the Italian stone pines, transporting me back to the night he made love to me. It’s as if I can still feel those strong arms wrapped around me, his breath on myneck. No matter how many times I tried to erase the memory of him, he wouldn’t go, like a stubborn stain left on my mind that I’ve had to live with.
His hands are warm and yet so strong, but gentle.
My eyelids flutter open, his face coming into view as he hovers above me. If it wasn’t for the lines around his eyes, I’d swear I was eighteen again.
He wipes a warm flannel across my forehead and down my cheek. “Hi,” he says with a wrinkle on his brow.
