Burned. Sarah Morgan

me to remember how pathetic I’d been. The memory was so humiliating I tried not to think about it. I tried not to think about him. Deep down I knew he’d done the right thing to break it off—although I didn’t think he needed to have been quite so brutal in the execution. I’d been so clingy, so dependent, so good at leaning on him I’d forgotten how to stand upright by myself. Never had a girl been so crazily in love with a man as I’d been with Hunter.

      And I should have known better. My sister and I had camped out on the battlefield of our parents’ divorce, and believe me, it was a bloody experience. We’d both graduated from childhood totally screwed up about relationships.

      When you witness a savage divorce, it can do one of two things to you. Either you decide marriage is something to be avoided at all costs, which is what my sister, Hayley, did, or you decide you’re going to do it differently. That was what I did. I was never going to make the mistakes my parents made, because I was going to pick the right guy.

      And then I’d met Hunter and I’d thought I’d fallen into the fairy tale. Compared to him Prince Charming would have looked like a loser.

      The man holding me let go of my wrist and stepped forward. ‘There are four of us and one of you.’

      Still Hunter didn’t move. ‘It’s an uneven fight, which is why I’m telling you to walk away.’

      I was the only one who understood his meaning. The four men thought the odds were in their favour.

      I knew differently.

      Mention Hunter’s name in the world of martial arts, and everyone will know who you’re talking about. His skill had been noticed at an early age and it was that skill that had won him championships and sent him across the globe to Japan and Thailand to study with the very best.

      He had choreographed fight scenes for movies and appeared in a few. Not that I’d ever seen him on the big screen. I’d been trying to get him out of my head, so the last thing I needed was to be looking at a magnified version.

      These four city types didn’t look further than the suit.

      They saw one man. They didn’t see the power.

      They came at him simultaneously and he unleashed that power in a series of controlled movements that had two guys bent over and groaning in pain within seconds and the other two retreating in shock. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Hunter was respected, revered in some circles, as a strong, aggressive fighter and an inspirational instructor. But still, watching him in action made my stomach swoop.

      I suddenly realized I was no longer being held.

      ‘Get in the car!’ His rough command penetrated my brain but I simply stared at him, frozen, because he was suggesting I go with him. For the first time in my life I understood the phrase ‘between the devil and the deep blue sea.’ And he wasn’t the sea.

      My teeth were chattering and I heard him curse softly. ‘Rosie, get in the damn car. Move.’

      I turned my head and saw the low black sports car parked at the side of the road with the door open. Was it really a step up to be trapped alone in a car with Hunter Black?

      Without giving me more time to make the decisions, he grabbed my hand and hauled me the short distance, all but bundled me inside and closed the door.

      I breathed in the smell of expensive leather and elite super car.

      Apart from thinking that Hollywood obviously paid well, I wasn’t surprised.

      Hunter had always been obsessed with power and speed. On my eighteenth birthday he’d given me a ride on the back of his motorcycle. I’d sat there, pressed against the power of the bike and the power of the man as we’d roared over London Bridge at two in the morning, realizing I’d never truly felt excitement before that moment. It was that night, right there wound around Hunter’s hard, muscular frame, that I’d discovered the difference between living and being alive. That was the night our relationship had changed. Before that we’d had hidden places. Secrets. By the time we woke up in the morning there were no secrets left.

      After that everything had been a lot like that bike ride. Wild, exhilarating and dangerous.

      I’d loved the fact that he knew me. Really knew me.

      He slid into the car next to me and the doors locked with a reassuring clunk.

      I hadn’t seen him since the day he’d walked out and now here we were, trapped together in this confined space. I was so aware of him I could hardly breathe. The scent, the power, the man. The air was thick with tension. I could have reached out and touched that strong, muscular thigh but instead I kept my hands clasped in my lap and my eyes straight ahead.

      I’d assumed if I ever saw him again I wouldn’t feel a thing.

      I hated being wrong.

      I felt as if I’d been plugged into an electric socket. The air hummed and crackled with unbearable tension. He was insanely attractive, of course, but I knew that wasn’t what was happening here. It was something deeper. Something far more scary and uncontrollable.

      I wondered if it was just me but then he turned his head at the same time I did and our eyes met. That brief exchange of glances was so intense I half expected to hear a crash of thunder.

      His eyes were a dark velvet-black and the way he was looking at me told me he was feeling everything I was feeling. How could a single glance be so intimate?

      My heart was pounding. I wanted to get out of the car so I could work out what all of this meant.

      I wanted to get home.

      I waited for him to ask me where I was living so he could drop me home, but he didn’t. Instead he pulled away and joined the flow of traffic. He didn’t say a word. No ‘How have you been?’ Or ‘I’m sorry I left.’

      Just tense, pulsing silence so heavy and oppressive it was like being covered in a thick blanket. And awareness. That throbbing, skin-tingling awareness that only ever happened when I was with this man.

      The restaurant was close to Fit and Physical, where I worked, overlooking the river. Usually I loved London at night. I loved the lights, the reflection of buildings on the water, the trees, the crush of people and the general air of excitement that comes from living in the capital. Tonight I barely looked at the city that was my home.

      I heard a throaty growl and for a moment I thought it was the car and then realized it was him.

      ‘Why were you with him?’ His jaw was clenched, his tone savage and I glanced across at him, stunned by the depth of emotion in his voice because Hunter was the most controlled person I’d ever met. He was the original Mr. Cool. Not tonight. He was simmering with fury and right on the edge of control. I realized that the reason he hadn’t spoken was that he was angry.

      ‘Who I’m with is none of your business.’

      ‘Why would you choose to spend your evening with a guy who thinks you should be doing baking and book club?’

      He’d heard that?

      I’d thought embarrassment was a split dress at a wedding—ask my sister about that one—but I discovered this was far, far worse.

      Let’s be honest. When a girl finally meets up with the guy who broke her heart, she wants everything to be perfect. She wants perfect hair, a perfect body, a perfect life. Most of all she wants to be in the perfect relationship so that he can see what he gave up. She doesn’t just want him to feel a sting of regret; she wants him contorted with it. She wants to smile and admit that breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened because it put her on this path to lifestyle nirvana. The one thing she absolutely doesn’t want, especially in my case, is for him to have to rescue her.

      I wanted to crawl onto the floor of his car and curl up there unnoticed.

      I wanted to rewind time and spend the evening in a deep bubble bath with the latest issue of Cosmo. Most of all I didn’t want to feel this