Pretty and Reckless (3 page)

ELISE

“Stay right there,” Weston instructed, leveling me back against the wall carefully and then shutting the door He double-checked that I was stable before pulling away and turning on the light. Pain erupted through my body with every move I made. He’d thrown my shoe into the floor of his car and then had to carry me up three flights of stairs to make it to his apartment.

He tossed my clutch onto a marbled counter-top in the kitchen then came back for me. “Careful,” he said, wrapping my trembling arm back around his shoulders to assist me to the couch sitting in the middle of the living room. My bare thighs shivered as they grazed the leather when he attentively set me down.

“I’ll be right back,” told me, pulling away and walking through an open door to the left, giving me a chance to take a look around his place.

It definitely wasn’t what I’d expect from a guy his age. It was sophisticated. The furniture was tasteful. Black armchairs sat to each side of me, a black table with a glass top was in front of me with books stacked in the center, and a white shag rug was positioned underneath it. A big screen TV was hung overhead a brick fireplace with two large, abstract paintings hanging to each side of it. I blinked a few times, trying to make out the artist of the paintings with my one swollen eye, but couldn’t distinguish who it was.

I looked up when he came back into the room holding a cable-knit throw. “Here,” he said, bending down and wrapping the blanket around me. I shivered, the soft fabric gathering around my skin. “Come on, we need to get you cleaned up.”

He cautiously pulled me up from the couch. I held the blanket in my fist to keep it from falling as we took baby steps to the room. Each step, each excruciating step, was a reminder of what had happened to me.

We walked through a bedroom and then landed in the adjoined bathroom. He eased me down on the closed toilet seat and began shuffling through drawers and cabinets. He grabbed a first aid kit and got down on his knees in front of me. Capturing my chin in his hand, he examined my face.

“I bet you regret giving me your card,” I said, forcing a laugh, struggling to crack some of the tension. He didn’t say anything. He obviously didn’t find my joke amusing.
 

“Shit, this has to be killing you,” he said. I flinched, the peroxide stinging when it came into contact with my broken skin. “It really looks like you need stitches. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? It’s going to scar.”
 

I grimaced at another sting. “No hospital.”

He nodded, letting the subject go. I shut my eyes and relaxed at the feel of his hands meticulously cleaning my wounds. He brushed a lukewarm washcloth over my puffy lips, cleaning the blood around them, and then grabbed my hands to wipe each finger clean one by one.

“Whoever it was, they sure did a number on you,” he said, taking a second look to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Resting his hands on my knees, he looked up at me. “How do your ribs feel?”

“Like they’re cracking underneath my skin,” I said, my muscles tingling.

He raised himself up, and turned on the faucet to wash his hands. “Do you want me to take a look?” He asked. I gulped, my head shooting up in shock. “To make sure they’re not broken,” he rushed out, urgently. “Which I’m positive they are, but if you don’t feel comfortable, I understand.”

“No, it’s fine.” I’d been naked in front of plenty of men. He shouldn’t be any different to me.

“I’ll let you undress. You can leave your bra and panties on. Pull your dress up to your chest, and I’ll get your sides wrapped up for you. Call for me when you’re ready.” He pulled out a towel, setting it down, and then turned around to leave, but I stopped him.

“I actually need help with this,” I said, signaling down to my dress. There was no way I’d be able to get it off without help. It was practically glued to my skin.
  

All of the color had drained from his face as he scratched the back of his neck. “Okay,” he said, nervously. He grabbed my hand in his, using the other to grip my arm, and brought me up. “I’m going to have you sit at the edge of the tub. I think that will be the easiest.”

I whimpered, feeling the pain as he eased me onto the side of bathtub.
 
“Can you raise your arms for me?”

They shook as I slowly lifted them while containing the impulse to shriek out in pain. He fell to one knee, his face leveling with the center of my thighs, and grabbed the hem of my dress.

A cold sweat drowned over my body and my heart began to flutter, it’s pace growing quickly. My spine stiffened while I focused all of my attention on him. My legs cramped up and I used my ass to scoot my hips forward. The pain began to suppress as I started focusing on something else.

I hung my head in shame, feeling the warmth building up between my legs. I was pathetic. I was getting turned on, growing
more wet
between my legs with each touch, while he was trying to take care of me. My imagination wandered to what would happen if he made a simple slip of the hand, allowing his fingers to roam between my thighs and venture into my pussy.

I slightly parted my lips, giving him a silent invitation I hoped he’d pick up, but he ignored my coaxing. His long fingers latched onto the hem of my dress, bunching up the fabric in his hand. He moved in closer, his breathing picking up, while he started to drag it up my body. He stopped when it hit underneath my ass.

“Lift up for me,” he said, grabbing my hip, assisting me to get the dress over my waist.

I whimpered, watching his jaw drop and pupils dilate, when he noticed I wasn’t wearing any panties. I was completely bare to him.

He coughed. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said, shaking his head and going to back to the task at hand. He attempted to slide the dress up my chest, but his hands abruptly stopped when I cried out in agony. He looked up at me for directions on what to do next.

“Cut it,” I said.

“What?”

“Cut this damn thing off.”

It was an eight hundred dollar dress, but it was already ruined. He pulled himself up to grab a pair of scissors from the kit and hooked the handle of the scissors in between his fingers.

“You want it up or down?” He asked, stopping in front of me.

Up or down? My deviant mind drifted. Did I want it up or down? Definitely up, I never liked it down.

“Elise,” he said, tearing me away from my thoughts of what position I wanted him to fuck me in.

What the hell was wrong with me? He was the complete opposite of my type. I’d never look twice at him if we passed on the streets. He was nice. He was sweet. He didn’t look like he’d be a pick for this month’s Playgirl magazine.

So why was my body tingling in desperation for him? I was awed at his attentiveness while he cleaned me up. He was careful lover, I was sure of it. That’s exactly what I didn’t like. I wasn’t a slow and sensual kind of girl, I liked it raw and unemotional. There were no emotions when a guy pulled my hair and slapped my ass while I rode him. We were just two people fucking to get our frustrations out. So why was I imagining how Weston was in bed?

“Huh?” I finally asked.

“Do you want me to cut it up or down?” He snapped the scissors open and then closed.

“Up is fine.” My voice was squeaky as the words fell out.

Anxiousness riddled through me for his hands to touch me again. Maybe he shared the same feeling and he wanted me as bad as I wanted him. We’d end up in his bed and he’d take care of me in a better way.

He stepped forward, the scissors hitting the fabric as he held up my dress and began cutting. He didn’t venture between my thighs or cleavage as he cut into it carefully. The dress split in two, skimming the pit in between my breasts, and he did a double take when he noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Hold onto the tub for leverage,” he instructed, pulling me up and the dress fell off my body. He grabbed the bandage from the floor and began wrapping my sides. “I’ll try to be as careful as I can. I’m leaving it a little loose so we don’t do any damage to your lungs.”

The pain died down with each wrap. He grabbed the blanket off of the floor when he was finished and wrapped it back around my body.

“I have a guest room and bath down the hallway. You probably want to shower and clean yourself up. Try not to get the bandage too wet,” he said. I sighed in disappointment. I guess he wasn’t going to be sharing his bed tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said.

He helped me to the bathroom and handed me a towel. “Keep the door unlocked, and yell for me if you need anything,” he said, leaving the room. I unraveled the blanket from my body and leaned against the vanity while I waited for the water to heat up. I scraped my hand through my hair and took a good look at my reflection in the mirror.

I could make out the faint bruises beginning to stretch along the tan skin of my cheeks. One of my dark, slanted eyes
were
swollen shut. My lip was busted and puffy. My hair was a ratted mess. I crossed my fingers along the scrapes of my neck and looked down to see more along my breasts. Weston was right. Oliver really had done a number one me.

I carefully climbed into the shower and my body burned as the heated water ran down my sore skin. I rested my hand against the wall to balance myself, letting the water stream down my body, and I cried.
 

The shower was my sanctuary of release. It was my place of liberation. The only place I allowed myself to get emotional. I’d whisper my secrets to the water and then they’d wash away into the unknown.

I walked to the bedroom when I was finished to find a pair of sweats and a t-shirt sitting on the bed. I quickly dropped my towel, pulled them on, and headed back into the living room.

“Are you hungry?” Weston asked, standing in the kitchen. “I can make you a sandwich or some soup, if you’d like?”

I yawned. “I’m good, thanks. I’m going to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

He turned around to grab a glass of water and held up a bottle of ibuprofen so I could read the label. He unscrewed the cap, dropped a few into his hand and held them out to me.

“You’re going to need these,” he said. I grabbed the pills and swallowed them down. “Let me know if you need anything else. Goodnight, Elise.”

I noticed my phone and clutch sitting on the nightstand when I walked into the room. I slid into the cold sheets, inhaling the scent of fresh cotton, and knew I’d be fighting sleep.

I rested on my back and thought about Weston. I’d never had anyone go out of
their
way to help me like he had tonight. I had Bella, my old housekeeper and nanny, but she was paid to take care of me and be nice. Weston wasn’t getting anything out of me being there and he was treating me better than those who got a paycheck.

WESTON

I was a fixer. I’d been one for as long as I could remember. I was the mediator between my brother and sister, and the person they came to with problems when they were afraid they’d get in trouble with our parents. I helped my parents by keeping my brother out of trouble. I fixed my elderly neighbor’s pipes when they got clogged, and made sure I was home every Saturday morning to help her carry up groceries.

If where was a problem or dispute, I wanted to mend it. I didn’t like people, or things to be broken. So I made it my job to do just that.

“I’m so fucked,” I muttered, slapping my palm into my forehead after Elise disappeared into my guest room. I shouldn’t have let her come here. I was an idiot. Me helping her, her being in my home, could cost me everything I’d been working my ass off for. This twenty-year old woman could ruin my entire career.

I needed her gone, and I needed to find the fortitude to make it happen. For some reason, I couldn’t muster up the power to tell her to get out. My mind was disoriented and playing with my decisions. It wanted her here, but I couldn’t have her here. I wasn’t sure which was worse: kicking her out and never knowing her, or allowing her to get close and fucking everything up.

I blew out a low breath while shutting off my lights, and then ventured to my bathroom to clean up. My gaze shot directly to the ripped up dress thrown in the corner. My throat burned as I scooped it up and skated my fingertips along the sheen satin that smelled of a flowery perfume.

I rubbed the back of my neck, using my knuckles to knead into my tense skin. I’d had my hands on her. I’d seen plenty of naked women in my life, but even with the cuts and bruises, she was the most breathtaking. She’d looked so innocent looking up at me as she handed herself over for me to patch her up.

My brain swept back to what I’d tried to ignore. She’d been turned on by my touch. I could tell. I’d ached, wanting to cave in with my own desire, but I held back. I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t that kind of guy. She didn’t need me hitting on her in a moment of weakness. She’d just been beat up by a man. She sure as hell didn’t need another one groping her a few hours later.

My chest constricted, anger boiling up inside of me like a volcano, when I noticed the dark red blood splatters smeared against the black fabric. I knotted the dress up, my pulse shoving into my throat, and snatched up the scissors. I rammed the blades through it, not stopping until it consisted of only tiny slivers at my feet.

I wasn’t sure who’d hurt her, but I knew it was a man.
I fucking
hated men who put their hands on women. Scratch that. They couldn’t even be classified as men. They were pussies, and she needed to quit hanging out with pussies. Real men respected women, they loved women, and they sure as fuck didn’t beat them to a bloody pulp then leave them stranded in an alley.

I tossed the remnants of the dress into the trashcan on my way back to my bedroom and collapsed onto my bed without bothering to undress.

I’d wanted to scream at her and insist she quit making such stupid decision. This woman, she fascinated me, as she self-destructed like it was her middle name, afflicting herself with as much pain as possible. I didn’t understand her. If she’d quit trying to lash out at everyone to make a goddamned point, maybe she’d finally see how truly remarkable she was.

When I’d spotted her at the coffee shop, I should’ve turned around and ran. But I was too stunned to move. I’d waited in line, using every ounce of self-control to not turn around and stare at her. Even with only the few glances I’d managed to sneak in, there was no mistaking it was
her
.

The woman sitting only inches away from me sipping on her coffee had tried to destroy me because she weak and scared.

Her brown, slanted eyes that had stared at me with such hate were burned into my brain. The color had reminded me of the autumn leaves that fell every year at my grandfather’s property down in Tennessee.

Her jet-black, glossy hair was swept back in a loose braid that fell to the crook of her neck, the same style she’d worn three years ago. Her cherry red lips slowly parted each time she took a long drawl from her cup. She looked stunning sitting there, looking lost in the sea of faces where no one knew her story.
Except for me.

It was humiliating to admit, but I’d dreamed about her. No so frequently anymore, but after we’d met, I was doing it almost nightly. I’d shut my eyes at night and my mind would wander back to the girl who’d perplexed me on my very first day. I’d been so young and inexperienced that I hadn’t been sure how to handle her.
 

I stood there, repeatedly telling myself to grab my coffee and get the hell out of there. I told myself not to go there, but I didn’t stick with my plan. Instead, I grabbed my coffee and headed directly to her. I was helplessly pulled in her direction and lost all control over my body.

I had so many questions for her. I wanted to know the rest of her story. I wanted to know why she was here in Chicago. I wanted her to let me in like I’d begged her to years ago. I wanted to know everything about her.

But she’d acted like she couldn’t even stand to look at me. Her lips grimaced like my presence made her uncomfortable, so I left my business card and walked away, doubting she’d ever make use of it.

Giving her that card was the stupidest, yet smartest, fucking decision I’d ever made in my life. If she hadn’t had my number, I would’ve never been able to rescue her.

I pulled the blankets up my body, and switched off my bedside lamp. I wanted to know what had happened to her tonight. I wanted to know who’d hurt her and how bad the damage was. Then I wanted to fix every piece of her.