He shakes his head, his eyes falling shut as if he’s trying to reject the memory.
“Then it happened again with Francesca,” he continues in a pained yet resigned voice. “She was shot in the chest but didn’t die straight away. When I got to her she still had a chance, but I didn’t have the confidence or the tools to treat her. By the time I’d carried her to safety, she’d died.”
I have no words. Recounting these stories to me is clearly tearing him apart. He looks… broken.
“I vowed I would never let anyone I loved die on my watch ever again. So, what I do is… practice.”
I wipe the tears from my face and take a deep breath.
His shoulders relax slightly and he leans back against the console. His eyes are dark but burning with a slight glimmer beneath lowered lids.
“I’ve practiced almost every day for the last ten years. I can pretty much fix anyone.”
He looks back at me as I stand over the other side of the room, a total mess in my long t-shirt, boots and coat. Red, tear-stained cheeks and bed hair.
“But why now? Why did you ask your man to come all the way up here? You’ll be back in New York in four days.”
“I couldn’t wait that long.”
My skin prickles with something unseen. A chemical tension in the air. “Why?”
“I needed to let off some steam.”
“Because of the meetings? The deal?”
He shakes his head, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “No, Erin, not because of the deal.”
I wait, breath holding fast in my lungs.
“Because of you.”
And there it is. An absolute whack of realization that August sees me as something else. Not just a fake wife.
My voice is barely there, just a whisper of lust. “Because of me?”
“Yes.”
He remains still, leaning back against that console, one foot crossed over the other, solid nonchalance if there ever was such a thing.
His threat to make me come so hard I forget my own name feels like less of a threat in this moment and more of a promise.
“Why?” The word comes out as a breath of air.
He watches me for a moment, making my knees weaken under his gaze. Then he pushes himself off the console, his hands still in his pockets, and saunters toward me, only stopping when his chest hits mine. A finger comes up under my chin, tilting my eyes to his.
Amber and moss, swirling darkly, hiding depths I haven’t even scratched the surface of.
“Because I’m mad for you,” he says quietly.
My heart thumps dangerously hard.
He continues in a low, husky timber. “Because I think about you when I shouldn’t. In boardrooms. In cars. In beds that aren’t empty.”
His thumb brushes once along my jaw. “And because every time you look at me like that, I forget why I needed this arrangement to be fake.”
My pulse is rioting. “August…”
“Erin,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts over my lips. “This isn’t about the deal we made. This is something else.”
