Page 14 of Bed of Thorns

When he did nothing for several seconds, I struggled to rationalize the situation. The covers were holding me down. If I could free my arms, then maybe I could get away from him. Very slowly, I moved one arm, managing to slide it to the side and up, an action the intruder either didn’t realize or didn’t feel the need to react to.

Until I yanked my arm free, scratching his face.

Growling, he pushed me down, leaning over until I could feel his hot breath, yanking my arm over my head and pinning it against the pillow. “Don’t.”

His deep gravelly voice was hushed, the tone putting the fear of God into me. He leaned even closer until his face was only inches from mine. Through the limited light of the moon flowing through the cracked blinds, I was able to see a partial outline of his face, his jaw chiseled and a scruffy beard covering a good portion of his cheek, mouth, and chin.

I knew he was going to kill me.

He breathed in several times, then did something that terrified me even more. He rubbed a single finger back and forth across my open palm. “Don’t move.” His threat was clear, sending a wave of horrible visions into my mind of what he was planning. When he released my arm, I was shocked momentarily.

Then I used every ounce of strength to fight him, pummeling my fist against his chest.

“Mercedes. Stop. Do not fight me.”

He knew my name. That shocked me long enough that when he reached for something, I froze, my fingers clenching the soft material of whatever he was wearing. His voice was hypnotic, dark and gruff, yet sensuous. I was thrown by how much the deep baritone affected me, tingles racing all the way down to my toes. I tried to control my breathing as the hold he had on my mouth loosened. Everything was a blur, but his voice was… recognizable. It was impossible. There was no way. I had to be dreaming.

Or maybe the bastard was toying with me, keeping the anticipation of what he had planned so high I wouldn’t be capable of fighting back.

The asshole had another think coming.

I was prepared to fight until my last breath in order to get out of his hold.

But something happened that changed everything, a small act that drove a stake into my heart. In the dim light in the room, everything in slow motion, he lifted something from my nightstand, easing it down and across my face.

There was no mistaking what he’d brought, the soft petals soothing my skin, the scent as fragrant and incredible as the rose positioned in the cheap glass in my kitchen.

A sterling silver rose.

That meant…

CHAPTER5

Mercedes

Edmond…

How many nights had I thought about him, how many days had been taken up by daydreaming? No longer frightened of the man who’d tickled my nose with a beautiful flower, I slowly eased my hand to his chest, making certain I wasn’t dreaming. He was real, here in the flesh and blood. How was that possible? As I caressed him through the dense fabric of what he was wearing, his hold on my mouth slipped away.

“You’re really here,” I whispered, my heart beating so hard the brutal thumping echoed in my ears. Nothing seemed real any longer, but if this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up. He’d been the constant in my mind for so long I’d memorized every inch of his face, his hard jaw and high forehead, the aristocratic nose and eyes that bore into your soul. And he was here.

Yet even in the darkness I could tell just how different he’d become. I craved seeing his face, basking in the look in his eyes.

He said nothing, his breathing as ragged as mine. When he pulled away, moving off the bed, I immediately sat up, reaching for him. Then he turned away, still holding the flower in his hand. I tossed aside the covers, lowering my feet to the floor and reaching for the nightstand light. As soon as I turned it on, he flinched, turning further away.

“Don’t,” he said, the single word little more than a husky grunt.

“Why? I need to see you.”

“I’m not the man you remember.”

I wasn’t certain what I was supposed to say. Shaking, I stood, wringing my hands as I studied him. He’d grown taller by several inches, gaining at least forty pounds. While he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, the dense fabric was unable to hide his muscular physique. Something inside of me stirred, the deep intensity of the sensations creating a wave of heat tingling every muscle.

I’d denied certain feelings I’d had for him, fearful that if I acknowledged them, I’d be crushed by the reality of loneliness and disappointment. I’d had a crush on him since the first time I’d laid eyes on him. I’d managed to ignore them, or so I’d thought, but every fantasy and dream I’d experienced came rushing to the forefront of my mind. But it was wrong. He was my friend. I wasn’t supposed to have romantic feelings about him.

What’s so wrong with it?

I was jittery, the ache in my chest suffocating.

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