Sex, Not Love(93)

“About what?”

She was angry.

She was defensive.

She looked ready to slap me across the face.

Yet she’d never been more beautiful to me. God, I am so in love with her. That thought made it impossible to hold back the smile that spread across my face. Rightly so, upon seeing it, Natalia looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“What the hell are you smiling at?”

I took two hesitant steps closer to where she stood. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

“You’re a jerk.” Her words were hard, but her face softened a little.

“I am.” My smile grew wider.

“What do you want? I have an appointment to get to.”

She still hadn’t moved, so when I took another step forward she was trapped with the sink at her back and me in front of her. I took her lack of kicking me in the balls as a positive sign. My heart raced, and it felt like if I didn’t touch her, it might explode in my chest.

“I missed you.” I took another step and closed the gap between us. She still didn’t run, so I kept pushing my luck. Reaching up, I cupped both of her cheeks in my hands. My eyes closed at the incredible feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers. I took a deep breath in, relishing her intoxicating scent. She’d definitely just taken a bath. I smiled, opening my eyes, and slowly leaned forward to brush my lips against hers. “Sweet pea,” I mumbled. “Love that smell.”

The phone in her hand dropped to the floor, yet she made no attempt to pick it up. I took that as another good sign and went in for more. Planting my mouth over hers, I kissed her again. Only this time it was more than a brush of lips. Leaning her against the sink, I kissed her long and hard. I licked her lips, urging her to open, and she moaned into my mouth when our tongues tangled. My hand at her cheeks snaked around to her neck, and I gently squeezed to tilt her head and deepen the kiss. She moaned again, and the sound shot through me.

God, I missed this.

I missed her.

How could I have thought I was living before?

We kissed for a long time, and when it broke, her slack jaw began to tighten almost immediately.

“I can’t do this again, Hunter. You hurt me.”

I leaned my forehead to hers. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you. I’m crazy about you. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Just the opposite. I wanted to keep you from being hurt.”

After a minute of shallow breathing, she swallowed. “I don’t understand, Hunter. You hurt me because you wanted to keep me from being hurt? That doesn’t make any sense. What’s going on?”

I looked into her eyes. It was the moment of truth. For the last ten years I’d hidden behind a disease I wasn’t even sure I had. I wanted to live, and I wanted to live for and with this woman.

“We need to sit down and talk.”

She nodded. “Let’s go in the living room. My mother went to my sister’s to babysit. She won’t be home for hours. We’ll have privacy.”

I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t sure this wouldn’t end in even more of a colossal disaster than the last time, but I needed to take a leap of faith. Sitting on the couch, I clasped my hands, looked down, and silently said a little prayer. I hadn’t done that since my brother’s funeral.

Then I started at the beginning…

“When my mother was ten, her mother went in for routine knee surgery and died on the operating table. She had a latent heart condition that caused complications with the anesthesia. Because of that, my mother grew up with an irrational fear of doctors. Then, when my brother and I were little, our father died from head trauma suffered during a car accident. Because he was awake at the scene of the accident and died later in the hospital, my mother blamed the hospital for his death, too. It exacerbated her fear of doctors, and she basically never went to one again.

“When I was nine, we started to see signs of her having Parkinson’s disease. I don’t know how long before that it had started, but at that point, she couldn’t hide it anymore. Her hands would shake, and she had trouble walking. Because she refused to go to doctors, my uncle treated her as best as he could and made a diagnosis from observations. But she would never take any of the medications he prescribed and wouldn’t get blood work done. She died at home when I was seventeen.”

I paused. “I know you know some of this. But I need to tell everything from the beginning.”

She reached over and took my hand. Squeezing, she said, “Take your time.”

“My brother started showing symptoms of what seemed like Parkinson’s in his late teens. He didn’t tell us about it until he couldn’t hide it, either.”