The Street Where She Lives. Jill Shalvis

soft body spread beneath his in the grass, her huge, melting eyes filled with heat and fear and hope as she gave herself for the first time, to him. His first time, too, and in spite of the fact their birth control had failed them—the condom broke—that night still stood unrivaled to anything he’d experienced since.

      She didn’t acknowledge him as he moved into the living room, and he wanted her to. “What happened to the person who hit you?” he asked.

      “They never found him.”

      He sucked in a breath. Oh yeah, Asada had done it.

      Emily could be next.

      Ben’s stomach quivered as he mentally added this to the long list of things he’d screwed up. Are you good for anything, Benny boy? No. No, he wasn’t.

      Unaware of his personal hell, Rachel stared down at her hands, her words coming out slowly. “I’d almost rather it be a hit-and-run than someone who’d just made a terrible mistake. This…this torture of mine wouldn’t be erased by destroying someone else’s life as well.”

      That Rachel had once nearly destroyed his life didn’t escape him. By the time she’d finished with him, Ben had felt every bit as battered and bruised as she looked now, except his injuries had been invisible.

      Did she really look at him and feel nothing? And why did he care? Did he feel something when he looked at her?

      Yes, he could admit, he did. Mostly anger and humiliation. She’d been taught to not express herself, but somehow he’d gotten Rachel to open up to him. It’d been like watching a flower bloom, beautiful and arousing. They’d been two lost souls made into one, yet she’d thrown it away with an ease that chilled him even now.

      Good, there was more of that anger he needed in order to keep his distance. He’d just see her comfortable, then go make some calls regarding her accident and then stay away from her until he could leave. But when he stepped closer, took in her grim expression, her pale face, the way her good hand clasped her casted one, he was filled with alarm to see her trembling with the effort to remain upright. “Hey, let’s get you get into bed.”

      She didn’t respond, which made him feel like an unwelcome slug. Not a new feeling for him, but it bugged him nevertheless. He put himself in her line of vision and reached out for the cap that shaded her eyes from him.

      “Don’t.” Coming to life, she struggled to lift her arm, holding the ugly thing in place.

      “I want to see your eyes.” Liar. You wanted to see if her hair was as glorious and thick and curly as it used to be.

      “Why?” She flashed those eyes up at him now, wide and furious and full of pride as she stubbornly held on to the cap.

      At least the temper was a hell of an improvement over the sadness and vulnerability. Not that he really cared. She’d fixed that for him a long time ago. He was simply here to make sure he didn’t bring his personal hell down on her.

      “L-leave the cap.”

      “I want to see the real you, what you’re thinking.”

      “I’m thinking I wish you could leave.”

      He couldn’t help it; he laughed. It was that, or lose it entirely. Go away, Benny. Go away, Ben. Go away… “I just remembered one of the things I used to admire most about you,” he muttered. “Stubborn as a bull.” He rose, moved behind her and grabbed her chair. “Nothing’s changed. Let’s go.”

      When he would have shifted her chair forward, she set her good hand on the wheel. “No.”

      Afraid to hurt her fingers, Ben stilled. “I’m taking you to your room where you’ll lie down and rest, damn it. You’re so tired you’re shaking. You have black circles under your eyes, you haven’t been eating near enough and—”

      “You’re my nurse, not my mother.”

      He looked down at the top of her head. “Well, since we both know what a peachy job your mother did, let’s leave her out of this.”

      “How dare you throw my past in my face! You, of all people.”

      Oh, he dared, and she’d riled him good now. Their past was exactly what had brought them here together. Their past often kept him up at night with flashes of remembered heat and passion.

      Their past was one of the emotional highlights in his life, pathetic as that was to admit.

      Torn between being infuriated and turned on at the same time, he let loose. “And as your nurse, I say take off the stupid hat.” Before she could react, he whisked it off her head.

      And froze.

      Her soft, flowing hair was…gone, leaving a short, choppy cut of maybe an inch or so. Then there was the three-inch long jagged surgery scar behind her left ear that made him want to throw up. “Rachel. My God,” he whispered, horrified at the extent of what she’d been through. Clasping the ridiculous hat to his chest, he turned the chair so he could look into her face, prepared to hate himself for reducing her to tears.

      But he’d forgotten, Rachel would never allow him to do such thing to her. Crying in public would be unacceptable. Crying in front of him would be tantamount to a disaster.

      Instead, regal as ever, she remained utterly calm, her head high. Eyes bright, she sent him a fiery look. “I h-hate you.”

      Oh, yeah, he believed it. He even deserved it, more than she knew. Gently, he put the cap back on her head, his fingers brushing over the warm, smooth skin of her neck. “I’m sorry.”

      “Go away.”

      “Rachel—”

      “No! Don’t even look at me.”

      Her fair skin had reddened furiously, and he realized they absolutely were not on the same plane, that she apparently thought the sight of her had sickened him. “No, wait. God. Rachel—” He dragged in a deep, ragged breath. “Look, my horror is for what you’ve been through, not for what you look like. You look…”

      Stunning was all he could think, staring into her wide, lovely eyes. Brave and lovely and desirable. But she’d never believe that. “Alive. Rachel, you look alive. Isn’t that all that matters?”

      She didn’t say a word, but her chest rose and fell with her agitated breathing, and being nothing less than a very weak man, his eyes caught there, mesmerized by the surprisingly lush twin mounds of her breasts.

      “You mean ugly,” she whispered.

      A sound escaped his throat before he could control it. “No. That’s most definitely not what I mean.” He drew another deep breath and shook his head to clear it. “You’re wrong, very wrong.”

      “Just go away.”

      As those were hauntingly familiar words, he swore softly beneath his breath, fought with the demons that urged him to do just that, then placed his hands on her chair. “We’re out of here.”

      “To where?” she asked, panic laced in her voice.

      “To where I should have taken you when I first got here. Bed.”

      FROM EMILY’S PERCH on the open loft, lying flat on her belly next to the top of the spiral staircase, with only her eyes peering over the side, she watched her parents and bit her lip. This was not quite the joyful reunion she’d imagined. But she was no longer a child. She knew life sometimes sucked. And yet…she could fix this. She could. If her mom and dad weren’t happy to see each other, she’d just make them happy. How hard could it be?

      All her life she’d been told how brilliant she was, how extraordinary. She loved that word, extraordinary. Mostly because when she looked in the mirror she saw nothing but frizzy hair that gel didn’t fix, too many freckles and a geeky smile. Where was her extraordinariness? Maybe it would come when she got boobs, but what if she never got any and, just like her Aunt Mel, had to buy them?

      Her