Unbroken (9 page)

Grim-faced, he helped her out of her trousers and paled when he saw the heavy bandage her outfit had covered. “The blood has seeped through all this.”

“The stitches came out yesterday.”

He
unwrapped
the bandages, handling her as gently as if she’d been made of fine porcelain. When he’d uncovered the wound, he stared at it in silence. He swallowed. “Christ.”

He got up and fetched a bowl of warm water and several cotton swabs from the bathroom. He didn’t hurt her once as he cleaned her. The damage hadn’t gone deep, thank God, she saw with relief.

“There are bandages in the bathroom. They told me to re-dress my leg once a day.”

He nodded, got the dressings, and bound her leg carefully in a lighter bandage. When he’d finished, he got rid of the bowl and the mess, and came back to sit on the bed.

He gazed at her, his eyes soft and loving. “Do you
have
to go back? Do you need the cosmetic surgery to be healthy or to make you look good?”

“I need the procedures if I want to carry on with my modelling career. They can get rid of the scars that way, but now the thick tissue is gone, there’s no damage to my health. If I leave it much longer, it’ll be harder for the surgeons.”

“You said once that you had enough money to live on. So why do it?”

Tears stung her eyes but she refused to cry. She’d cried enough.
“Because I don’t have anything else.
It’s all I know how to do.”

“Oh, love!” Careful not to disturb her leg, he lay on the bed and drew her into his arms. “After what I did to you I know I have no rights, but consider it, just think about what I have to say. You don’t like modelling, do you?”

She shook her head. “It’s something I was physically suited for. It paid so well I couldn’t refuse. And when I was little, my mother pushed me into it. In the last few years I wanted to take it easier, and I turned down a few things. She was yelling at me about that when the car crashed. And yes, she was driving.”

“Then give it up. Stop modelling. Do what you really want.”

She had considered that at one time.
During that magical time with him when everything had seemed possible.
“I want to go to college and take a degree.”

“In England?”

“What?” She lifted her eyes to stare into his face.

He’d lost the haunted look, but anxiety still tightened his sharp features. “Would you consider moving in with me? If you don’t want to go to England, we’ll stay here. I can work anywhere.” He kissed her, just a gentle kiss to her lips, but he moaned softly when their flesh connected. “Please,
Vashti
. I’ll do anything if you’ll give me another chance.”

“Would you give up your art for me?”

He paled.
“If you want me to.”

She stroked his cheek and he caught her finger in his mouth, sucked it in and caressed it with his tongue, making her shiver. “No. No, I don’t want you to. You love it. It’s what you do. I was so envious of you, finding something like that.” She owed him nothing but the truth. “I couldn’t take that away from you. But modelling isn’t something I need to do. I don’t even want to do it anymore. I’ll go with you. I want to.”

Silence fell, except for the soft sound as he took her mouth in a deeper, harder kiss and the agony of the last three months dissolved into mist.

When he could tear himself away, he helped her to undress and get into bed. Then he stripped quickly, before sliding under the sheets to hold her and kiss her with a hunger she shared, delving deep like a man dying of thirst.

When he drew back, she stared up at him, frowning.

“You stopped?”

He cupped her cheek. “I’ve put you through a lot today. You should sleep.”

“If you don’t make love with me, I’ll kill you.” She said it calmly, but the sentiment still made him laugh.

“And I’ll die, but I could hold out until the morning, now I know you’ll be there.”

“Do it now.”

He looked down at her, his loving regard making her
feel
beautiful. For the first time in her life, someone knew her completely, and loved her for what she was. She needed nothing else, not now.

“That second room is a love poem, told the only way I know how.”

Tears misted her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry, not at this moment of her greatest happiness. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you
,” he said against her mouth, then opened it with a flick of his tongue and tasted her deeply.

Still kissing her, he mounted her and she opened for him. He drew back, glanced down and ensured her leg was comfortable, slightly bent to relieve any tension. He adjusted it so he wouldn’t touch it when he made love to her. The evidence of his concern melted her even more.

He kissed her again as he guided his cock to her pussy and pushed inside. The instant of resistance only made the ultimate entry sweeter. He filled her completely, then stilled and lifted his head, a new note of alarm in his gaze.

“I’m not wearing any protection.”

She sighed, almost regretfully. “I’m on the Pill.”

With a moan that told her he couldn’t wait any longer, he drove hard inside her. Nobody felt like that, nobody ever would. He came back to her fully at that moment and she accepted him.

“Then hear this. You’re mine now. You commit to me, and nobody else.” He bared his teeth in a feral claim.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

With a harsh groan, he plunged, withdrew and thrust again. Each plunge brought him deeper, seated his soul closer to hers and she understood the difference between fucking and making love. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy a good, hard fuck from time to time, but this meeting of minds, of hearts, of
souls,
lay on a different level, a higher plane.

He shifted so he could reach her sweet spot with every stroke, and balanced on one arm so he could touch her and tweak her clit.

Not just a meeting of minds then. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and cried out when he caressed her to a series of sparkling orgasms. She shoved her fingers into his thick pelt of hair, caressed his scalp, feeling the strands harsh against her hand.

The sensations glittering up her spine spread and grew, encompassing every part of her and she strained up towards him with a cry before she shattered. Dimly, she heard his helpless shout,
then
her name as he, too, found fulfilment.

He fell on the bed beside her, still panting with exertion and she snuggled into his arms as if she belonged there.
Which, from now on, she did.

Then she remembered a question she hadn’t asked him and opened her eyes.

He kissed her before he allowed her to say anything. “So what is it,
Vashti
, my love?”

“Tonight, I heard your agent call you ‘Ed.’ Are you an Edward or an Edmund?”

His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Neither, I’m afraid. I come from a decent working-class family and my parents named me after their two idols.” He paused. “My surname really is
Zoltan
. My grandfather was a Hungarian immigrant who came to England in World War Two. When I was born, my mother wanted one name and my father wanted another. So they called me both.”

She gave him a soft punch, laughing when he gave a mock wince. “Come on. Tell me.”

He closed his eyes. “Elton Dylan
Zoltan
,” and winced again when she burst into laughter.
“Told you you’d hate me.”

“No. It makes me love you more.”

And the next time he made love to her, she cried out his name. “Ed” never sounded so good before.
Zoltan
found peace and a joy he knew would never die.