Ella
I stare in the mirror. It’s faded. In fact, it’s almost gone. Sure, I froze my butt off lying in an ice-cold bath for an hour last night, and I’m pretty sure I have a cold coming, but the bruise is better.
Tate walking in yesterday has ruined everything I planned. I didn’t want anyone to find out about my hellish past. I just wanted to come in, do my job, find myself. It seemed so simple before—but before, I didn’t know Tate Burke.
I didn’t expect him to push. I didn’t expect the Burke brothers to be so . . . immature, at times. Of course, if I didn’t have Matthew’s voice whispering in the back of my mind so often, if I weren’t a victim-turned-survivor of both mental and physical abuse, I wouldn’t have been so bothered by their words. I’d have simply laughed and maybe said something snarky back in response.
Instead I clammed up, got scared, and ran.
And now my past isn’t so secret.
He knows. I’m not stupid. I denied it until I was lacking in oxygen, but Tate knew. There isn’t a thing I can do about it either. I can’t make him un-see the blemish on my skin. I can’t make him forget that he ever walked in there or that I flinched whenever he raised his voice or moved toward me.
I sigh heavily and grab a dress from my case. I slip it over my head and let it fall around my body. The material is light and easy, and I’m thankful it’s so hot here. Maybe I’ll sweat the cold out over the next week or so while we stay in the South.
My phone buzzes on the bed. I grab it and open Sofie’s text.
We’re taking Mila to the petting zoo. Wanna come with us?
It’s the petting zoo or sitting here in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself.
Sure, I type back. Leaving after breakfast?
There’s a knock at my door and it pushes open. “It’s just me!” Sofie calls.
I turn to her. She’s smiling widely, dressed in a bright yellow sundress, her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“Hey,” I say. “I was just messaging you.” I wave my phone.
“I know. I got it,” she grins sheepishly. “I actually just needed to talk to you quick.”
“Oh, sure. What’s up?”
She licks her lips. “Tate told me what happened in the bus yesterday.”
I inhale sharply. Damn him.
“Don’t panic!” She holds her hands up with a reassuring smile. “I ain’t gonna ask you for an autobiography or anythin’. I’m just gonna say that if you want to talk to someone about it, I’m here. And if you wanted to tell me whether you were tellin’ Tate the truth or not, well, that would help. I can tell the guys to lay off you. They’re not great with boundaries.”
“You think?” My lips twitch weakly. I clasp my hands in front of me and look away. Telling her will help. I know this. But it’s hard. It’s so ingrained in me that if I tell someone, it’ll be worse next time. That phrase was Matthew’s mantra as much as I was his plaything.
Except now there isn’t a next time.
Now I fear nothing.
“I . . . might have been creative with the truth,” I admit quietly. “I just . . . it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past.”
“Okay. Now it makes total sense why you disappeared in the middle of the night.” She smiles gently. “Is there any chance your ex might find you?”
I never thought—oh God.
“Ella, Ella!” She walks to me and rests her hands on my biceps. “Don’t panic, remember? It’s okay. I’m not askin’ to scare you. If there’s a chance he might come after you, I need a picture of him or something.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“So security can put him on his ass before he gets within a hundred feet of you.” She smiles. “They’re there for a reason. Let them protect you, okay? You’re part of the team, and nothing will happen to you while you’re with us. All right?”
I nod, letting out a breath. “I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t try and find me. There’s a slim chance I was supposed to get married a few days ago.” I wince.
Sofie laughs. “I’m sorry. But, damn, girl. That’s how you run away.”
My lips curve. “I guess it is. I don’t have a photo of him—they’re all on my old phone. Just tell security to search for Matthew Hamilton of Hamilton Enterprises. He’s all over the Internet.”
“All right. I’ll send Ajax a message, since he’s not on babysitting duty today.” She winks and steps back. “Come on. Let’s eat bacon and watch my baby demon scare a bunch of animals.”
“Bunna!” Mila gasps, trailing her own fake one by its ear. “Dadda, look! Bunna!”
“Well, hey, so it is!” Conner takes her hand and leads her over to it. “You wanna cuddle it?”
“Yeah!” She claps her hands and sits down on the floor with her arms out.
I laugh as one of the workers opens the gate and pulls out a white rabbit. She sets it on Mila’s lap, giving her gentle instructions. Mila coos at the rabbit, grinning widely, and we all smile, too.
“Ahh, bunna. Tay, you see bunna?”
“Yeah, I see it, Mimi,” he replies gruffly, his hands in his pants pockets.
“Tay cuggle.” Mila points at him.
“I’m all right.”
She frowns. “Tay. Cuggle. Bunna. Now.”
I raise an eyebrow at Sofie, and she steps back, laughing into her hand. “You know the new thing where they call their fans Divas? I’ll give you three guesses who inspired it.”
“Noooooowwww,” Mila growls.
“Ah.” I nod. “That makes total sense.”
Tate shuffles forward and sits down next to Mila. He looks up at Conner and mumbles something, making him laugh. Tate, though, stays stone-faced, even as he takes the rabbit from Mila and she leans against him to keep petting it.
It’s been tense between us since the moment he got out of his car in the parking lot and we saw each other. Honestly, if I knew he was coming, I would have stayed at the hotel or done something else . . . alone.
I think being alone would be preferable to exchanging tiny, awkward glances with him. Hell, our not-talking is affecting everyone except Mila. Sofie keeps squeezing my arm in support, and all the guys keep offering me small smiles. I guess they know Tate’s temper better than I do, but I don’t have to be his best friend to see he’s mad. Really, really mad.
There’s also the fact that I know Kye and Aidan heard our conversation. They heard Tate’s accusations and my replies. My blatant lies.
That everyone here, except maybe Conner, knows exactly what happened to me before I got here.
I just hope they think that’s the only time it happened and they never find out it’s been my life for two years.
“Don’t let him get you down,” Kye murmurs in my ear from behind me. “He’ll get over himself soon enough.”
“I’m not.” It’s kind of the truth. “Honestly, I’m glad. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone and we can have a decent working relationship.”
Kye chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Oh, Ella. He won’t leave you alone until you tell him the truth.”
“I was hoping you didn’t hear.”
“Y’all were yellin’ pretty loud. Woulda had to take a different bus to make sure we didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward for anyone.”
Aidan laughs, coming up on my other side when Sofie joins Mila, Conner, and Tate. “Our lives are awkward, Ella. We breathe awkward. You’re adding some much needed brightness to it.”
I smile at him. “Thank you for saying that.”
He winks and joins the rabbit-stroking party.
“Come on,” Kye nudges my elbow with his. “Mila will be onto us next if we don’t.”
I follow him over to everyone and pause when the only space to sit is next to Tate. Still, I swallow and lower myself to the ground. He glances at me as I do, his eyes blazing. It lasts only a second before he turns away.
“Ella! You like bunna?” Mila asks.
“He’s cute, huh?” I offer her a smile.
“So coot,” she sighs happily. “Dadda, my have a bunna?”
Conner looks at Sofie, who grins and sits back as if to say, “She asked you, not me.”
“I’m not sure, baby. Let’s see when we get home, okay?”
“My ask Santa for a bunna.”
“Santa doesn’t bring bunnies,” Tate says, leaning back on his hands. “They’d get cold in the yard. He gives moms and dads tickets to buy bunnies in the summer.”
Sofie purses her lips, and Conner looks like he’s going to murder him. Their reluctance makes sense, given that they’re away more often than they’re home.
“Yeah,” Conner agrees. “And they give uncles extra tickets that tie them to rabbit-cleaning duties.”
“Then it’s a good thing she’s got three to share that, ain’t it?”
Aidan pokes Tate’s side. “Just because you’ve got your manhood all in a twist doesn’t mean you’ve gotta annoy everyone else.”
I skirt back a little. Here comes the awkwardness.
“Nothin’ wrong with me, bro,” Tate replies, handing Mila the bunny and getting up. He wipes the dirt from his jeans and turns away from us, his biceps tensed.
I watch him as he walks away. He tucks his hands back in his pockets, slouching his shoulders, and disappears around the corner. I stare at the empty space where he just was, a small ball of guilt settling in my stomach. Guilt for him—but guilt because the sharp angle of his tightened jaw is burned into my brain, and so is the blaze of his eyes as he fought back his obvious anger. Guilt because I shouldn’t be thinking about how freaking attractive he is, even when he’s annoyed.
And when I pull my attention back to the rabbit, everyone is looking at me, but only Sofie looks at me with the sympathy I don’t think I deserve.
The Moscato here is good. Sweet and crisp and cold, it’s the perfect way to unwind, and quickly becoming my new favorite pastime. I almost forgot how fun it is to sit back in a bar with a friend and just sip cold, fruity wine. All this needs is cake. Cheesecake, to be exact.
Presumably Sofie’s thinking the same thing I am, given the meltdown Mila had at leaving the bunny behind. She acted up so bad that she went to bed without dinner because she refused it.
“Well, I’m never taking her to a petting zoo again.” She laughs. “Holy shit. How did I ever do this alone?”
I smile. “Because you had to?”
“That’ll be it.” She laughs again. “How are you feelin’?”
I look into my glass and run my finger across the base, wiping up the condensed drops. “I’m all right.”
“You don’t look it.”
I shrug. “I guess I just feel kind of bad that Tate’s bad mood is because of me and now it’s affecting everyone.”
I do. Being honest with him really wouldn’t have hurt anyone. Why is it so hard to admit that I had a crappy relationship that I ran from? Why won’t the words fall from my mouth?
Even to Sofie, I had to add in “maybes” and “might haves” like they softened the blow.
“It ain’t your fault, you know?” she prompts. “He’s not happy because he isn’t getting his own way. He’s a big old baby, Tate is. He can’t get inside your pants because you work for him, and now you won’t tell him stuff he wants to know.”
“You didn’t tell him?” I snap my eyes up.
Sofie shakes her head. “Ella, no. It ain’t my place to tell him. I told Conner your ex was an asshole and you think he’s stalkin’ you. He didn’t ask me questions.” She shrugs a shoulder.
“He probably is stalking me,” I mutter. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he was halfway to Atlanta by now.”
“Well, if he is, and he finds you, he’s going to have a tough time getting anywhere near you.”
“I hope you’re right.” I swallow and look down again.
I’m petrified of that. Of him showing up. These people, they’re all so nice. They’ve taken me without asking any questions—if you don’t count Tate—and they’ve really made me feel like I belong here. And Sofie, well, I think she’s glad to have some female company that isn’t two years old, but even then, I feel like we have the start of a good friendship. Which isn’t something I’ve had in a long time, given that I rarely saw the people I call my friends, and that, when I did, it was never particularly enjoyable.
It really would be perfect without the eldest Burke brother.
Sofie starts talking about something to do with the guys’ schedule tomorrow, something about gym time and making sure they stop for lunch. The tablet is open to the notes section, but all I’ve written is a few words about breakfast and gym time, because I’m distracted. Dammit. I never should have thought about Tate.
Now my mind is consumed with him—tall, strong body, certain stride, cocky smirk, bright eyes, intricately inked arms. And his attitude. His asshole, the-world-owes-me attitude and his unnecessary annoyance at something he knows nothing about. Because he doesn’t, and I don’t care if he’s my boss or the king of Spain, my past is not his problem. It’s mine.
I roll my shoulder and nod my head at Sofie as my distraction level rockets through the roof. It’s almost as if a thousand bugs are crawling over my skin.
I look up and, like something out of a corny romance movie, meet turquoise eyes across the bar. But there’s no butterflies, no happy sigh of the heart. There’s anger and annoyance glaring at me, and I feel it, too.
Frustration swirls in my stomach, because he’s so mad with me, and he has no right to be, not really. I could have told him everything, but I’m not under any obligation to do so. Like Sofie said, he’s being a big baby and throwing a tantrum close to the scale of Mila’s earlier today.
“Ella?”
“Hold that thought,” I tell Sofie, taking a big swig from my glass and getting up.
“What?” She spins on her stool. “Oh. Ohhh!”
Tate turns and storms away, his muscles flexing with his every step, and I follow him. This ends now, because our relationship isn’t supposed to be personal, but he’s making it that way.
He shoves open the door that leads to the private parking lot, and I catch it just before it swings shut again.
“Don’t even think about getting in that car!”
He stops and, in the waning light, turns to me over his shoulder. “Last time I checked, you didn’t give the fuckin’ orders around here.”
“And last I checked, Mila was the one with tantrum rights, not a twenty-five-year-old man.”
He spins and his eyes crash into mine. “Is your sassy side out to play tonight, darlin’? Scared little Ella gone back into hiding?”
His words jolt me, but I swallow the hit. “Yeah, the sassy side seems to come out around you if you hadn’t noticed. You obviously bring out the worst in me.”
“Shame. It’s pretty fucking hot.” He folds his arms over his chest. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Oh, sorry, am I delaying your next meaningless sex date?”
“Yeah, actually, you are.”
“I’ll make it quick, then.”
“Please fuckin’ do.”
I freeze. The words are on the tip of my tongue, ready to fall, but they won’t jump. Why won’t they come out? This isn’t the plan. No. I’m not afraid. He won’t hurt me. No one will.
“Well?”
I run my fingers through my hair.
“Informative.” Tate turns and unlocks his car. He opens the door, and then . . .
“You were right!” I yell, running my hands through to the ends of my hair. “Yesterday. On the bus. What you said. You were right.” He says nothing, and I swallow. I step sideways, closer to the tour bus, and clench my fists at my sides. “You don’t have a right to know, but I have to tell you because you’re stomping around like your mom didn’t give you any candy. You’re being awful over something that isn’t yours to be awful over.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it isn’t your business.”
He slams the car door shut and hits me with his red-hot gaze. “Yeah. It is my fuckin’ business, Ella. It’s every bit my fuckin’ business because you are.”
“I am not my past!” My voices hitches at the end as my words gain volume. “Do you know how hard it is to be honest? I can’t even say the damn words because I’m so afraid something bad will happen. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in fear every single day?”
“No. I don’t have a fucking clue, but you’re not alone here. There are people here that can protect you from him!”
“Sofie already did it!” I wrap my arms around myself. “Security knows who he is.”
Tate’s jaw tics. “You should have told me. It’s my job to keep you safe, not Sofie’s.”
I laugh in disbelief. “How is it your job? Because you’d have no one to annoy if he finally got me? Because I’m your employee?”
“Because I fuckin’ want to!” He approaches me, each footstep echoing around the empty parking lot.
I back up against the bus, flattening my hands on either side of me. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and I can feel so many things swirling around my body. Fear. Anger. Adrenaline. A thrill. They all mix and mingle into an indecipherable feeling that thrums through my veins at warp speed.
“It’s my damn job to keep you safe.” He flattens his hands above mine and leans down. He’s not touching me, but my skin is tingling all over. “I told you yesterday I’d never set a finger on a woman. I meant it. I’ll also never let anyone else fucking do it either.”
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” I snap, raising my eyes to his.
“Hardly, but let’s move on, shall we? Make our way down a list? Let’s clear up how you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane,” he growls, his biceps tightening on either side of me.
“Excuse me?”
“I went out earlier to pick up some chick and fuck out my frustration. Guess what? I came back here, still frustrated, unfucked, and I got me a pair of blue balls for my trouble. Couldn’t pick up a single fuckin’ chick because some hot-and-cold, dark-haired PA and her pain was consuming me like a fucking disease.”
“I’m sorry my life is such a cockblock to you.”
“Not your life, darlin’.” He drops his eyes to my mouth, and I feel them tracing the shape of my lips. It makes me draw in a sharp breath. “You. Just you. Doesn’t matter who I look at or think would look good in my bed, ’cause they don’t have your hair, your eyes, your smile, your mouth. Doesn’t matter, because they ain’t you, Els.”
“Is that how you pick up girls?”
“You’re real feisty around me. You know that, right?” He leans in further and his breath billows across my mouth, heating my lips, his eyes searching mine. “You wanna know why you’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ll ever have?”
I purse my lips. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, regardless.”
“Damn fuckin’ right I am.” His voice is low, husky, rough, and against my wishes, my body shudders. “Because I can’t stop seein’ you yesterday, cryin’, scared. Scared. Of me, when I ain’t him. When I’d never touch you that way. I can’t stop seeing what I saw and wonderin’ how the fucking hell someone could hurt the sweetest girl I’ve ever met in my life. I can’t stop bein’ mad that someone did hurt you, Els, darlin’.” He drops his hand to cup the side of my head and strokes his thumb across my cheek.
The soft touch sends a thousand lightning bolts across my skin.
“I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the worthless piece of shit who did this to you could have walked past you in Charleston and I wouldn’t have known, or that he’s on his way here right now. And worst?” He pauses, his fingers tightening slightly on the side of my head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I couldn’t protect you because you refused to tell me the motherfuckin’ truth. And how I have to protect you because, yeah, I want to protect you.” He brings his face close to mine.
So close I can’t tell where my breath stops and his starts.
So close I’m shivering in the evening heat.
So close my body is buzzing.
So close I can feel each dip and bump of his muscled body, even though his hand is the only part touching me.
“Els, I gotta protect you because no other girl has ever fuckin’ bothered me as much as you do.”
“Well, thank—”
His lips—they’re on mine. Hot, soft, smooth. They taste like coffee and cinnamon, and he smells that way, too. His hand falls to my side and it burns me through my dress. Every little touch, whether it’s his lips working mine or his nose brushing mine or his fingers flexing against my skin, is more intense than I could ever have imagined.
My hands creep up his body to his neck. I wrap my arms around him, falling into his kiss, letting him prove whatever point he’s trying to prove.
It should be wrong. I should be running screaming. But I can’t move.
It isn’t wrong.
It feels a little right.
Like every word we’ve exchanged since we first saw each other has been building to this.
Like today, all day, every painful glance, has been foreplay for this kiss.
His hand slides down to my thigh and up, pulling my dress up with it, and I gasp, because, whoa. But it’s nice. His touch is like a gentle spring breeze ghosting over my skin, until his hand rounds to my back.
My bruise.
“Tate,” I whisper, every one of my muscles freezing.
His fingertips brush the edge of the bruise. “Say it again. My name.”
“Move your hand.” Every word quivers. “Please.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my arms. No—he can’t touch that. He can’t touch where he did.
“Els.” He cups my face. “Ella. Darlin’, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .”
But I remember. The shove into the wall because I didn’t get a chance to pick up my wedding dress. The punch to my back, then the push against the table.
“Ella . . . Ella!”
I open my eyes and look up, shaking. All over. Everywhere.
Tate stares at me, every bit of anger gone. “Els?”
I push at his chest, because he needs to let go.
He doesn’t.
He wraps his arms around me.
Softly but strongly, wrapping me in his embrace.
He holds me until I stop fighting him.
Then he holds me some more.
And he whispers, “You’re safe with me, darlin’. Always.”