Burned. Sarah Morgan

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 way. The truth was I dated men like Brian because I didn’t want to feel as if I’d been singed by wildfire.

      ‘You can drop me here and get back to your date. I’ll take the underground.’

      ‘Because walking down a dark alleyway alone at night wasn’t enough of a bad decision?’

      He’d always been protective. He’d always tried to keep me from being hurt. The irony was that in the end he’d been the one who had hurt me.

      ‘I travel on the underground all the time.’

      ‘Not when you’re with me.’

      Heat flooded through me. ‘I’m not with you.’

      ‘Right now you are.’ His tone was savage. ‘And unlike your useless date, I’m not leaving you.’

      ‘Why? Have you suddenly developed a conscience?’ I watched as two streaks of colour highlighted his cheekbones and knew I’d scored a point. ‘Look, I’ve never been one for reunions, so just stop the damn car and—’

      ‘What the hell were you doing going out with a guy like him in the first place? He’s not the right man for you.’

      ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

      ‘I know everything about you.’ His husky tone was deeply personal and I felt everything tighten inside me.

      The chemistry between us had always been explosive.

      I’d assumed it was because he was my first, but I was fast realizing his ranking had nothing to do with it.

      I stole a glance at his profile, wondering what it was about him that made me feel this way. He had the same features as anyone else: eyes, mouth, nose—his nose had been broken a couple of times. But something about the way those features had been assembled on him just worked. He looked tough, like someone who could handle himself—probably because he could—and the combination of rugged good looks and a hard body was pretty irresistible.

      I felt a pang of regret that I’d wasted the time I’d had with him. Instead of just enjoying myself and having fun, which was what I should have done at eighteen, I’d been clingy and needy. Part of me wished I’d met him a few years later. Then we would have set the world alight.

      But it was too late for all of that.

      ‘Just drop me off and go back to the blonde.’

      ‘You don’t need to be jealous. She’s a colleague.’

      ‘I’m not jealous.’ But I was, and I hated that. I hated the fact that he made me feel that way after all this time. ‘Fuck you, Hunter.’

      And I had, of course. If there was one thing we’d been good at, it was sex.

      His knuckles were white on the wheel.

      His head turned briefly and his gaze met mine again.

      It was like the collision of two tectonic plates. I felt the tremor right through me from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet and for a moment I was back there in the madness of it, my mind twisted by the ferocious sexual chemistry that only happened when we were together.

      With a soft curse, he dragged his gaze from mine and shifted gears in a savage movement that made me flinch. ‘You saw those guys looking at you and yet you just walked out and let them follow you.’

      ‘I’m not responsible for their bad behaviour. A woman should be free to walk where she likes without fear of being accosted by losers.’

      ‘You put yourself in a position where those losers could have hurt you.’

      ‘So you’re saying it’s my fault they behaved badly?’

      He clenched his jaw. ‘No, I’m not saying that.’

      I kept my hands clasped in my lap because the craving to touch him was scarily strong. ‘I didn’t know they were behind me. I wasn’t paying attention. I was upset.’

      ‘Because that guy told you to learn to bake cakes?’

      No, because I’d seen him. All I’d wanted to do was run.

      I was a coward. I prided myself on being gutsy and strong and I’d fled like a rabbit being chased by a fox.

      ‘I didn’t see any point in prolonging the evening. I’ve had a long week.’

      ‘Did you run because of me?’

      ‘Oh, please....’ Now I was doing a Brian, leaving my sentences unfinished, but in my case it was because I didn’t want to tell the truth and I was a hopeless liar.

      Hunter didn’t bother inserting the words I hadn’t spoken. He didn’t have to. He already knew the answer to that one. He’d always been able to read me. We probably could have had an entire conversation without opening our mouths.

      Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, he drove past the Houses of Parliament up to Buckingham Palace and then drove through Hyde Park, headlights bouncing off trees and sending a shimmer of light across the Serpentine pond. I didn’t own a car. For a start, I didn’t have the money to run one, but in London there was no point. Why spend the whole day sitting in traffic?

      Hunter reached into a pocket in the car and handed me a dressing pad. ‘Your head is bleeding.’

      ‘It’s nothing.’ A bit of blood was the least of my worries. I had bigger concerns, like the fact my heart was hammering. It didn’t feel normal to me. ‘I had the situation under control. You didn’t need to help out.’ I took the pad, ripped it open and pushed it against my forehead, wondering what else he carried in this car. I hoped he had a defibrillator, because I was pretty sure I was going to need one.

      ‘If I hadn’t arrived when I did, you’d be a crime statistic.’

      ‘I was doing just fine.’

      ‘Your balance was wrong. You need to watch the way you drive your leg. You’re straightening too soon and losing power. You need a ninety-degree angle. You need to bend more. And turn your hips.’

      I was trying not to think about my hips. I was trying not to think about any part of my body, especially not the parts that were near my pelvis. I was worried I was about to catch fire.

      For a moment I wondered if I was the only one feeling this way and then I saw his knuckles, white on the wheel, and realized he was struggling, too.

      ‘Why did you follow me?’

      ‘Because I knew you were upset. I wasn’t going to leave you alone in that situation.’

      ‘Why? You left me without a backward glance five years ago, so it’s a little late to develop a protective streak.’ I thought it was hypocritical of him to pretend he cared about my well-being when he’d once left me in a million pieces bleeding. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but that’s how it felt.

      His shoulders tensed and I realised that, far from seeming indifferent, I’d just revealed a wound the size of a continent.