Broken Course (6 page)

"IT’S ONLY ten," Leo announces when we walk into his apartment.

His big-ass, expensive, downtown-Chicago apartment. I have a sudden urge to call Emma just to tell her that Leo is apparently, in fact, loaded.

"Wow. This place is gorgeous," I gasp as we walk inside.

"Thanks," he replies, tossing his keys into the bowl next to the door. "You want a drink?" he asks before remembering that I don’t
drink
. "Pop, water, juice…anything?" he corrects.

"You know, I’ve lived here for almost fifteen years, but I can’t ever get used to y’all calling it ‘pop,’" I laugh.

He groans, turning toward the fridge. "Y’all," is all he says in reply, as if that is clearly the explanation of his groan.

"I’ve adapted to most things about living in the Chicago. Y’all is not one of those things. I’m taking that one to the grave." I toss him a smile, but it does nothing to match his bright glow.

Damn it. Leo James is officially blinding too.

"So. Drink?" he asks, trying to divert my obvious stare.

"No. I really should get going," I answer while holding his gaze, but my confidence falters when his lips lift in a devilish grin.

"No. You shouldn’t," he corrects while peeling off his button-down to reveal an even tighter, white undershirt.

"I…" I stumble.
Hard.

Who the hell is this guy? I’m a smartass. It’s kind of my thing, but he gives me nothing. He doesn’t set himself up for my sarcastic comments. He’s always one step ahead. And in this moment, taking off his shirt is that step.

He does things to me, but none I’m willing to admit yet.

Until he touches me.

He stops in front of me. His smile is gone, but there’s a definite heat in his eyes. Holding a bottle of water in one hand, he reaches forward with the other and brushes the hair off my shoulder, exposing my neck. It’s a gentle touch, but no less sensual. His fingers linger on my collarbone, causing chills to prickle my skin. I hold his eyes, fully expecting him to lean in for a kiss, but Leo doesn’t move an inch.

"Stay for a little while? I’ll take you home in an hour or so." His tries to whisper but it comes out gravelly—and panty-drenchingly sexy.

"Okay," I answer immediately. I never even had a fighting chance to decline.

"Good," he replies with a smirk. He holds my gaze as his hand travels down my arm before moving to my hip. Then he gives me a quick squeeze before releasing me to walk to the couch.

I stare into space, dazed by what just happened. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in way over my head. I should have gone on a test date with a balding accountant to brush up on my skills before stepping into the ring with this man. Leo is going to eat me for dinner and spit me out when he’s done, but I can’t even bring myself to care right now. He’s barely even touched me, yet I swear I have been hypnotized.

Leo is that fucking good.

"Sarah," he calls from the large, leather sofa.

I snap out of my trance and move to sit on the end farthest away from him, but he pointedly clears his throat just before I sit down. His arm is slung over the back of the couch, and his eyes flash from mine to the cushion beside him, making it clear where I’m supposed to be seated. Though I’m not completely sure I want to give him the opportunity to touch me again, I can’t even lie to myself. I immediately slide over to underneath his arm, thrilled by the idea of touching
him
again.

Leo flips on the large flat-screen mounted over the fireplace. He doesn’t say a word, but his body is relaxed as he drops his arm around my shoulders. It’s a far cry from my tense posture, but it’s infectious. My nerves calm as he begins drawing circles on my shoulder with his fingertips.

We must sit like that for at least half an hour. He finds some silly reality dating show and we simultaneously start making fun of the contestants. He seems to have the same sarcastic sense of humor I do, and just when I thought he was maxed on out the sexy scale, Leo becomes sexier.

"What the hell is wrong with her? She has known him for, like, ten minutes and she’s already sobbing that he didn’t pick her. She’s cute. Can’t she meet guys at a bar where she could get drunk and embarrass herself in private?" I ask while we watch the woman melt down on the TV.

"She might be cute, but she has crazy eyes. Any guy in a fifty-foot radius could tell she is crazy as all hell. The kind that would light your clothes on fire for picking her up five minutes late," he answers, and my body immediately goes stiff.

In other words, me.

He must feel me tense because he gives me a strangely reassuring squeeze and changes the subject. It’s confusing, but I’m so appreciative that I don’t bother to question it.

"Do you like sports?" He flips the TV to ESPN and I can’t help but laugh.

"Um, no." I look up to find him watching me intently. His brown eyes render me unable to look away.

"Good," he responds as his eyes flash to my mouth. "Then I’ll leave it on this channel." He whispers his lips across mine. Then he leans away to catch my eyes, seemingly to gauge my reaction to his advance, but I give him nothing. My expression is blank. It’s not a façade. I don’t know how I feel about it, but his eyes draw me in.

However, a sharp pain in my stomach stops me in my tracks.

"Oh my God! I’m going to puke!" I jump off the couch and sprint to the bathroom.

"Well, that’s new." He follows me to the door, which I didn’t bother shutting in my race to the porcelain.

I violently expel the contents of my stomach into the toilet, only vaguely aware that Leo is in the room. I would love to be embarrassed, but my stomach is knotting to the point where I’m not sure I will survive.
Leo who?

"I’m sorry," I manage to say between the heaves. I know he’s somewhere in the vicinity. He’s not touching me, but I can feel his presence.

"Oh shit," he groans as I hear his footsteps stumble from the bathroom.
Well, okay then.

For what seems like seven years—maybe longer—I sit, dying on his bathroom floor. I have absolutely no grasp of time, nor can I move. I can’t even bring myself to be embarrassed that I’m puking in the lavish bathroom of a man I barely even know. All I know is that I need to start praying. I may not be a religious woman, but if I ever needed the Lord, it would be now.

"Sarah!" I hear Leo’s gravelly voice shout from somewhere in the distance. But if he is expecting me to come to him, he might as well be in Antarctica.

"Yeah," I barely squeak out with my head resting on the toilet seat. And just when I thought I couldn’t get any more desirable to a man, I’m hugging his toilet.

"Are you okay?" he asks with concern filling his voice, but the sound of him throwing up rings through the air.

"No," I answer honestly.

"Me either," he responds before throwing up again.

I’m assuming he’s in another bathroom down the hall, but another pain hits my stomach in epic proportions.

"I think we have food poisoning," he growls.

"I hate you," I say to my stomach, the toilet, and Leo all at exactly the same time, but none of them answer.

Fifteen years later, I fall asleep with sweat covering my face and vomit lingering on my tongue. The cool tile floor is my only comfort.

"SHH," I hear whispered as I’m lifted off the floor.

My head falls back over his strong arm and my legs dangle loosely in his grasp. The devil himself could be carrying me to Hell and I wouldn’t care, but thankfully for me, it’s Leo’s voice in my ear.

"I…" I try to fire off some random thought, but it only rouses me further from sleep, making me wish I could rush back to the bathroom.

"Shh," he repeats, depositing me on a plush bed. "Bucket on the side," are his only real words as he settles beside me.

I reach a hand over to become acquainted with the plastic rim of my new friend, the trash can, then drift off to sleep.

"EXPLAIN THE note, Leo!" Slate roars.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment!" I shout right back at him while searching through my room for my phone and wallet.

I have to get the fuck out of here.

"Were you just going to leave that shit for her? Let her stumble upon it the day before we got married? Goddamn it, Leo. Fucking talk to me!" He steps up, preventing me from leaving the room. As the former heavyweight champion of the world, Slate isn’t exactly someone you can just ignore.

"Jesus Christ, it’s not what you think," I lie. "I was just having a bad day and needed to put a few things down on paper."

"Bullshit. You were saying goodbye to her," he snarls, and I feel the rage rolling off him.

I know he would never want anything to happen to me, but that is not where his concern is aimed. He’s pissed right now at the idea that I might do something that would hurt Erica. And I respect the hell out of him for that.

"What do you want me to say here?" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Why the fuck are you going through my shit, anyway?"

"Because when I got here this morning, you had been on a three-day bender and I was fucking worried." He sucks in a calming breath and cracks his neck. It takes a few seconds for him to push it all down, but he finally looks me in the eye and asks, "Now please explain the note."

I let out a resigned sigh. "I’m drowning."

"Right. I got that," he answers.

"No, you don’t understand. When I had Erica, my goal in life was to keep her safe and make her happy. I spent every minute of the day focusing on her. Trying to make some sort of amends for what I did to her. But now she’s gone, and I feel like I am dying."

He blinks at me for a few seconds. "Leo, I’ve never felt the need to ask this before, but right now, I’m really fucking confused. Are you in love with Erica?"

"Oh for fuck’s sake." I push past him out of my bedroom and head to the rec room, where I think I left my wallet last night. "See, this is the bullshit I get for trying to talk to someone!" I shout over my shoulder with a sarcastic laugh.

"Well, you’re not making any sense."

I pause and spin around to face him. "My life doesn’t make sense. No, I’m not in love with Erica. I have never once looked at her like that. Yes, I love her, and in some sick way, she is the only family I have left. But you can rest easy, big man. I’m not in love with your fiancée," I say humorlessly.

"Then what is the big issue with her being gone?"

"She was my distraction!" I shout. "I spent the last four years trying to make her better, but now, she’s gone and the choices I’ve made flash like neon lights around me. I can’t focus on anything else. I was wrong. I thought seeing her happy and moving on would release me. It didn’t though—it made it worse. I fucking hate myself. I let an innocent woman be raped—repeatedly."

I know my words have made their way under his skin, but he still manages to grit out from between clenched teeth, "You had no choice."

"Bullshit. Everyone has a choice. I should have let them kill me."

"They would have killed her! Get your God damn head straight. I fucking hate you for what you did—or, rather, didn’t do—but she made it out alive. You saved her on more than one occasion. Consider your penance paid!"