And never, ever slam a door. You never know what your future might hold.”
“Easier said than done. You’re not wanted in over fifteen first-world countries.”
Her lips press into a thin line and I think she actually winces. “Ah, yeah. I’ve got nothing to follow that.” Snip. “So, tell me. How flashy does this dress need to be?”
“I’m not up for sporting my new scar but the rest of my skin is fair game.”
“This is so exciting.” She grins and tugs. “There. You’re a stitch-free woman. Promise you’ll take it easy.”
I look down at the ugly pink, puckered keepsake I’ll always have.
Complicated doesn’t do our situation justice.
“Come on.” Gracie takes my hand and helps me up. “Let’s get you more wine so you’ll tell me the rest of your secrets.”
Chapter 11
Checkmate
Cole
“Come on,” I demand, pulling her up. Never in my life would I think I’d want to work so hard to get Bella out of my bed once I finally got her in it. “Tonight you’re joining the living. I can’t take you lying there any longer unless I’m next to you.”
“I drank a lot of wine today and I’m exhausted. I’ve not had a lick of the bottle in months,” she complains.
When I got home, Gracie was on her way out. She’d been here most of the day. There was an empty bottle of wine sitting next to a basket big enough to hold basketballs for a bitty ball team. I’m pretty sure a cocktail party had exploded all over my kitchen.
When I get her vertical, I swing her around and sit so she’s standing in front of me. “Why do you get to sit? I’m the one recovering from surgery and a bottle of wine.”
I reach for the hem of her shirt but she grabs my hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I look up. “Gracie cut out your stitches. I want to see your wound since we can’t risk taking you for a follow up.”
“I’m fine. It itches but all healing wounds do.”
“I want to see for myself.”
“Gracie said I’m textbook perfection and could start doing whatever I want. She’s the medical professional, not you.”
I grab her hips and pull her between my legs. “I know for a fact that’s a lie since she told me on her way out to make sure you don’t overdo it because she had a feeling you already were.”
She narrows her eyes. Eyes that are buzzed and sexy as fuck right now. “I know my body and what it can do, Cole.”
I run my hands down the sides of her thighs and lower my voice. “Sweetness, I was the one who sat next to you in ICU waiting to see if you were going to live or die. You were doped up but it seems you need a reminder that I was the one talking to the doctors, managing your identity, and making sure no one knew you were here. And as far as your body goes, I’ll bet your fat, off-shore bank account I know it better than you.”
Her full lips that I’ve yet to taste again press into a thin line.
“Yeah,” I stress. “It was mine first and I’m claiming this body again. You know I’d wrestle you to the floor—I’ve done it more than once—but that’s not in the cards right now. I’m not asking you to spread your legs for me, I want to see your incision.”
“Oh, for the love.” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and leaves them there while yanking her shirt up to her tits. “There. Happy?”
When I lower my eyes, her scar is glaring at me—pink, puckered, and angry as an aggravated snake. I saw it when it was fresh and new, before she was alert enough to be annoyed by my presence in the hospital. The swelling is down and her sweatpants hang low on her hips. She’s always had lean, cut muscles but this is different. She’s too thin and too weak—not the force I crashed and burned for years ago.
And I fucking hate it.
When I brush my thumb over the irate wound that has disfigured the one person in this world I can’t shake, her tone hits me hard. “Scarred, marred, and ugly, I know.”
When I look up, her blues are as sharp and cold as deep-frozen crystals, cutting through the short distance to mine.
“Scarred and marred, yes,” I agree and can’t stop my fingers from biting into her boney hips. “But never ugly.”