A Collateral Attraction (26 page)

It’s almost midnight when Heath and I make it home. But it’s not the penthouse where Blythe and I first stayed in, with its all-white modernistic interior design and tricked-out bathrooms. Instead, Heath’s home is a penthouse apartment in a historic building owned by his mother’s family in the Upper East Side, with a view of Central Park.

Right now, the view is really just a large rectangular patch of black flanked by blinking city lights along the north, south and west borders, and as I stand on the balcony overlooking the park, I remember the 23,000 trees and the 280 species of birds Heath told me about and I can’t help but smile. I can almost smell American elm and black cherry trees from where I stand, and though I hear the hooting of an owl, the birds are pretty much quiet.

I feel Heath’s arms wrap around my waist as he stands behind me, his breath fanning against my ear. I lean my head back against his shoulder and sigh. There are no words to tell him how I’m feeling, this sensation of belonging filling me, suffusing every inch of me and making my body hum. I’ve lived a lifetime with him by my side in the last six days, in two coasts and even an island nation. I’ve learned forgiveness with him telling me stories of the constellations, of twin brothers falling in love with sisters, of lovers killing each other.

I have gone through so many emotions, faced almost every fear and doubt, embracing the temporal nature of them all, even the one I’m feeling now, that I’m in love with Heath. But though a part of me feels afraid for what’s to come, a bigger part of me is eager to begin. I want another lifetime with him again, and this time one that spans more than the rush of the past seven days — and hopefully slower.

That night, Heath kisses every bruise on my body as he makes love to me, a slow and torturous delight that, mingled with each deliberate nip of his teeth and the touch of his hands and his lips against the unbruised parts of me, leaves me begging for more. With him, I’m the most beautiful woman in the world — the only woman in his world — and no matter how fleeting this moment may be, I’m taking it with no regrets, for there is no room for them, not tonight.

When morning comes, I call Blythe, not caring if it’s 4 am her time, and leave her a message telling her that I’m okay and asking her to call me as soon as she can.  After everything that’s happened and whatever radio silence now lifted, I can’t wait to tell her what’s happened since we left Santa Barbara.  Then I ask Heath to take pictures of me.

“Why?” he asks, frowning. “I hope you don’t intend to get started flashing your selfies on social media.”

“Of course not, but I have to admit, your Frette sheets are to die for,” I chuckle as I hand him my phone, my expression turning serious. “But really, it’s because even the way I look now, you don’t flinch, or look away, and I want to remind myself that even with my bruises, I’d like to think you still think me beautiful.”

“Because you are, Billie. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Heath says, reluctantly taking the phone from my hand as I slowly pull the covers down from my body, exposing the diagonal mark left behind by the seatbelt across my torso and the bruised hip bones where the waist section of the belt cinched tightly and held me fast even as the car rolled down the embankment that night. It makes my breath hitch, the way each bruise and each cut is revealed in the morning light that streams through the windows, a reminder of how far I’ve come.

I want it as a remembrance, not just of the time when someone attempted to kill me for I’ve long accepted that Harris would never have wanted witnesses to begin with, but of the time when the ghosts of my parents returned to me, telling me it was all right to live my life, even if it meant leaving the only place I’ve long called home.

It pains Heath to snap each picture but he does as I ask him to, for every snap of the shutter is a reminder that I am stronger than I know. And never once does Heath look away, not when he’s kissed every single one of those bruises last night, and is kissing them again, telling me how beautiful I am, how perfect I am — and how hard he has fallen for me.

“Even if, technically, we’ve just met?” I ask as I giggle when his stubble tickles the flat of my belly.

“I doubt we can say we’ve just met really, considering everything we’ve been through,” he murmurs. “People experience less in ten years than what we’ve been through in seven…or is it eight days now?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I know I’m not,” Heath says, frowning.  “Though now you’ve made me lose count of your freckles. I was currently stuck at seventeen.”

“But I thought you were kissing all my boo-boos,” I giggle.

“What can I say, Billie? You can’t fault me for being thorough,” Heath says, dipping his head down lower till my giggles are replaced by gasps of pleasure and the delicious anticipation of release that only he can give me.

That afternoon, we rent a rowboat from Loeb’s Boathouse in Central Park and row lazily along the Lake — or rather, Heath does all the rowing for according to the doctor we saw that morning to follow up on my injuries, I’m to refrain from any strenuous physical activities. He tells me how his mother would take him on walks in the park, of the different trails they and their assigned bodyguard Clyde Fredricks — or Fred, as Heath has always called him — would take to identify different birds using binoculars, and how she often would paint the different landscapes of Central Park depending on the season.

Afterwards, we take a stroll along the Mall, a quarter-mile walkway bordered by rows of American elms. His security detail is not far behind, and I’ve actually gotten used to seeing them. They’re not dressed in suits like the ones from last night, but more casually, in polo shirts and jeans.

We purposely avoid any talk about Harris, Jessica and Daniel, for Heath tells me that from here on, their fate is up to the justice system to handle, though he adds that the District Attorney will push for the maximum sentence possible, even if it takes years.  Heath’s nieces are now under the care of Daniel’s sister, Pam’s mother, until Ethan and Blythe return to New  York that evening.

But until they arrive tonight, the day is just for us, the seventh day since we first met. Heath wants to show me a glimpse of the life that awaits me in New York should I agree to move here, of being closer to Blythe and watching her pursue her dream of starting her own fashion line, of maybe going back to school for whatever I want to study — and a life with him.

“Don’t you think that’s too soon to say?  A lot can happen tomorrow.”

Heath pulls me closer to him. “True, though there’s only one way to find out what happens from here on, is there?  But I do hope you consider staying here, Billie.”

“Well, just so you know.  Even if I do plan to go back to school and I will, I’ll do it on my own terms even if I do opt to go to school here, and not because you think it’s best for me to do this or that,” I say softly.

“Have I ever told you anything different?”

“No, though you can be quite persuasive, Heath. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that the man who first walked into that shop seven days ago is the same man I’m with now.”

“What can I say, Billie?  You’ve broken through all my defenses.  I’m like  Orion, madly in love with my Artemis, my Diana.  You.”

“And I promise not to shoot an arrow at you,” I say, blushing, “not when you’ve managed to break down my own walls, too, Heath.  I’ve only really been hiding the past three years since the accident, using the shop as a reason not to drive past that highway.”

“I don’t want to force you to stay here if you’re not ready, Billie,” Heath says. “But if you do, I’ll set up shop right there in Auburn if I have to-“

“You’re doing no such thing, Heath Ettinger!” I exclaim.  “I don’t want Nevada City reminding you of work in any way at all.  In fact, I want you to forget your world whenever you’re in my neck of the woods.  I want us to focus on the stars, the river-”

“But my world came into yours anyway, Billie, with all its ugliness and greed.  And I’m so sorry it had to happen the way it did that night.”

I touch Heath’s face, his stubble tickling my fingers.  “Well, look at it this way.  If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?  You and me, sitting here, talking about a future together, whether here or in my neck of the woods.”

He grins, his dimples making their appearance again.  “And that’s why I’ve fallen for you, Billie Rose Delphine.  You’re the kindest, smartest, and most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I want to get to know you more each and every day, for as long-”

“What about forever?” I chuckle, though as quickly as I say it, I regret it instantly, wondering what he might think of me — already thinking of forever even if I could easily blame it on the painkillers.   “But then, forever is really a pretty relative term.  And who knows, it could be a month, two months, a week-“

Heath rests his finger on my lips.  “There’s only one forever I know, Billie, and I wouldn’t mind working on that version one day at a time.  How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” I say as Heath kisses me again, silencing whatever words I would have said about the different kinds of forever.  After all, Heath’s version of forever is just like mine.

If you enjoyed reading
A Collateral Attraction, Fire and Ice Series, Book 1
, I’d love to hear what you think by leaving a review on
Amazon
, even if it’s just a few words.  Reviews are the only way indie authors like me can get their books noticed, and are very much appreciated!

You can also sign up for my newsletter to receive the latest news on upcoming books and events by
clicking here.

Finding Sam

LOVING ASHE TRILOGY

Loving Ashe

Loving Riley

Growing up in the Philippines, Liz Madrid studied journalism in college only to realize that she preferred writing romantic fiction over news and ad copy.  She now lives in Los Angeles with her family, a chihuahua, and way too many books.

You can connect with Liz online at:

Web:
 
lizmadrid.com

Twitter:
@lizmadridauthor