Suddenly her appointment with Dr. Madsen was the least of her worries. How on earth had she let her desperation to not spend her entire afternoon at the DMV make her agree to drinks with Owen McConnell?
Her first date in more than five years, and she’d rather do just about anything else. It wasn’t him. She’d feel the same way if it were anyone…any man. Wouldn’t she? Or was it him? And the way her attraction to him unnerved her?
Either way, she wasn’t ready for this yet.
Her last relationship was before her life had changed. She thought she’d spend the rest of her life with Paul, a pre-med student she’d met while on campus posing for a university brochure photoshoot. He’d been good-looking, smart, funny, and caring. And strong enough to stay with her after the attack. He’d promised to be by her side, help her get through the nightmares, the pain, the long road to recovery…but she’d slowly pushed him away. She’d tried to push everyone away. And not everyone had the sheer will that her mother possessed to take the abuse she’d dished out in anger and not leave her completely alone.
So many nights she’d cried herself to sleep replaying the hurtful words she’d uttered to the one person she could count on, hating that the maliciousness of her attack seemed to be becoming a part of her.
But seeing her mother’s strength against her verbal and sometimes physical attacks had oddly enough given her the strength to fight to get her life back, and over time she’d let her mother in.
But only her mother.
And certainly not some stranger who had a way of seeing too much when he looked at her. Certainly not a handsome, successful man she’d Googled while waiting for Dr. Madsen. She’d been hoping to discover something she could use to justify canceling their date. A criminal record or something.
Unfortunately, she’d learned he was a Marine who’d been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery in saving a fellow soldier overseas, resulting in the loss of sight in one eye. The thought that because of his own accident, he might have the smallest understanding of what she was going through put him firmly on top of the list of men she’d rather not date.
Connecting on any level with a man right now was not in her plans.
So why she couldn’t bring herself to dial his number and make up an excuse for not going through with their drink date, she didn’t know. Unfortunately, while her brain was fully on board with her no-men rule, her body was betraying her. It had been forever since she’d been with a man—Paul being her last six years ago—and she was starting to really miss the intimacy.
Six years. Damn, she was practically a nun.
An image of Owen’s biceps and chest muscles staining against the fabric of his faded Avalanche logo shirt at the DMV flashed in her mind. If she had to choose someone to break her dry spell, he’d top the list.
She forced several deep breaths. It was just a drink. One drink then she’d have paid her debt to him.
Who knows—maybe he’ll be stuck at the DMV all evening.
“My receptionist told me you were in here, but I have to say, I had my doubts,” the doctor said, entering a moment later.
“I couldn’t get the window pried open,” she mumbled.
“So, you’ve reviewed all of the procedure information?”
Over and over before each surgery. She nodded.
“And you’ve reached out to your support group?” He sat behind his desk and put on his bifocal glasses. “Talked to some of them about how you’re feeling trying this again?”
Of course not. She nodded.
“That was a lie, but moving on…” he said with a sigh. “We have an open slot for the procedure for July twenty-first.”
The day after the golf tournament. “July is busy with the celebrity charity event and getting the applications approved for the burn camp in August…”
He folded his hands and sat quietly as she rattled off the list of reasons that date wouldn’t work. “And then of course the real reason—you’re terrified of attempting this process again, getting your hopes up for positive results and knowing that, either way, you have to get on with living your life.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. That wasn’t it, was it? She wasn’t holding on to her scars as a form of protection. She’d heard her support group leader say that was often the case…and her psychologist had suggested that she might suffer from what she’d referred to as “victim’s security”—an unwillingness to make things better for fear of having to live again. Nope. That wasn’t her. She was just busy in July. “Is there anything after July? August? September would be better.”
He didn’t even check the schedule. “Nope.”
“Doctor Madsen, I want this procedure,” At least a part of her did. Right? “But…”
“Nope. No buts. I’m scheduling you in for July twenty-first, and it’s completely your choice if you show up, Paige,” he said, entering the information on his tablet.
Immediately her phone chimed with a new email that she suspected was her appointment confirmation. Damn. Would she show up? For six years she’d gone through with them, out of hope at first, then more out of obligation, but when was enough enough? “Okay,” she said as she stood. “Thank you, Dr. Madsen.”
The decision was weeks away. Right now, she had to decide whether or not she was going to show up for tonight’s date.
* * *
The Breezeway Bar was quiet at five thirty, as the after-work crowd had yet to wander in, and Owen made his way to his usual booth at the back. This was where he was meeting Olivia and Ben and his blind date later that evening, so it seemed like the logical place to meet Paige. He didn’t expect their drink to take long. He suspected she’d guzzle a glass of wine, refuse to let him pay, and take off within twenty minutes.
If she showed at all.
He’d barely had time to get home and shower and change after two more hours at the DMV, and his still-damp hair fell into his face as he set his jacket into the booth. Then he headed to the bar. He was nervous, and a beer would help take the edge off, help him relax a little until she arrived at their six o’clock scheduled time.
He shook his head. Six o’clock. Earliest drink date in history. Might as well be a platonic day date. “Hey, Ricky,” he greeted the owner of the bar, stocking bottles of alcohol for the evening.
“Hey, man—the usual?”
He nodded.
“You solo tonight?”
He shook his head. “Actually I’ve double-booked dates for this evening,” he said, accepting the beer.
“Well, that’s assholish,” Ricky said with a grin.
“Trust me, I doubt the first one is going anywhere beyond this drink.” Not that he didn’t want it to. If she hadn’t agreed to the drink, he might have offered his next in line place to the person who’d pulled a ticket right after her, just to stay and hang out with her. Or rather, annoy the shit out of her. He remembered how she’d struggled with indecision on whether a drink with him was worth the quick in and out of the registration office or not. “She’s a little standoffish.” Though he had seen a look of—dare he say—interest flash momentarily in her eyes when her gaze had shifted to his body. Maybe he had the extra time at the gym that week to thank for this one.
“She’s not into you, you mean?”
“If we’re being technical—yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” But he was hoping to change that. He was ready to stop goofing around and start opening himself up to something real. Hiding behind the mascot costume had been easier in recent years as he’d struggled to figure out his place in the world now that hockey and the military weren’t options. But he needed to regain his confidence and start believing in himself again. It wasn’t the career that defined the man, right? He took a swig of his beer and nearly spit it back out as he saw Paige enter.
Dressed in a pair of jeans that hugged her hips, a black turtleneck sweater, and short tan heeled boots, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked far too good to be meeting him. And early.
The sound of her heels on the wooden bar floor kept pace with his thumping heart as she approached and stopped next to him.
“Hi,” he said, sliding off of the barstool. “You’re early.”
“Thought I’d have a drink to take the edge off. Looks like you beat me to it.” Her voice sounded strained, and she clutched her purse as she scanned the bar.
He smiled. “Good to know I’m not the only one nervous.”
“Who says I’m nervous?”
“I can read body language.” And damn, what a body. His gaze did a quick once-over and his mouth went dry. She was the only woman who could wear a turtleneck in this heat and make it look hotter than any of the revealing, skin-baring tank tops walking around Denver. The way the light wool fabric clung to her breasts and tucked into her jeans, highlighting her tiny waist, prevented him from thinking clearly. Her soft perfume lingering on the space between them wasn’t helping either. She was so far out of his league. Talk about setting himself up for heartache. Shit.
She cleared her throat, snapping him out of his trance.
“What are you drinking?”
“Um…gin and tonic, please,” she told the bartender.
“Coming right up,” Ricky said, shooting him a look that confirmed he was right, this woman was definitely too hot to be interested in him.
Owen tossed several bills onto the bar. “Can you bring it to the booth?”
“No problem,” the bartender said, shaking his head as though in disbelief.
Ricky wasn’t the only one.
“This corner booth okay?” he asked Paige, leading the way to his table.
“It’s great,” she said, as she slid in across from him on the plush leather seat. “You’ve been here before?” She looked surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
She looked around. “It’s just…this place doesn’t strike me as a place you’d frequent.”
“Why’s that?”
“I guess I’d pegged you as a sports bar kind of guy.”
After two brief meetings where she’d practically ignored his existence? “I get my fill of sports bars…and piano bars, and comedy bars. I’m well rounded.”
“Or an alcoholic?”
He laughed. Wow, she was really hoping not to like him. “Well rounded.”
Ricky delivered her drink and she took a sip, sitting back in the booth. “So, how much longer were you stuck at the DMV?”
“Two hours.”
She finally smiled. A small one, of course. “Sorry. I really do appreciate you giving up your number, though. I had somewhere I needed to be this afternoon.” Her face clouded slightly.
“Hey, it worked to get you out for a drink. I’m actually starting to think it might be a great way to meet women. Go there every morning when the place opens and every hour grab a new number…phone number, I mean,” he said with a wink.
And she actually laughed. A full on, unguarded, unexpected laugh.
Which would have been fantastic had he not taken a swig of beer. The sight of her face transforming when she smiled nearly knocked the wind from his lungs and he coughed, choking on the liquid.
“You okay?”
He recovered and took a breath. “You need a warning label on that smile.”
She looked slightly uncomfortable, and he didn’t get it. She had to hear compliments all day every day. She took a bigger sip of her drink this time and checked her watch.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
She looked unsure, but finally nodded. “Sure.”
“What’s the worst that could happen if you stopped trying so hard not to like me?”
Her lips parted but no sound came out.
Wouldn’t be the first time he’d surprised someone with his abrupt bluntness, but he didn’t see much point in trying to impress her if she insisted on keeping this wall up. Just give him a door or at least a window to break in through.
Her shoulders rose and fell and she seemed to be weighing his words for a really long moment. As though something terrible could happen if she let her guard down. She intrigued him, and he couldn’t help but want to break down her walls a little. He’d never met a woman as beautiful, smart, and successful who seemed so unsure of herself in a social situation. She released another big breath before saying, “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll try to thaw a little.”
He sat back in the booth with a smile. “The tiniest bit, that’s all I ask.”
She leaned forward, folding and unfolding her hands on the table. “So, what exactly does your job as promotions manager for the team entail?”
He continued to watch the delicate, soft-looking hands as he answered. “I arrange all of the Avalanche’s corporate and charity events, and I take care of the team’s website—direct fan mail to the players, handle requests for appearances, that kind of thing. And I schedule all of Bernie’s appearances.”
She nodded. “Sounds busy.”
“It can be during the season. Summer is a little quieter.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. I mean, as much as anyone can enjoy career choice number three.” He took a swig of beer. At least he’d gotten the chance to play professional hockey and serve his country. Not many people could say they’d realized two dreams in one lifetime. But it was hard to derive the same sense of fulfillment from what he was doing now.
She twirled the straw in her glass, avoiding his gaze as she said, “I have a confession.”
“There was a connection that day in your office—I knew it,” he said with a wink.
“Um, no. I was going to say I Googled you. A Marine, huh?”
So, she’d been interested enough to find out more about him. He’d take it as a good thing. He nodded. “I know. Hard to believe they let me in, right?”
“Not at all. You’re persistent enough,” she said with a teasing raised eyebrow.
Oh man, he barely knew her and already he was falling hard. Flirty, teasing banter with her seemed to mean so much more. “Only when I need to have something,” he said, unable to hold back the truth.
An awkward silence followed, but he couldn’t regret the words. Most men played games, most had game—he wasn’t that guy. Honest, blunt, straightforward, and upfront may not have always worked in his favor, and it may not that evening, but he was sticking to it. Someday, some woman would appreciate straight, no-bullshit honesty.
But maybe too far, too fast with this one. “Anyway…I’m not active duty anymore,” he said pointing to his eye.
“But you were at the DMV, so you obviously drive. Do you still have vision in that eye?”
He nodded. “About seventy percent. Unfortunately, being overseas when it happened, options for medical attention were limited. But once I arrived here, I looked into different treatment options, and I was a candidate for a clinical research trial on epithelial stem transplantation. It took a while, but the new stem cells worked to help regenerate my own.” He stopped, unable to read her expression. “You can tell me to stop talking any time now.” It wasn’t usually something he went into detail about on dates, but after his previous comment, he felt a little stupid, and rambling seemed like a better alternative to unreadable silence.
But again, she surprised him. “No. It’s fascinating. I know several patients at the treatment center who have gone through similar procedures.” She cleared her throat and hesitated before adding, “I also read that you saved a fellow Marine’s life.”
Now it was his turn to shift uncomfortably. Talking about the effects that nightmarish day had had on his own life was one thing, but remembering how close his friend and comrade had come to losing his life was another. “He lost a finger on his right hand and suffered wounds to forty percent of his body, but he walked away.”
“That’s admirable.”
“Right place, right time, that’s all.”
“Not sure everyone would see it that way,” she said, her voice a little softer, and he sensed a small crack in her impenetrable wall.
But he’d talked about himself enough. If he was on the clock, which he suspected he was, he wanted to learn as much about her as possible. “What you do is admirable. Other than organizing the fundraising efforts, what else does your role at the Burn Treatment Center involve?”
As she discussed her role and involvement in the organization, she visibly relaxed. She spoke confidently and easily about the programs and the goals of the organization, and her passion for her job shone through.
And damn if that didn’t make her that much more desirable. He could spend the whole evening just listening to her. Watching those beautiful pink lips move without pause for breath and the look of compassion and empathy in her eyes when she spoke about her patients had him completely engaged.
“The summer camp program is still relatively new, but every year there’re more and more kids who attend. A lot of them are survivors who love to go and help spread hope to those still trying to cope with their recent accidents.”
“Survivors—I like that.”
She nodded. “Me too. That’s what we…they are. We don’t see or treat anyone as victims at the center. Victims are those who didn’t make it, and every one of the kids we work with have made it and will continue to get better and grow stronger.”
He knew something about being the one to make it. The one to get a second chance at life, however altered. “We have a similar belief in the Marines.”
She smiled and her gaze dropped to her glass.
Their drinks were empty, and he prepared to hear the “I should go” speech.
“Another round?”
“Yeah,” he said, probably too quickly, but who gave a shit about pride when a woman as beautiful as Paige wanted to spend more time with him. “Same thing?” He nodded toward her empty glass.
She nodded.
“Be right back.” He climbed out of the booth, but paused. “You’ll still be here, right?”
She laughed and the sound warmed him. “I’ll still be here.”
Going to the bar, he was smiling like an idiot.
“Seriously? You’ve made it to round two?” Ricky looked disbelieving as he shook his head. He poured the drink for Paige and handed Owen another beer. “She must have shit in her eyes…and ears.”
“I haven’t done much talking, and the lighting in here helps to hide my flaws.”
“That explains it.” He rang in the drinks and tossed the change into his tip jar. “Who is she anyway?”
“Paige Adams. She’s the director of the Burn Treatment Center, organizing the celebrity golf tournament that Westmore’s playing in.”
“Ah, that’s it then. She’s trying to get to Westmore through you.”
“No, man. Westmore’s off the market.” Still, his smile faded as he glanced toward Paige. That wasn’t it, was it?
“Only in his own mind.” He walked away to serve new customers at the bar, and Owen sighed.
Nah, Paige had shown no interest in Ben…
Still, sliding back across from her, he couldn’t shake the thought as he handed her the drink.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “Honestly, I’m just surprised you’re still here.”
“Honestly? Me too,” she said with another teasing grin that put him at ease once more.
She glanced at the old jukebox between the booths. “Does that still work?”
“Yes ma’am…” He reached into his pocket for several dollar coins. Quite an inflation in price from the quarter price listed on the machine, covered by the new sticker. “It has everything from the classics of its day to modern noise from twelve-year-old YouTube sensations. What song can I play you?”
“Oh no. I’m good. I was just curious.”
“Come on. If I choose the song, it’s going to be a sappy country ballad that will make your ears bleed.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Country? Really?”
“What? I’m a sensitive, truck-driving, momma-lovin’ kind of guy.” He winked as he stood. “So…what’s it going to be?”
She sighed as she stood and followed him to the jukebox. “Okay, let’s see.” Leaning over, she peered inside to read the selections.
And damn, if he didn’t try so very hard not to let his eyes wander to her ass, but he was only a man. One completely taken by this woman, whose hard exterior seemed to be chipping away faster than he’d expected.
His eyes widened. Shit. Time. He checked his watch. Ben and Olivia and his blind date for the evening would be there soon. “Hey, why don’t we go somewhere else? Are you hungry?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they have food here,” she said.
Damn. She was agreeing to stick around even longer. He would be leaping over the freaking moon if shit wasn’t about to hit the fan any minute. He needed to text Ben…try to reroute them away from here. He couldn’t mess this up now, when things were going so well.
“Okay, I’ve got one,” Paige said, pointing to Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up.”
If anyone could help him seduce a woman, it was Bob Marley. Sliding the coins into the machine, he kept one eye on the door as she made her selection.
As the soft beat started, she smiled. “I love this song.”
He was in love with her smile. As she headed back toward the booth, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into him.
A slight look of intrigued panic flickered across her features. “What are you doing?” she asked as he drew her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her soft perfume and the feel of her body beneath his hands made it impossible to let her go, even if he wanted to.
“Dancing with you. I knew if I asked, you’d say no,” he said, swaying slowly to the beat. Every other thought left him as he enjoyed the moment, knowing he may not get this opportunity again. Nothing else mattered except the woman in his arms.
She glanced around the bar, which had gotten busier while he’d been caught up completely in her. “No one else is dancing…”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to dance with anyone else.”
She sighed and reluctantly slid her arms around his neck. “This isn’t exactly a dance floor.”
“Any floor can be a dance floor,” he said, drawing her even closer as his hands slid a fraction lower. His thumbs gently massaged as his grip tightened at her hips.
She shot him a warning look as she readjusted his hands higher on her back.
But she didn’t remove them completely. “Sorry. I felt a vibe and went for it.”
She laughed. “Maybe not the right choice in songs,” she said, though finally swaying in sync with him.
His gaze fell to her hips in her tight-fitting jeans and he had to force a breath. “I think it’s the perfect choice in song. Now, it’s our song.”
“Our song?”
“Yeah. Whenever we go to a wedding and they play it, we can say ‘hey, it’s our song,’ or when we’re driving through the mountains in the winter on the way to the cabin with the kids asleep in the back and it comes on the radio, we can crank it higher and sing along to…”
“Our song?” she finished shaking her head. “You really get ahead of yourself, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. The drinks, the beat of the music, the dim lighting in that corner of the bar, her soft, sweet smile made it impossible not to want to kiss her…but he held back. Too soon, too fast was not the way with this one, and that was the only speed he really knew. Not this time. This time it was her speed, her timing. He had no other choice—he was completely hooked on her.
But that didn’t stop him from taking her hand and kissing it, savoring the silky soft skin against his lips.
A conflicted look appeared on her face for just a brief second before she was leaning toward him. When her lips brushed his, his eyes widened. His grip tightened at her waist as her arms circled his neck once more.
Her height made her perfect to kiss. He didn’t need to bend at the knees or crank his neck. Her lips were soft, and she tasted like a mixture of gin and watermelon. Her hands crept into his hair, and she pressed her body to his. He could sense her give into the moment, all tension and apprehension disappearing. His hands cupped her face as he responded with an urgency he couldn’t control. Since the first day he’d met her, he’d wanted to kiss her, and now she was continuing to shock the hell out of him with the passion and heat that she’d initiated. Gone was the cool, guarded woman who’d walked into the bar two hours before. Now she was soft and dangerously seductive as her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue parted his lips, demanding entry.
His fingers dug into her waist and only the beat of the music kept him grounded in their surroundings, preventing him from taking the kiss to an even more intoxicating level. He wanted so much more than a kiss…
Breathless, she pushed away slightly, her eyes snapping open as her hand flew to her lips.
He couldn’t not to take the opportunity to tease her. “That was a little forward, don’t you think?” He fought to calm his thundering pulse and hoped she couldn’t see the effect the kiss had had on him. His pants felt a whole hell of a lot tighter in the front, and resisting the urge to drag her out of there and back to his place was taking all his strength.
“Well, since you’d already planned family vacations, I took a chance that you wouldn’t mind,” she murmured against his lips as she moved in closer again. “And maybe the alcohol and the music went to my head a little.”
He touched her cheek as they continued to sway. Never in a million years had he expected this evening to turn out the way it was. She’d stayed beyond a quick drink. She’d actually taken the time to get to know him, and she’d let him in. The kiss had told him she was every bit as interested in him as he was in her. And he was feeling pretty damn good.
But a second later he knew he was screwed as her gaze wandered past him to the door. “Hey isn’t that your friend, Ben Westmore?”
* * *
Paige felt her smile fade as Owen’s face took on a look of pure panic.
Ben wasn’t alone. With him as he approached were two beautiful women. One was holding his hand, and the other was looking slightly nervous as her gaze fell on Owen.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
Pulling away from him, her blood pressure soared. The first kiss she’d had in more than five years, the first real date, real connection with someone, the first time she’d let her guard down even the slightest bit…and she was forced to regret it instantly. A second ago, Owen had taken her breath away, now she was resisting every urge to punch him.
“Paige, wait a sec. Let me explain,” Owen said, following her to the booth.
She shot him a “drop dead” look before reaching for her purse. She felt like an idiot, and she couldn’t put space between them fast enough.
“Hey, Ms. Adams, nice to see you…” Ben said, as the group stopped at their table.
God, this was embarrassing. It had to be obvious to everyone there what was happening. She’d been played. “Hi, Ben. Excuse me,” she said awkwardly, heading for the exit.
Welcome back to the world of dating, she thought bitterly, pushing the bar door open and ignoring Owen calling her name behind her. She needed to get away from him. The whirlwind of emotions she’d experienced in the last three minutes had her head spinning and her heart pounding.
She’d actually been having a good time. He was sweet and funny and easy to talk to. She’d never have expected to enjoy herself, but she had been. And she certainly hadn’t expected to feel the sudden urge to kiss him or to act on it, but she had. She’d gone with an unexpected, foreign impulse in the heat of the moment.
She was an idiot.
“Paige!”
She kept walking.
“Paige, please just wait a sec.”
She didn’t stop. “Don’t worry about it, Owen,” she called over her shoulder.
He touched her shoulder and she moved away. “Look, I’m sorry. Ben and Olivia had set up this blind date weeks ago…”
Her hands clenched at her sides. “And you were hedging your bets—I get it. Now, get lost.” She turned to continue walking, but he jogged several steps ahead of her and walked backward as he talked.
“I really didn’t even think you’d show up tonight, and the last thing I expected was that things would be going so well.” His pleading desperate look meant nothing to her. She wouldn’t fall for any more of his bullshit. She hated to think that the evening had just been a ploy to…what? Get her into bed?
“Had been going well. Go back to your friends,” she said.
“Paige, please…”
“No, you were right to book two dates tonight, because you certainly weren’t going to get anywhere with me.” That kiss had been a crazy, impulsive act. Nothing else would have happened even if his second date for that evening hadn’t shown up. She might have let her guard down a bit, but she knew she’d never be able to fully relax and trust someone to get any closer than she’d let him that evening.
Which made her feel a little like a hypocrite for even being upset.
Crossing the street, she hailed a cab in front of the five-star hotel and climbed inside. “Five seventy-four Alpine Street, please,” she told the driver.
“What do I do about the guy chasing after the cab,” he asked, glancing into the rearview as he pulled out into traffic.
“Try not to hit him.”
* * *
Ben and Olivia stared at Owen with identical expressions as he slid into the booth across from them. His blind date had disappeared.
Naturally.
“Please don’t say it,” he mumbled, draining his beer in one big gulp. Chasing after a cab for three blocks was exhausting.
“Jan hadn’t been on a date for almost a year since her divorce,” Olivia said anyway.
He was a moron. Paige and Jan both deserved better. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. It’s going to take me months to get her to agree to another setup.”
“Tell her it was no reflection on her. She seemed lovely…” From what he could tell of the pretty brunette he’d rushed out on to chase after another woman, she would have been nice company. He, on the other hand, was an asshole. “I’m going to call it a night,” he said, standing and grabbing his coat.
“Oh, hey, before you do, take a look at this,” Ben said extending his phone toward him. “Recognize her?”
He leaned closer. The beautiful model on the advertisement for Blissful Cosmetics was smiling as she posed on a beach, wearing an almost see-through white string bikini, her blond hair flowing in the wind behind her, a teasing glint in her pretty blue eyes. “Is that Paige?”
“Yep. I didn’t know, but Olivia said she’d thought she recognized her as the Blissful Cosmetics spokesmodel from a few years ago.”
Owen looked closer. It did look like her, but the model’s name was Paige Cartwright. “Cartwright?” Had she once been married? Cartwright…that last name sounded familiar. Isabelle—her assistant. Maybe also her mother? “She went from modeling to the head of the Burn Treatment Center?” Seemed like an odd transition. Especially since her beauty hadn’t seemed to fade at all since whenever this photo was taken.
God, she was amazing. And he’d completely ruined any chance of being with her. Which would be depressing enough, but after kissing her and knowing that he’d stood a fraction of a chance…
Ben took the phone back and searched her name in Google. “Read this.”
Beauty queen viciously attacked with sulfuric acid.
Owen read the news headline quickly. Scrolling through the article, he felt sick.
First-degree chemical burns on more than thirty percent of her body after being attacked by the boyfriend of another model. The article went on to say both the man and the woman had been sentenced to twelve years in prison for the attack.
Not long enough.
Handing Ben his phone, he sank back into the booth, running a hand through his hair. She was one of the survivors she’d talked about that evening. It explained her passion for her job. It also explained the turtlenecks in warm weather and the protective shield she’d placed around her emotions.
Feeling lower than dirt, he sighed. “Do you think there’s an asshole of the year award?” he asked Ben. “Maybe you can nominate me for that one.”