Page 40 of Falling for the Beast

He groaned and pulled away, cutting off contact. She stared at him, a look on her face like she regretted what she’d done. Without her lips on his, he came to his senses. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”

Her gaze on him suddenly felt heavy, her eyes wide. He couldn’t stand there anymore, so he turned and stalked out of the room.

She didn’t follow.

Aribelle stood in the middle of the ballroom, too stunned to move. Thaddeus had kissed her. Oh, and it had been the most amazing kiss she’d ever experienced. Not that she’d kissed a lot of men. Greg in third grade didn’t even count. But this kiss…the world had stopped, which was totally cliché, but she now understood what that meant. She couldn’t breathe normally now. She felt like flying and screaming at the same time.

But he’d jerked away from her, and left. Why had he done that? Was she that bad at kissing? Didn’t he feel even a little of what she’d felt during the kiss? Why was he always shoving her away?

She reached up and touched her cheek where his hand had been. It still tingled. The speakers made a crackling noise and she turned to realize Thaddeus had left his iPod. She picked it up and unplugged it. She supposed their evening was over.

In a daze, she shut off the lights and closed the doors to the ballroom, then tiptoed up the stairs to her room. As she dressed for bed, she heard the front door slam and Thaddeus’s motorcycle come to life.

A sinking feeling started in her gut. So much for keeping him safe and in one piece. She sighed and hung his mother’s dress up in the armoire. If he wanted to go get himself torn up, it wasn’t her place to stop him. He was going to do it no matter what.

She brushed her teeth feeling like a robot on autopilot, and then got into bed. But sleep did not come. Her mind kept mulling over the events of the evening. Had she been misreading him? Had she been the one to tip her head too close? She’d been dreaming of kissing him. Was it her, rather than him, who had closed the distance?

The pillow felt hot under her head, and she flipped it over, punching it until it was soft. Was he angry with her? Was that why he’d stormed out of the room and left without saying a word? When was he going to come back? She listened for any sounds outside, but all was still.

She picked up Thaddeus’s iPod and pushed ‘play,’ turning the speakers down. It made her feel better to listen to his music. Gave her a connection to him, even though she’d rather have him there with her. She closed her eyes, letting his music soak into her.

Thaddeus sped down the highway, gripping the handlebars. He was a coward. And a fool. Aribelle could never love a beast. Not if she saw how he truly was. She couldn’t.

He had spent too long pretending there could be something between them. Ignoring reality. Even though he kept telling himself they couldn’t be a couple, in the back of his mind he was allowing the fantasy. Letting his attraction for her grow.

He turned toward the city, using his speed to numb his senses. He had to shelter Aribelle, but he didn’t have to make up a pretend relationship between them. He needed to be more careful around her. He had to school his thoughts and how he acted. There should be less touching, and he should stop sharing as many personal details about his life.

The smell of blood caught his attention and he slowed to try to figure out where it was coming from. When he caught the scent, he followed it north until he saw the car in the ditch, the front end smashed in by a lamp post. He pulled off the highway and carefully approached.

The driver sat hunched over an airbag. The smell of alcohol was too strong not to have been the cause of the accident. But the blood wasn’t coming from him. A child sat in the back seat, unconscious. He was young, maybe four or five, but was not in a car seat and wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. A trickle of blood slid down his face.

Thaddeus carefully opened the passenger door and reached for the child. He could only barely touch his arm without climbing in, but it was enough. It would do. He felt the smooth skin of the child and let the healing flow out of him and into the boy.

Most of the time, if the injured were unconscious, they didn’t wake up. Never knew he was there. But the boy opened his eyes and their gaze connected. Waves of pain washed through Thaddeus, and he clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. The boy was hurt worse than he thought. Internal damage of some kind. The head injury was nothing.

When the healing had finished, he patted the boy’s hand, slipped his arm out, and closed the car door. The boy’s big brown eyes stared at him. “Are you Jesus?”

Thaddeus held in a laugh. “No,” he said simply.

The sounds of sirens started in the distance. Someone would come to help. He mounted his motorcycle and started down the highway. About a mile from his home, he felt sick and pulled over, getting his helmet off in time to empty the contents of his stomach in the grass by the side of the road. Blood colored the vomit red. He knelt in the weeds, heaving again until there was nothing left.

He waited for a while, not wanting to get back on his bike right away. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken on internal injuries that he hadn’t been aware of. He’d heal from this as well. He lay down in the ditch, closing his eyes. If he rested for a bit, he would be half-way healed by morning.

Chapter 18

When Aribelle awoke, the sunwas up and the fall wind was rustling the tree outside her window. She lay in bed a moment, listening to the sounds of the dry leaves skittering along the stone sidewalk. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Panic closed her throat and she jumped out of bed. Had Thaddeus even come home last night? She hadn’t heard him come in.

She rushed down the hallway and peered into his bedroom. The bed was made. He hadn’t slept there. She ran downstairs. “Thaddeus?”

He wasn’t in the kitchen or living room. She ran outside to check if his motorcycle was there. The spot where he usually parked was empty.

Fear clawed at her throat, choking her, making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t come home yet. What time was it? Was he hurt somewhere, unable to make it back? Would she have to go looking for him?

She ran inside and checked the time. Ten till seven. She tried to calm her breathing. It wasn’t horribly late. He might still be riding his motorcycle. He had come home after nine o’clock before. She needed to settle down.

Pacing the living room wasn’t helping, so she ran upstairs and showered. When she had dressed and gone back downstairs, he still wasn’t back. She checked her phone, but then realized that was stupid. He didn’t have her number, did he?

The sound of a motorcycle approaching flooded her with both relief and anger. She stormed outside and met him as he pulled up. “Where have you been?”

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