MATTHIAS
I
leave Clarissa alone only long enough to drag Patrick’s barely alive body out of the club and dump him in the back alley. I text Kevin to come and pick him up and drop him off somewhere,
anywhere; I don’t fucking care.
Just away from the club.
Away from Clarissa.
As I run back up the stairs to her, I’m scared of what I might find when I get there.
She’s still sitting on the edge of the couch when I get to the room, her hand touching the side of her cheeks, her eyes almost as colorless as her face. Staring off into the distance, I can only guess what’s going through her head.
The silence is eerie.
I wish she were crying or screaming or something… anything…
The thumping in my chest has evolved into an urgent tugging on my rib cage, pulling me to her, an inexplicable need to comfort her, snap her out of this trance.
I run over and kneel by her side, my hand reaching out to touch her before realizing she might not want that.
“Hey… he’s gone.” My voice comes out shakier than I expected. “Are you okay?” She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, not a breath, not a blink.
“Hey… Clarissa.” I reach out and this time I make contact, touching her shoulder as gently as I can.
She flinches and her pupils visibly focus and she looks at me, as if she’s only just noticing me there.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. “Are you okay?” I ask again, because, what else do you ask at a time like this? “Can I get you something?” Every inch of the skin on her arms is covered in goosebumps. “You’re cold. Have you got a jacket somewhere?” I get up to grab a sweater I see hanging on the back of a nearby chair.
“No!” she yells, color finally flooding into her eyes. Her scared, glistening eyes. “Don’t… don’t go… please.”
I’m immediately kneeling next to her again, locking my eyes on hers, watching the transformation of her coming back to life.
Her chin trembles as she blinks, sending tears down her face.
The effect is heartbreaking.
Or… something.
Something inexplicable that’s making my heart race and my breath quicken.
Something that’s making my skin prickle and my fingertips itch, twitch. An urge to reach out and touch her pale cheek and brush the single tear that’s falling down her face.
“Matthias,” she finally says, her voice weak, her chin shaking.
Shit.
God fucking help me.
The tremor in her voice sends a lightning bolt streaking through my body. The white-hot heat settling in the last place it should be right now.
Seriously, Matthias?
What kind of sick fuck am I?
Apparently an uncontrollably manwhorish one, just like the tabloids are saying. I tuck my hand into my pockets, not trusting what they might do given free rein.
Maybe it’s just nervousness, I try to tell myself. I hope it’s not some misplaced, badly timed arousal at seeing Clarissa in a rare, vulnerable moment.
I shake my head and push the urgings of my traitorous body down and focus on her.
“Can I get you some water?” I ask, hoping she will snap back into the bitchy woman I know and am used to hating.
But she just blinks and another fat tear falls down her translucent cheek.
Shit.
This time there’s no restraining myself. I reach out and cup the side of her cheek as a flash of confusion flashes across her face. My eyes aren’t even focused on hers as I watch the tear drip halfway down her face and pool on my thumb.
Then I lean in, my mouth trained on her trembling bottom lip.
And suddenly, I can think of nothing but what her mouth tastes like.
Our mouths are barely a breath apart when she lets out a little gasp.
And it shatters the illusion.
The illusion that there could be a single scenario where I would want to kiss Clarissa and her to let me.
Her face locks into a shocked mask as my head snaps back. I jump to my feet and try to put as much distance between us as possible. My balled-up fist slams against the wall I’d just knocked Patrick’s head against, for trying to take advantage of her.
And now I was doing the same fucking thing.
“What in the fuck am I doing?” I yell. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I rest my head against the wall, not ready to face her, taking in three deep, slow breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
Sense slowly returns and I know I’m going to have to face her soon. I can’t stare at this damn wall forever.
But when I pivot away from the wall and back to her, all I see is a streak of white as she rushes past me, out the door, and down the stairs. The sound of her sobs follows close behind.
Well, if this isn’t a good start to a betrothal, I don’t know what is.
CLARISSA
O
h, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
What the fuck just happened? What the fuck is happening?
I run into my office and slam the door behind me, leaning against it, head shaking.
Did Matthias Baxter almost kiss me? Did that actually happen, or am I still so affected by what happened with Patrick that I’ve literally lost my mind?
The memory of Patrick’s face as I’d turned him down when he tried to reach around to lift my skirt, burns scars into my blood. Disgust filled me as his face slipped into an ugly mask. What humanity there had been in his eyes fled and left something inhuman behind.
When he lifted his hand the first time, even then I didn’t expect him to strike me, hadn’t wanted to believe that he would. That he could.
But he did.
Once.
Twice.
Three skull-aching times.