One minute Rhys—or the person who sounds like Rhys but looks nothing like him—reacts as if he might tear me in two with his bare hands. The next minute he’s gone. He turns on his heel and strides to the door, knocking over a shelf before slamming the door behind him.

Stunned, I remain on the counter for a few seconds, trying to make sense of things. But I can’t. My naked body shivers from the sudden change in temperature. Hot one second ago, freezing fucking cold the next. I tie the torn skirt around my waist and use the scarves to secure my bodice in place. Then I hop off the bar and jog out into the bright sun. It seems so wrong—the clear blue sky, the sunshine—for my present mood. It should be dark and storming. The white washed villa should be the crumbling walls of an old castle.

I chase Rhys’s retreating form up the walk to the front door. He doesn’t run but his purposeful strides are so long I don’t gain on him. I expect the front door to be locked when I get there but it’s not.

“Get your things and leave.”

I press my hand to my ear. The ear bud! I’d completely forgotten it was there.

“Where are you?” I ask, tilting my head back to look up at the domed ceiling and the second floor.

“You got what you wanted. Go home, Tessa.”

“What happened to you, Rhys?”

“I died and went to hell.” His tone is bleak. Empty.

I make for the stairs. “Let me see you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’ve already seen me. Isn’t that enough?”

With my hand on the rail, I slowly mount the stairs. Then I stop. Realization hits. “You could have caught me in the forest.”

“Yes.”

I begin climbing again. “You didn’t catch me because you didn’t want me to see you.”

No answer.

“What happened?”

Still no answer.

“Do you let anyone see you?”

“No.”

I get to the top of the stairs. Rhys is here somewhere. Watching. Hiding.

“How long has it been, Rhys?” I start walking down the hall. “Since you’ve seen anyone?” I hesitate, then whisper, “Since you’ve been with a woman?”

I don’t expect an answer. So, when he says, “Do you really want to know?” in a tortured, raspy voice, I stop my forward motion and lean against a paneled wall. Eyes closed.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to know.”

“Not since the bomb in Afghanistan. Not since you.”

Oh my God. “Rhys...”

“Don’t you dare fucking pity me.” The anger in his voice sends shock waves down my spine.

“I don’t pity you,” I say, moving forward again. “I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry you’ve shut yourself away. But it’s not pity.”

“Go, Tessa. Leave.”

I pause in the open doorway of the bedroom Rhys set up for me. My belongings are where I left them. Of course Rhys is not there. But…

I lean against the doorframe. Considering the implications of the room. Why did Rhys fix it up? What was the purpose? It’s obviously not his, there’s nothing of his here and it has a distinctly feminine feel. What was he hoping would happen here?

After a deep, bracing breath, I tiptoe quietly down the hall, testing each doorknob before I pass. Until I come to one door that looks newer than the others, thicker, sturdier. Meant to keep people out. I press my ear against it while I slowly, slowly try the handle. To my surprise it turns.

The room is dark. The walls are dark. There is a dark mass in the middle—a bed?—and there is a tall, dark shadow standing against the opposite wall.

“Do you know what happens to the overly curious heroine in fairy tales when they tempt the beast?”

“They fall in love?” I say weakly.

“That’s the Disney version.” The shadow turns. “I’m talking about the real tales. The cautionary ones.”

“What happens?” I take one step closer, then another.

“They get eaten.”

I stand my ground. “You don’t scare me.” Oh. I’m such a liar. When I have my breathing under control, I continue toward him. One foot softly in front of the other until I’m standing right in front of him. I can feel him, his bold presence. I could touch him, if I wanted. But he’s right. I’m too scared to reach for him.

“I warned you, Tessa.”

Suddenly the blind covering the window flies up illuminating the room in golden rays of sun. Rhys stands before me, seeming larger than ever, like he’s eight feet tall. He glowers down at me, the skin on his face puckered and warped. The whole left side of his face has been burned; his left eye half-shut, looking like it’s glued and he’s missing his eyebrow. His left nostril flares unnaturally and the left side of his mouth is tugged down in a perpetual frown. This time when I see him, I don’t wince. I don’t gasp in shock. I simply gaze up at him as if meeting him for the first time. Though his skin is discolored and unnatural, there is still a strength to his jaw, a nobleness to the line of his nose. The right side of his face is less affected and I see remnants of the old Rhys.

My hand does not shake when I reach out to touch and Rhys does not knock my hand away. Breath shudders in and out of his wide chest as he stands completely still, eyes closed, letting me do something no one else has done in years.

Touch him.

His skin is softer than I expect as I caress his cheek and along his jaw. I don’t stop there, but continue down. I need to know how extensive the scarring is. How damaged he is. Surprisingly, Rhys allows me to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing the undershirt beneath.

“Take it off,” I command.

“You should leave.” There is no conviction in his words so I ignore him, tugging off the sleeves of his shirt and then running my hands up beneath his undershirt to push it over his head. For whatever reason he allows me to do it. Maybe he thinks what I’ll find will shock me enough into leaving.

If that’s the case, he’s completely wrong. My hands roam freely across the unchartered territory of his new body, from his jaw, down his neck and chest, the whole left side of his body has been burned and I have a sudden vision of this big strong man being thrown through the air as something explodes, his clothes on fire, him walking the thin line between life and death while he protects the freedoms I take for granted.

I press a kiss to the spot where his left nipple used to be and a breath catches at the back of my throat as I envision the pain and agony he went through. Months and months of rehabilitation. Skin grafts. Operations. Only to shut himself away from the world afterward. Ashamed of his injuries when he should wear them like a badge of honor.

I turn because I don’t want him to see the tears welling in my eyes. I don’t want him to think I pity him because I don’t. Not one bit.

I respect him.

When I make my way to the door, his voice stops me. “I’m not the man you remember. I don’t blame you for leaving.”

I swivel around, my tears under control. “I’m not leaving, if that’s what you think. I’m going back to my room.” I motion with my head toward the other room down the hall. Pinching the ear bud from my ear, I set it on the table at the door. “If you want me, come and get me.”

I wait by the window, my back to the door. There is only a few moments of doubt before I hear the heavy footfall of his boots as he makes his way down the hall.

“What have you done to me?” he asks from the doorway.

Turning slowly, I say, “I’ve reminded you what it’s like to live.”

“You should leave.” There is nothing in his body language that agrees with his statement.

“No.” I approach, slowly. “I’m not leaving.”

“Go right fucking now.” In contrast to the harshness of his words, they are said in a soft tone, implying the exact opposite.

I shake my head, moving closer, loosening the ties from around my waist and chest, letting the torn dress fall open. It’s because I’m holding his gaze that I know his eyes flicker down over my body. Pain—no—regret flashes through his gaze. The right side of his face grimaces. The left side doesn’t seem to be able to express anything, locked in a mottled scowl.

“Touch me, Rhys.”

He shakes his head, still denying himself of what he truly wants.

“Then watch me.” I caress my throat with my right hand, my thumb running along my jaw to my open mouth. My left squeezes my breasts, first one then the other. My natural urge is to close my eyes and just feel, but I don’t give in, I need to watch his reaction. I need to see him struggle to draw breath as I scrape my teeth over my thumb nail while my other hand explores my belly and hips, slipping briefly between my legs, sneaking a quick dip into my pussy.

“I’m wet Rhys. Wet for you.” I hold my damp fingers up to his face. “Taste.”

His cheeks hollow as he sucks a deep breath.

While he battles for control, I taunt him by sucking on the fingers of my other hand.

I witness the very second his resolve gives. His eyes flash, his right cheek flinches and he snatches my hand, shoving my fingers into his mouth and sucking on them with greed. He backs me up to the canopied bed and pushes me down, falling heavily on top of me. His careful control is nothing more than an illusion, and he ravishes my body, kissing and licking, nipping and sucking, squeezing and manhandling, starving for me, like he’s been living on a deserted island and I’m his first meal, an all you can eat buffet.

“Fuck, Tess,” he moans in my ear as his hips thrust between my thighs. “I need you. I need you so fucking bad.”

“I’m yours, Rhys. Take me.”

“Jesus.” He moves to his knees, straddling my hips, gazing down at me with a scowl. All the while he’s working his belt, his fly, finding a condom in his back pocket and covering himself, tossing the empty packet to the floor. “I’m going to have to fuck you so hard.”

I nod.

He fits a hand beneath me and lifts my hips so I’m on level with him. He guides himself to my entrance and thrusts. His head lolls back, as he holds my hips in both hands, his body flush with mine. “Holy fuck,” he whispers to the ceiling. A prayer of thanksgiving.

His withdrawal is slow, like he’s found a home inside of me and doesn’t want to leave, and when just the tip of him remains, he lowers his head, stares directly into my eyes and slams back inside.

It’s my turn to throw my head back. My turn to cry out. The force of his penetration is felt all the way up my abdomen, my chest, my throat to the top of my head. “Again,” I beg.

He repeats the process, slowly pulling out only to hammer inside. It’s so good. His body fills me in all the right places and his need and desire feed my heart and soul making the experience more than just about sex. It’s about humanity and connection.

“More,” I say on a gasp. “Give me more.”

Grimacing, he draws my legs together, and raises my feet to the left side of his face. I inhale sharply as the position forces him deeper into new and wonderful parts of me, like he should have a passport to do this because he’s entering completely new territory. I love it.

“Rhys, that’s so fucking good.”

He moves hard and fast, his eyes closed now as he focuses on the movement, the feeling, the joy of it. He sighs my name before splitting my legs and dropping down between them, his body level with mine, his hands on my shoulders now, his hips moving wildly as he gives in to his neglected needs. The sounds we make are definitely more animal than human and I wrap my legs around his waist, needing him to be as close as possible.

“Oh God, Rhys! Oh God!” My nails dig into his powerful shoulders as my body arches beneath his.

“I’m going to, Tess. I need to.”

“Yes!” I move my hips beneath him. “Yes!”

After one final thrust, he cries out, shaking his head and growling. His body shuddering in me and around me while mine shudders in response. The spasms and quakes go on and on, two year’s worth of unspent need. Frustration. Anger. Shame. All chased away if only for a short time.

Finally he collapses on top of me and I hope he’s going to stay, but far too soon, he pulls out of me and rolls off. Removing the used condom, he wipes himself with tissue. “I’m sorry that was so…quick,” he says without meeting my gaze.

I absently caress his thigh through his fatigues, wondering if there’s as much scarring on his legs as the rest of his body. “You do know you’ve made me come three times already today, right?”

He smiles. It’s a beautiful sight. “I’ve been hard for you from the moment you pulled up in your car.”

My caresses reach higher, hoping to get him hard again.

He captures my hand. “So…it was…okay?”

“Fuck, okay.” I bite my lower lip in remembrance. “More like spectacular.” Turning my head on the pillow, I cast a sideways glance. “What about for you?”

“Chasing you?” The right side of his mouth twists up higher. “Fucking torture, Tess.”

I grin back.

Soon the smile falls from his face. “You make me forget what I am.” He goes to do up his fly but I stop him.

“I’d rather remind you of who you used to be. No. Who you are.” Our gazes meet, his narrowed as if daring me to look at him, scars and all. Of course I don’t look away but I do distract him by wedging my hands beneath the waistband of his fatigues and pushing them down his hips. “Take these off.” I glance down, noticing he’s still wearing his boots. “The fucking boots too.”

Flopping onto my back, I lazily caress my naked body while I watch him undress. “I expect you to do your duty and make me come at least two more times, soldier.”

He kicks his boots off and steps out of his trousers. His whiskey gaze meets mine, his eyes shining irreverently as he gives me a saucy salute.

Three times. The man made me come. Three. More. Times. Bless his noble heart. He also fed me a delicious home cooked meal and we spent hours talking about his plans for the vineyard over a couple bottles of the pinot noir he’d been saving to share with me. He didn’t talk about what happened to him in Afghanistan, but that’s okay. Maybe next time he’ll be ready to open up.

If there is a next time. I hope so.

It’s was well past midnight, after another wonderful lovemaking session, that we fell asleep. Or at least, I fell asleep.

I wake up to a room bathed in cheerful, early morning light. Rhys is gone. I sit up and stretch. That’s when I notice the covered tray on the table beside the bed. Coffee, orange juice, a bagel and cream cheese.

I find a folded piece of paper on the tray, tucked beneath the coffee cup. Pushing my tangled hair out of my face, I open it up. The words, THANK YOU are written in bold caps. This is Rhys’s way of saying goodbye. Clearly he doesn’t want to do this face to face.

I gnaw away at the bagel, not really tasting, as I relive the last twenty-four hours. My old friend, melancholy, settles into my bones. I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye. I understand why Rhys didn’t…couldn’t. And, despite my sadness, I feel privileged that he’s let me in, even if only for a day. It’s a start.

After finishing breakfast, I take a quick shower and dress. Before I leave, I pause in the hall, peering through the darkness at the shut—and now probably locked—door at the other end. Respecting Rhys’s unspoken wishes, I do not go down the hall to knock on it.

“Goodbye, Rhys,” I whisper, wishing I was still wearing the ear bud so I could hear his reply.

Sighing, I sling my bag over my shoulder and take the stairs down to the main level. Once outside, I am greeted by the cleansing air of morning. I stand there, my face to the sun, breathing deeply.

What a day.

What a night.

I don’t want to leave. Things don’t feel…finished and I guess there’s a part of me that’s afraid I’ll never be invited back. I’m pretty sure this was all an experiment for Rhys and I hope I’ve proved to him that he’s not the monster he fears he is. Although, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than one day and night of sex to convince him of that fact. Before climbing into my car, I cast a lingering gaze back at the house. Feeling…sad. Wistful.

There’s a distinctive ping from the depths of my bag.

My heart skips a beat as I fish around in my bag for the phone. I find it and type my password.

>When I text, IT’S ON, you’d better come.<

I throw my head back and laugh. Shielding my eyes with my phone, I wave up at the dark windows of the villa before climbing into the car and driving away.

What fantasy will Rhys choose next time?

Oh God. I can’t wait to find out.