Page 35 of Sweet Heart

“I…” I blink and swallow. “I acted out, needed to feel something after we…”

I can’t even finish the sentence, but I don’t have to. Cat recoils at the words alone. Her eyes flash back to the bruises, and I can see her taking in their shapes. She slowly puts it together, and I see her jaw tense at the realization. Her throat bobs before she finally meets my eyes again, the worry replaced by something I can’t name.

“You let somebody do this?”

Her voice is low now, dangerous, almost. She curls her fingers inward slightly and swallows again. I can see her fight herself, reining herself in, and suddenly I feel my hackles rising. Those bruises wouldn’t exist if she’d spoken to me like a normal person, instead of treating me like a problem to handle.

“Yes, Doctor Durand,” I sneer, clenching my teeth. “I did.”

She tenses, and I instantly regret the low blow, but instead of backing down and telling her that, the words keep tumbling out.

“I wanted them to.”

Her eyes flash, and now her hands are balled into fists. She inhales slowly and controlled before speaking again.

“You wanted them to?” she repeats slowly, the disbelief palpable.

“Ye—”

“Why? Why would you do that?” she exclaims suddenly, her voice biting.

The lines on her face deepen as the accusation hits me in the chest, and I stumble back against the wall. Cat instantly steps forward into my space, and my breath catches behind my ribs. Her eyes bore into mine.

“Why? Why would you hurt yourself like that?”

“Why do you care?” I hurl at her, and she flinches.

She is close enough for me to see her eyes flick rapidly from left to right and to hear her breathing hitch.

“Don’t you see?”

Her accent is thick, her voice breaking on the words. We are both breathing heavily now, and I feel my body buzz. Maybe from the adrenaline, maybe because she is so fucking close to me.

I shake my head, unable to form words. The air leaves her in a low, hard gush. She reaches for me, clutching at the fabric of my top, the desperate look in her eyes shaking me to my core.

“Maria…” she protests, but it’s not enough.

“Say it.”

I don’t recognize my own voice. Not the tone, the pitch, the rhythm. But my words seem to land.

“Don’t…” Her objection is weak. There is no heat behind it.

Her breath ghosts over my skin, and I frown slightly. She is so close, but until she tells me, she also feels miles away.

Her fingers hold the fabric even tighter, and she pulls me flush against her. I gasp and go rigid when her hand comes up to cup my jaw, and I put my hands against her chest to keep her at a distance. My eyes brim. She smells like jasmine and warm summer evenings, and I want nothing more than to melt into her.

I want it so badly that my arms shake, and my breath stutters against her collarbone. Catherine inhales shakily at that but refuses to look away or step away. Her gaze only dips to my lips once, and I feel butterflies swoop through my stomach. What kind of magic is this? Why does she have such a strong pull on you?

“Please, Catherine…” I plead, my voice breaking.

“Because I’m falling for you, Maria.”

The words quickly tumble out of her, as if they are finally spilling over. Her eyebrows knit together while she searches my face, and I can feel her heart race under my fingers. But still, she lifts her hand toward my cheek and cups it.

“Because I am scared.”

The words come out clean and simple. There is no hesitation, not a shred of shame. Just the truth.