Page 93 of Blindsided
She turns her head to look forward, refusing to meet my eyes. “You’ve had a rough couple of months.”
My brows tweak. “Aye, that’s true.” I reach out and brush a wisp of her red hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing over her lobes as I do. Her ears are on fire.
She shivers against my touch and pulls away from my embrace. “Mac, don’t.”
“What?” I state, my voice hoarse. “I can’t touch you now?”
She turns her green eyes to me, and instead of seeing uncertainty in their depths, I see fiery passion. “No, you can’t.” She stands up and moves away from the bed. “No, you can’t touch me,” she exclaims again, as she begins pacing back and forth in front of me. “There’s actually a lot you can’t do with me after the last time I saw you. Honestly, being alone with me in a room should be one of those things you can’t do with me.”
She moves towards the door, and I jump up, splaying my hand out on the wood, my face only a foot away from hers when I rush out, “Freya, I love you.”
Her body freezes as her jaw drops. She turns to look up at me with wide, confused eyes. “You what?”
I lick my lips, the words feeling foreign on my tongue because I’ve never said them to a lass in all my life, but there they are. “I love you.”
Her face wrinkles up like she’s confused, and she begins shaking her head side to side. “No, Mac. You don’t.”
She moves to open the door, and I push it closed again. “Yes, Cookie. I do.”
She laughs and grabs the handle again. “You don’t.”
“I do!”
“You don’t!”
“Stop telling me I don’t love you, woman!” I bellow, my muscles tight with anger. “What’s wrong with you?”
She blanches, her face the picture of disillusionment at the scene taking place in front of her. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that I’m just finally feeling human again after you chewed me up and spit me out in a Glasgow hotel parking lot. You acted like I was only good enough for you if I went home and slept with you that night. And the moment I turned you down, you treated me like I was a waste of your time and confirmed the fact that everything you ever told me was a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” I state, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Christ Freya, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I only wanted to sleep with you. I just wanted to be near you and have you near me again. Nothing I told you when we were together was ever a lie.”
She purses her lips and nods, her eyes red around the edges. “So you just lie when you’re in a fight with someone. Wow, I feel so much better.”
She moves and opens the door a foot before I slam it shut, placing myself like a barricade in front of it so she can’t reach it without going through me. “Freya, when you told me you loved me in my car that day, I wasn’t ready to hear it then.”
“And I’m not ready to hear you say it now, Mac!” Her hands lift helplessly. “You just lost your grandfather. You should be focusing on your grief, not using me as a crutch to get through your pain. You lost that right when you broke my heart two months ago.”
Her words pierce through my heart, but what kills me is the finality of her tone. The conviction in her body language. She’s changed, and I hate it. She doesn’t feel like my Freya anymore. The woman standing before me isn’t her.
“I’m leaving.” She reaches past my hip, her breasts pressing against my front as she grasps for the doorknob. Her scent is intoxicating. Her hair brushes my chin, and every bone in my body aches to claim her. This can’t be over. This can’t be it.Freya is mine.
In one final act of desperation, I reach down and grab her face in my hands and pull her to my lips. The taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her against me once again is everything that makes sense in this world. I move my lips against hers, begging and pleading with her to have me. To remember me. To forgive me.
But she’s not moving.
Her lips refuse to part.
Her hands won’t touch me.
Her heart is in a sealed cage that I cannot access.
I pull away an inch, my breath mingling with hers as I stare into her cold, tear-filled eyes. My voice is a desperate plea when I say, “Please, Freya. I’m sorry. You have to know how sorry I am.”
She blinks slowly, and the tears slide down her cheeks like traitors. “It doesn’t matter, Mac. There’s no going back. You ruined us.”
“I didn’t!” I roar, my voice hoarse with desperation as I wrap my arms around her and crush her to my body. The softness of her in my arms is complete and utter perfection. It’s destiny. It’s tragedy. It’s love. “I didn’t ruin us, Freya. Don’t say that.”
“I’ve moved on, Mac,” she adds coldly, her voice devoid of any emotion.
