Julie's Butterfly (18 page)

The fact that he thought her capable of that hurt her more than she had the words to express.

“Have I ever given you the impression I could be that cruel?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“It’s got nothing to do with cruelty,” he said. “You feel what you feel. Whether you want to or not.”

Her fingers dug into her upper arms. “And you think I’d feel repulsion if I saw you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

Julie took a silent gasping breath. “That was cruel.”

Bastian was silent for a long moment. Then he moved closer to her. Though he didn’t touch her, she could feel his warmth at her back.

“Do you want to know what Isabelle said before she asked me to come and get you?” he asked quietly.

Julie nodded. A single tear stole from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

“She wanted to know if I was serious about you.”

That was typical of Isabelle; she swore by the gun-to-the-head tactic. Julie’s heart leapt to her throat. She wanted to ask him what he had said in reply, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was gripped by a paralyzing coldness.

“I told her I am,” he continued.

The relief that flooded through her at his words should have made her feel weightless, but she felt pinned down.

“I’m so serious about you that it scares me,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re good-natured, compassionate, and kind. And so unbelievably beautiful. I’m crazy with fear that one day you won’t look at me the way you did this morning, in your bed. That when you see me, you’ll recognize what I’ve known for a long time—that you deserve better than me. Someone who doesn’t have all this baggage.”

It was the most clichéd but beautiful declaration of love she had ever heard.

And the most stupid.

“You’re an idiot,” she said softly. She sniffled noisily, then turned to him. This time she looked him right in the eye. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Relief flickered in Bastian’s eyes, but his expression remained troubled. “There’ll always be something wrong with me. Both outside and inside.”

“I only want you,” she countered resolutely. “The way you are. But it won’t work without trust, Bastian.”

She saw him remove his gloves and drop them on the floor. He raised his hands and laid them on her cheeks to wipe away the tears with his thumbs. “I want to learn to trust you,” he said, “but I can’t promise anything.”

It wasn’t the answer Julie had hoped for, but it was a start. Perhaps time would do the rest. She nodded between his hands.

He approached her slowly, watching for any movement in her face that might stop him, but Julie had no intention of holding him back. She needed him as much as he needed her. His kiss was tentative, light as a feather. With a relieved sigh, she let herself sink against his lips and threw her arms around him. They took their time, savoring their newly defined closeness.

Bastian gently rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “Are you OK?” he asked softly.

“Mmm.” Her eyelids were getting heavy.

A smile twitched at his lips. “Come on now, you little lush. Let’s get you to bed.”

He guided her to the bedroom, where she fell limply onto the bed and rolled onto her side. She felt him gently removing her boots.

“Are you staying?” she murmured sleepily.

Instead of answering, he turned the light out and crawled into bed with her. After spreading the blankets over them, he laid his hand on her hip and pulled her toward him so that her back was against him. He buried his nose in her hair, stretched his arm over her, and took her hand. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered before sleep finally overtook her.

C
HAPTER
23

When Julie woke up, her throat was so parched she felt as though she’d swallowed half the Sahara in her dreams.

She blinked in a daze. Bastian was lying on his back next to her, asleep, one hand behind his head and the other on his belly. Spot was curled up on the other side of his head, purring softly. He had removed only his shoes.

She raised her head inquisitively but was gripped by dizziness—a parting shot from the tequila—and had to close her eyes. But at least she wasn’t feeling nauseated, and thanks to Bastian’s foresight, her head wasn’t pounding.

She opened her eyes a second time. This time it was better. She gazed at Bastian in fascination. He had spent several nights with her by now, but she had never seen him asleep. She could watch him for as long as she liked due to the ungodly hour—just after seven. She hadn’t slept more than four hours. But it seemed that their fight the night before had actually brought them closer. His mistrust was not going to vanish overnight, that was clear, but at least he seemed to have shaken off his relentless need for self-control enough to be able to sleep by her.

And in the heat of the moment, he had called her his girlfriend. He hadn’t even realized he’d done so, but it gave her cause for optimism.

A broad smile stole across her face as she gazed at his features. He looked younger when he was asleep. Almost peaceful. His brow was smooth, not scored with worry lines as it usually was. A light shadow darkened his chin, emphasizing his slightly curved lips. The twitching of his eyelids indicated that he was dreaming.

She could have watched him forever.

But nature called.

She got out of bed quietly, grabbed fresh underwear and a T-shirt, and slipped out of the room. In the bathroom, she drank straight from the faucet until she felt she would burst.

Not very ladylike, but effective.

Then she straightened and flinched in shock. Her mirror image was a complete mess. Mascara had smeared in great rings beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her face was pale. But it was nothing a shower and some moisturizer couldn’t solve. She went to work making herself a little more presentable, brushed her teeth thoroughly, then crawled back into bed.

Bastian was still on his back, his chest rising and falling steadily. She snuggled up to his side, pushed her hand beneath his on his belly, and closed her eyes. She wanted to go back to sleep—she was shattered with exhaustion—but sleep proved elusive.

Bright sunlight was pouring through the open curtains and into the room, tiny floating motes dancing in its beams. After dozing for a bit, she gazed at the details of his face, committing each of his features to memory. The closer she looked, the more small scars she saw on his brow, on his cheeks, and beneath the stubble on his chin. They must have been caused a long time ago, because they were barely visible to the naked eye. Behind his ear, she saw a blemish the size of a coin, and she detected slight shadows on his neck. Some were brighter and others darker depending, she imagined, on when they’d occurred.

She wondered how he had come to the absurd conclusion that she would ever reject him. What kind of perverse concept of perfection did he have if he thought his scars would be enough to destroy her dreams? Had he really endured so much cruelty over the course of his life? What had led him to believe that it would be impossible for someone to find him perfect just as he was?

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. His face was relaxed, but she could tell from his voice that he was wide-awake. He tilted his head toward her and opened his eyes. The sunlight made them appear lighter. A knowing smile crossed his lips.

Julie leaned her head on her free hand and drew her other away from his belly. She began slowly tracing his features with her fingers. “I didn’t want to waste the opportunity of having you defenseless in my bed.”

She ignored the uneasiness that flickered in his eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied uncertainly. He seemed to be expecting some specific reaction from her, but try as she might, she had no idea what it should be.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked instead as she snuggled closer, feeling his warmth through his dark sweater.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “I thought you were a notoriously late sleeper.”

“I am usually.” Her eyes fell to his lips. After their argument the night before, she longed to feel even closer to him. But she satisfied herself with running her hand through his locks to prevent herself from touching him elsewhere.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” began Julie.

“What?”

“Isabelle knows about you and Felix,” she admitted. “I told her.”

“I thought so.” He clearly wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t reproach her.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. It would have come up eventually. At least in Felix’s case.”

He was right. Elena and Felix certainly didn’t appear to make any secret of it—unlike some people, she thought sadly. It occurred to her, however, that she might have been mistaken about Felix.

“Are you sure Felix doesn’t have a problem with Isabelle knowing?” she asked anxiously.

“Totally sure,” Bastian reassured her. He ran his hand softly over her arm. “They’re bound to meet sooner or later.”

“I think Felix has found a good way of dealing with it,” said Julie.

Bastian snorted. “Simply looking the other way when people stare at you in horror or pity is hardly the answer.”

“Neither is hiding,” said Julie in a gentle voice, earning herself a dark look. “Besides, Isabelle may be impulsive, but she’d never be tactless.”

“It makes no difference what she intends to do or not do. Her reaction is what counts, and she can’t do anything to change that. Emotional people like her often have difficulty concealing their feelings.”

Julie sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “You really are a tough nut to crack.”

Instead of replying, Bastian laughed softly.

Julie looked up in surprise, taking in the amused twinkle in his eyes. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You,” he said and drew her toward him to kiss her. As she pulled back breathlessly, she no longer saw amusement in his eyes, but a blend of desire, self-consciousness, and fear.

He took a deep breath, sat up, and, in a single, swift motion, pulled his sweater and the T-shirt beneath it off over his head. He slowly sank back down on the pillows and readied himself for her scrutiny.

Julie blinked in surprise. She had not expected him to actually do it. But she was happy that he had.

She sat up to look at him. His right forearm was still bandaged from the wrist to just above the elbow. She knew about that already, as she had felt it before. His upper arms were strong, and his chest muscles and flat stomach well-defined. No six-pack, though, she noticed with a smile.

She carefully explored his arms and naked torso with her fingers. She played with the dark hair on his forearm, traced almost every scar and blemish that covered his skin in a patchwork of pink and beige. They were so numerous that they took her breath away, and they varied from the size of confetti to several inches across. In some places, his skin was almost parchment-like, giving the impression that it could rip apart at any moment. But there were also soft, supple, immaculate places where he seemed never to have been injured.

Julie sensed his keen eyes following each of her movements, but she did not look up, instead devoting all her attention to his body. If she looked him in the eye, the spell would break, she was sure of it. Besides, there was nothing she could have said to relieve his fear. He simply had to live through it.

His bravery encouraged her. She sat up and removed his jeans and socks so that he lay before her in nothing but his boxer shorts. He had bandages of various sizes—especially around his joints and his feet. In silent dismay, Julie wondered how she had failed to notice them before. Had she been so distracted?

Her attention was drawn to a large mark on his right-hand side that continued down beneath the waistband of his shorts. “What happened here?” she asked.

“As far as I recall, I was six or seven at the time. I went to climb over a fence, lost my balance, and slipped over the other side. I don’t remember the details.”

“And here?” she asked, indicating a dark patch the size of a child’s hand beneath his chest.

“Can’t remember. I probably ran into something.”

Julie stroked his belly thoughtfully. So many scars. There must be hundreds. No wonder he couldn’t remember the details.

“Does it look dreadful to you?” he asked into the silence.

She looked at him in amazement. “How could I not be appalled at the thought that you had to suffer all these injuries?”

“I meant aesthetically.”

His subdued expression told Julie that her answer, whatever it may be, would not change his own opinion. It made her sad to realize it: he was so wrong. He was incredibly attractive, hard and soft, strong and vulnerable in equal measure. Moving slowly, she lay down on top of him and took his face in both hands, forcing him to look her straight in the eye. “You’re a beautiful man,” she said seriously. “And I desire you. So much.”

Before he could argue, she placed her lips on his, putting an end to any discussion about the differences in their aesthetics.

She didn’t want to talk anymore.

She wanted to feel.

To her satisfaction, he began stroking the back of her naked thigh. His kiss grew more urgent. He pushed his hips against her belly, and she could feel that his desire had returned. Bastian rolled onto his side and moved Julie beneath him without a pause in their kissing. His lips then wandered down her neck, over the swell of her breasts to her belly, where he lifted her shirt and buried his face in her middle. With his rough, callused hands, he stroked her delicate skin, following the movements with gentle kisses up toward her breasts. The contrast was enough to make her lose her mind. Though her desire grew to tormenting lust—as did his—their lovemaking that morning was not wild. They took their time exploring each other, pushing boundaries, and discovering what the other liked. Julie enjoyed not only feeling his reactions, but seeing them.

It was as though they were truly together for the first time. And the best part was that afterward, he did not immediately race to cover himself up. He remained at her side, as naked and vulnerable as she was.

As the morning passed, he began to relax, not just a little, but going so far as to laze around in bed with the sunshine warming his naked belly. It was more than she would have dared to hope for the previous night. Julie could not have been happier.