Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(70)

I sip the Lightning Bolt! while I dig through my suitcase that he brought. The guys have already checked out of the hotel for me and gathered our stuff.

“Did you call your agency?” Ryke asks.

“Yeah, I quit last night.” The final day of Fashion Week, I called Revolution Modeling Inc. and said, “I don’t want to model anymore. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else for the runway tonight. And I won’t be working for the next three weeks or in the future.” My voice wasn’t as confident or ballsy as maybe Rose’s would have been. But I look at it as a trial run for the phone call to my mom.

They asked why.

I said the biggest truth of all: “I don’t love modeling.”

No cop outs. I’ve had two days in the hospital—of quiet nights left with my endless thoughts—to come to this conclusion. My career has ended because of my face, but it should have ended so much sooner because of my health, my emotions, my happiness. It has taken a near-death experience and the end-all of modeling for me to realize this. Blaming it on the scar—it seems like the easy way to deal. I know I won’t feel better unless I do it the way I was always meant to.

I find a pair of jean shorts and a shirt that says: I’m a f*cking mermaid. “How’s this?” I ask Ryke, flashing the V-neck at him.

He almost smiles, which sells it for me.

I zip up my bag. “Can you close the curtains while I change?” I give him a single look like you don’t have to leave.

His features are hard to gauge. I can’t read much behind his brooding eyes. I’ve tried not to question if he’s going to break up with me over my face. He did say, We’re going to get through this. I just wonder if he’ll be helping me as a friend or as something more.

These thoughts tear holes inside my stomach.

I guess I’m about to find out where his head is at. Connor and Lo are waiting in the rental car for us. So we’re alone for the first time since I initially woke up. I don’t think Lo is worried about leaving us together. I can tell he’s trying to trust his brother, especially after screwing up and drinking.

I also talked to Rose and Lily, stopping them before they flew out to Paris. I don’t want Lily to miss college or Rose to cancel meetings for her fashion business just to see me. It took some convincing and a two-hour argument, but I won out this time. Although, Rose made me Skype her, but I refused to show the wound beneath my bandage. I told her that she’d have a good look at it every time she saw me for the rest of my life. So she can wait a few more weeks.

I watch Ryke whip the curtain around the ceiling track, enclosing us in the room for extra privacy. I set my jeans and shirt on the end of the bed, the hospital gown hanging on my body like a thin sack. The silence speeds my heart. Luckily I’m no longer hooked to any machines, but my shallow breath replaces the beep beep beep.

I can’t tell what he’s going to do, and that mystery instantly draws me to him. I take a couple steps forward and then stop halfway, a few feet separating us. He stands tall, his masculinity so apparent in his build and hard jawline. I think I could live underneath Ryke Meadows, under his weight and protection, and be satisfied for life.

The thought pulls my lips upward. I ignore the pinch in my cheek, the slight pain of the motion. I want to smile, dammit. So I’m gonna smile.

He watches me closely, all my small movements under scrutiny, and then he steps forward. One foot near. I inhale strongly, smelling his woodsy scent, like water and earth. I’m too curious about his thoughts and actions to touch him first.

His eyes meet mine and then fall to the collar of my hospital gown. He never looks at me like I’m half of myself, too beaten to love, too fragile to handle. Instead, his gaze rakes me like it’s our first time being this close again.

One more step and his chest brushes against mine with each deep breath. He leans forward, and I go rigid. His lips tickle my ear. “You’re so f*cking beautiful.”

I smile wide. Those words mean so much more now than they ever did before. “Say that again.”

“How about I just f*cking show you?” His hot breath warms my neck, and then he kisses that very spot, deeply right away. Just like that, my body responds by curving towards him. He holds the back of my head, sucking the nape of my neck with such diligence that every nerve lights.

“Ryke,” I breathe softly, a high-pitched moan following.

My arms slip underneath his, holding his back like he belongs to me. I can’t believe I’m turned on after being cooped up in a hospital. But my sore limbs loosen like jelly at his possessive touch.

He unties my hair, slipping the band on his wrist. Then he messes the long locks with a rough hand, as he’s done so many times before. It dizzies me, and my heart palpitates.

His lips return, trailing my collar. He fingers the ties on the back of my gown. I only wear panties, having put them on as I started dressing earlier. The hospital fabric slips off me, the cool air nipping my skin. Goose bumps run along my bruised arms and legs. I stiffen, thinking he’s going to pull away at the sight of all the purple blemishes, but he only gently kisses around them, being careful with me but not so much that he’d let me go.

I wish I could kiss him back. Even if it didn’t hurt, Ryke would never allow my lips to near him, not wanting to cause me pain. But his kind of TLC is the best kind. His hands slide along my hips, edging towards my yellow cotton panties, daises printed on the backside.