Page 114 of Intent to Kill
“It’s just...” she started, stopping to take a cleansing breath. He didn’t need her to say it. He already knew.
“Probably looked a lot like me, I’m thinking.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “On that day.”
She slammed another tequila shot, sticking her tongue out after tasting the lemon. “He wanted you to suffer. He did not make your death painless.”
“I remember,” he said, downing the shot like it would burn away the memory.
She sank her head onto the bar and looked up at him with silvery tears gathering in her eyes.
He frowned. “It really shook you up that much?”
“Watching the man I love almost die?” she said, before correcting herself, “Loved. Not my fondest memory.”
Resting her head on her arms, she hid her face, huffing air deep into her lungs. Although, it wouldn’t keep the tears at bay if they wanted to come.
Adam rubbed a supportive hand along her back. “Let’s head out of here, okay?”
She grumbled, but he knew it was agreement, so he picked her up and steadied her arms along his shoulders, holding her as he carried her out.
It was only a short walk back to his hotel room and, despite the amount of shots, she was hardly drunk. She could always hold her liquor well. So for her to fall so deep into admitted despair, what she saw, what she remembered, must have really broken her.
Once they were safely back in his room, she was more composed. Her voice settled into a serene calm, and the water at her eyes dried up. She’d even wiped the light smudges of mascara from view. If it weren’t for the pained look still painting her face, she would’ve looked as if nothing had happened.
Adam placed the keys down into a bowl by the door, turning to see her sitting at the edge of his bed, arms braced on either side of her and looking at him through a lowered brow.
“I want to see the scars again,” she said.
He stumbled back as if the words were an arrow right to his chest. “Uh, maybe later. I don’t think you’re up to it right now.”
Maybe it was him who wasn’t up to it.
“Please.”
He turned his back, needing to do something—anything—else.
“Please.”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw a begging look replace her angry one. Those eyes, golden and sparkling, were in some kind of massive pain that she’d never let him see before. How could he ever say no to her? Not when she looked at him like that. Not when she opened up so much of her heart for him to see.
He closed his eyes, walking to the edge of the bed where she sat. Slowly, she stood to face him, having to incline her head to look up into his eyes.
Her hands moved down his chest and then up again, where they found the first button of his white linen shirt. Their eyes remained locked as she carefully, lazily, opened every button on the shirt one by one and pushed it open.
Her fingers were warm when they brushed against his skin, and she dropped her eyes to his bare chest. Spreading both her palms out over him, she explored each scar again, grazing the white lumps of flesh.
He cringed as she felt her way around his body, running over old scars and finding new ones.
“You’re wincing,” she said.
“I don’t like to remember it,” he said, eyes closed. “I lost everything that day. I may as well have died.”
She released a long, drawn breath, and grabbed both of his hands with hers. Watching him closely for signs of objection—she wouldn’t find it—she placed his hands on her waist. “I could never have lived if you had died. I loved you so much back then.”
Looking only at where her hands explored his chest, she sniffed and released another long breath, the kind only released as a substitute for falling tears.
He considered not asking, but... “Do you still love me now?”
