Open Wounds: Abel and Hope: Love Against the Odds Page 8

  “The only problem is, I don’t want my past tainting my future with you. I don’t want to play games, or pretend to be in a relationship with the hopes that some criminal will take pictures and send them back to Mark.”

  Abel smirked. He could easily assuage that concern. “There won’t be any pretending on my end. What about you?” He leaned toward her. “I was thinking about dinner and a movie. Maybe one of those Marvel movies, where the hero saves the day and gets the girl.” He sauntered over to her and stopped her pacing by wrapping her in his arms.

  “How about one where the heroine saves the day?” She squeaked when Abel lifted her into his arms and carried her through the room. “Where are we going?” she asked, laughter in her voice as she feigned her disapproval.

  “It’s bedtime for you,” Abel whispered in her ear.

  Though she’d just expressed her need to take things slow, Hope’s soft body called to his baser instinct to be the selfish male he had been before, and lay with her. Summoning every ounce of self-control he possessed, Abel laid her gently on the bed. He reached below her and pulled the covers up and over her body. He turned, his gaze landing on the couch where he planned to sleep.

  “Stay.” Hope reached out for Abel. “Just for warmth,” she added when he opened his mouth to say no.

  Smiling, Abel kicked off his shoes. “Fine, but if you try to take advantage of me,” he peeked at her as he removed his shirt, “I’ll scream.” Her smile lit the dimly lit room. The bed dipped when it took his weight. Abel didn’t pull back the covers but lay on top of them.

  While he may not be able to control his body’s reaction to her, he could control his actions, and unlike Mark he would respect the new boundaries she set. “Now sleep, Hope. This week is going to be something else.”

  She hummed a soft reply, and Abel held her until she drifted to sleep.

  11

  Abel

  A loud and abrasive wail sounded from the back of the studio apartment, and Abel’s eyes popped open, his senses on high alert. His body stiffened and he lifted from his prone position, reaching for his gun on the coffee table. Had he overslept? He never fucking overslept.

  Again, the sound of torture echoed down the hallway. Abel cocked his head toward the sound emanating from the bathroom. Was Hope hurt? And how the hell had the intruder made it past him sleeping on the couch? Abel stood quickly, and made his way to the back of the studio, coming up to a sliding stop at the bathroom door. Abel finally woke up completely, his sleep-addled brain pushing past the confusion caused by the fog filling his brain. At the sound of Hope’s voice, Abel lowered his weapon, not only because he’d realized there was no threat, but also because he needed to shield his ears from her horrible singing voice.

  “Oh, oh, oh sweet child of mine . . .”

  He covered his ears when Hope’s voice boomed throughout the small tiled room. Without thinking, Abel pushed open the door, a billow of steam pushing past him. The sound of her voice became louder as he increased pressure on the door, opening the crack a bit more. He ventured a quick peek inside, telling himself he was only checking in on her.

  Abel watched in awe as Hope stood in the shower. Her hands were immersed in the citrus-scented bubbles in her hair. Of its own accord, his gaze lowered to her back as it arched, pushing her pink-tipped breasts under the warm spray. His cock hardened at the sight, and Abel’s conscience blared to life at the irony of the situation. He was supposed to be protecting her from a stalker, not becoming her stalker.

  He hurried out of the room and shut the door. Yet as soon as he thought he was safe, a wail of disjointed music chords sounded from her guitar as he kicked it over, nearly breaking it. Steam escaped the bathroom door as it was thrown open, and the pink tinged face of Hope peeked out. Her almond-shaped eyes widened in surprise as she took him and the mess he’d made in.

  Tightening the towel around her, Hope stepped from the steam-filled room. “Are you okay?”

  Abel’s eyes moved up her slim, damp legs, taking in the pale, raised scars on her flesh—a signature left behind by the man who’d sought to own her. He abandoned his perusal of her body and met her eyes.

  “Abel?”

  He gathered his footing and used the wall to push himself into an upright position. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  She nodded. Crossing her arms over her chest, in effort to keep the towel over her breasts, she leaned against the doorjamb. Her long, black hair laid over her slim shoulders in thick, damp layers.

  “I, uh . . .” Inquisitive eyes roved over him as he spoke. He cleared his voice and tried again. “Who is in there with you?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she peered at the still running shower. “Um, no one but me.” She turned back. “Why would you think someone is in there?” Her nose wrinkled when her brow dipped and furrowed in bewilderment.

  He smiled, hoping to add some levity to the situation. “Well, sounded like someone was in there howling at the moon.” His lip twitched as he held back his laughter.

  Hope’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” Her barely veiled amusement shone in her eyes, even as she feigned offense. “Let me guess. You think you could do better.” Her eyes flitted to the guitar. “And you are here to prove it?”

  Abel mused at how convenient it was that the guitar was what he tripped over. “Um, hell no. I can’t sing, and I think I can play one song . . .” He trailed off at the light growing in Hope’s eyes.

  “Hold on a second.” She rushed back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Seconds later, she was out of the bathroom, damp hair piled high on her head, a pair of snug fitting yoga pants covering her legs, and a long-sleeved shirt fit perfectly against her body.

  Like a weirdo, Abel sniffed the air as she flitted past him taking in her fresh clean scent. He then followed behind her when she picked up the instrument and headed into the living area. Sitting down cross-legged in front of the large window, she strummed the strings a couple times.

  She glanced up at him. “Can you play?”

  He watched her fingers move over the strings; the sounds coming from the guitar were that of a novice, but still sounded rather enjoyable. Joining her, he shook his head. “Can you? Seems like you can.”

  She strummed a song he was familiar with, then smiled at him when she missed a few chords and had to try again. She couldn’t play very well, but the smile on her face said she enjoyed trying. Delicate fingers moved over the strings, the dulcet sound of “Blackbird”—minus a few chords—sounded from the guitar. Hope hummed along with her work, stopping to adjust, slowing down or speeding up as needed. He sat beside her, feeling as if he were once again intruding in on a personal moment, but she opened her eyes and gave him an indulgent smile.

  Abel imagined the Beatles as they sang the song, his foot tapping to the beat. “Is that your favorite song by the Beatles? Or rather, what is your favorite song?” He leaned against the wall, awaiting her answer.

  “That’s too hard. I’d have to give you like a top ten.” She worried a lip in thought. “Actually, top twenty.” She stopped strumming. “My top thirty.”

  He raised a brow. “How about top three? Because, as much as I love sitting here with you, I can’t sit here for the next three years.” Lifting his lips in a grin, he winked at her.

  Hope tapped her lip with her finger as she thought. “Okay, top three. Obvi, “Blackbird” by the Beatles, “Respect” by Aretha Franklin, and “Desperado” by the Eagles.” Absentmindedly, she strummed the strings as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  Reaching out, Abel placed a hand over her moving fingers. “Tell me.”

  His soft demand pulled her eyes up. A tear slid down her cheek, but instead of breaking down, Hope smiled—a large, sun-bright smile that confused and warmed him all at once. He thought for sure she’d been thinking of her dead parents. Where had the tears come from?

  She swiped at her face, pushing the tears away. “My mom would sing on Saturdays, which were called Spring Clean
Saturday.” Her eyes glistened once more, the sheen of tears pulling at his gut. After placing the instrument on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her chin atop her knees.

  Abel waited, allowing her to move at her own pace. Long moments passed before she spoke again. The sound from the overhead clock ticked for what seemed like a minute, before Abel finally reached out to her. Her cool fingers intertwined with his and he pulled her from the spot where she sat and into the crook of his arm.

  Abel said, “When my mother used to go on a cleaning binge, she’d force me up at the crack of dawn on Sunday. There wasn’t any music blaring, but the TV was on, and the only channel that came in clear was the news channel.” Hope snuggled closer into his arms, her bright eyes peering up at him, listening as he gave her a snippet of his past.

  “The news? Seems boring as hell.” He chuckled.

  “It was. So, I steered clear of the living room and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. Which had probably been her plan to begin with, since she hated cleaning those areas.”

  Her memory had him thinking back to his own mother, and he pictured her with a cigarette bobbing in her mouth as she pushed the vacuum cleaner back and forth over the same spot, faking the clean-up job she’d later force him to do.

  Hope spoke, “Our clean-up day was every other Saturday.” Hope stretched her legs out and wound them with his.

  Abel leaned back. Taking her with him, he positioned them more comfortably on the floor. Hope’s head lay on his chest, just under his chin, giving him an endless supply of her sweet scent. He closed his eyes and opened his senses. He felt the warm, heavy weight of her hand as she placed it over his heart. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at the woman draped at his side. He’d almost forgotten what they’d been speaking about as her warmth invaded his skin, pulling him back into the dreamland he’d recently visited.

  She began to hum again; the delicate sounds vibrated through him, soothing him the way the purring of a contented cat would. And soon, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  12

  Hope

  Hope’s entire adult life had always been about work, whether it was medical school, or her residency, she’d always found solace in a hard day’s work. But as she and Abel went about their week together, attempting to lure Edwin out, she finally realized what she’d been missing in life—true companionship. Not that she needed her life filled to the brim with people, but there was something about having a true companion that chased away some of the loneliness she felt over time.

  The summer sun bore down on them as they walked hand in hand through the park. She and Abel had just finished a picnic, and Hope was stuffed to the brim with the food Abel had prepared. In the few weeks he’d been feeding her, she’d managed to gain a couple pounds, and the dark circles under her eyes had disappeared. She now had a healthy glow, as he’d made sure the sun met her skin at least once a day.

  “What’s on your mind?” Abel asked, his voice breaking through the sounds of birds chirping and people playing in the park.

  She glanced up at him. “The future.” Tightening her arm around his waist, she leaned into him. While she knew their relationship was supposed to be a show for Edwin, Hope couldn’t help but enjoy Abel’s touch. She placed head on his shoulder, and one of his hands on her hip.

  “What about the future?” His tone was low, his eyes covertly surveying the surrounding area.

  Hope turned and scanned the area as well, hoping if Edwin was near, he couldn’t see or sense the fear he’d placed in her. “I’m thinking about how close I am to having the future I’d planned for my entire childhood.” She felt Abel stiffen at her words. What had she said? Or did he see Edwin lurking about? Her survey of the park turned nothing up, but that didn’t mean Edwin wasn’t near.

  “Are you thinking you can get your old job in New York back?” Hope noted his low tone and tight voice, and stopped her light stroll. Turning to face him, she kept his hands in hers while gazing into his eyes.

  “No, I have a job here,” she said, hoping to pull from him the question she sensed he wanted to ask her. “I have a place here at the clinic, and I really enjoy the work. There are a lot of people in this town who can’t afford proper medical care, and Thea and I have done well combatting that. My goal in life has always been to make a difference in others, and to find my place in the world.” She shrugged. “Who knew I’d find it while on the run from Mark?”

  Abel caressed Hope’s back. “Thank God that you found your place in the world, and thank God that place is near me.” His gentle words aided in her belief that they could have something more when this was over. Leaning in, he kissed her lips. The passion between them was too fierce to be something they’d just faked for their stalker. Hope pushed up on her tiptoes for more, but Abel pulled away. Frowning, she glared up at him.

  He chuckled, leaned in, and whispered in her ear, “I can’t keep an eye out if I have my tongue in that sweet little mouth of yours.”

  Hope blushed, the heat spreading over her face and down her chest.

  He continued walking, guiding her down the brick path and to the bridge rising over the gleaming lake.

  Hope quickly realized this was what a healthy relationship should be like. Take away Edwin, Mark, and the letters, and you had exactly what Hope had been searching for.

  Suddenly, Abel’s arm tightened around her waist and she was twirled in a circle, her chest flush against his. He gripped her waist. “Pretend to kiss me, then lay your head on my chest,” he commanded, his voice stern and concise.

  Hope did as told, placing a trembling kiss on Abel’s lips. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. The world disappeared behind her closed lids, and Abel’s warmth enveloped her, reminding her that she no longer had to face this alone. Her heart began to race, beating so hard she feared it might break free from her ribs and chest.

  His soft words met her ears. “There’s a man with a camera about thirty yards away.”

  Hope felt a chill steal over her. “Is it Edwin?” she asked, working hard to hide the quaver in her voice.

  Abel lifted her head, his fingers splayed through her hair. “I’m not sure.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s give him a moment to see what he does.” Though Abel stood vigilant and ready for action, his voice had become tender and his touches were soft and sensual.

  Her fear eased, and her heart responded to his loving caresses. Nothing felt feigned for their audience. Hope, no longer allowing their stalker to direct her actions, reached up and laced her fingers through his blond hair. His eyes met hers and heat flared within their depths.

  A sultry smile curved his lips. “While I love the feel of your hands on me,” his eyes flitted back to the man, “I think he has all the pictures he wanted because he is packing up his shit and leaving.”

  Hope was surprised her normal fear was nowhere present at the mention of Edwin. She’d never needed a man to protect her, but unfortunately, Mark had nearly been successful in not only taking away her independence, but also her ability to have healthy relationships. Through Lex, Abel, and Thea, Hope had been given the push she’d needed.

  Weaving her fingers through his, Hope squeezed. The idea that this crap could be over soon nearly overwhelmed her. “Well, it seems that worked.”

  Abel gazed down at her as he pulled her forward. “Yes, it does.”

  “And you are positive it was him?” she asked.

  “Ninety-nine percent sure.” Abel seemed pensive, his eyes still scanning the area. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow us home.”

  “So, we should probably push this along and have our dinner date then.” She blushed a little, remembering the conversation she and Abel had had about this date. Things would need to look more intimate between the two of them.

  “I’m going to text V to get her to trace Mark’s whereabouts. She will let us know the second he leaves New York.”

  ***

  Abel sat across the ta
ble from her in a dimly lit restaurant, wearing the sexiest navy-blue button up and a pair of dark jeans. She sat back in her low-cut, white cotton dress as Abel eyed the deep plunge of her neckline. In her entire life, she’d never made it past a B-cup and had even considered breast implants at one point; but now, as Abel watched her body, a pink blush spread from her chest to her face.

  “Damn, that’s beautiful,” he murmured.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Picking up her glass of wine, Hope took a large gulp. She needed to slow down—the food hadn’t shown up yet and she was already on the second glass. Nervous from trying to draw out her stalker, while getting to know Abel, had her soaking it up like a sponge.

  “Just taking in my date.” He winked and took a drink of his water. He’d refused to drink, just in case Edwin made an appearance … and for that, Hope was grateful.

  She waved the waiter over for another glass of water, as she needed to slow down, or she would be drunk in no time.

  “Hey,” he called, his soothing voice calming a bit of her nerves. “What’s going on?”

  Hope pressed her palms to her belly. “Nervous flutters.”

  Moving the centerpiece, he pushed his hands to her, palms up. “Talk to me.”

  Hope nervously placed her hands in his. His strong hands enclosed hers, the warmth spreading from him to her cool fingers.

  “What about?”

  “You,” Abel suggested coolly, sad it surprised her.

  Mark had never once asked her a question about herself, but had been more than willing to explain to her his struggles at Merrill Lynch, or at the gym. She struggled to come up with something to tell him. There were so many things she could talk about, but where to start?

  “My real name isn’t Hope.” She returned his shocked expression with a sly smile. In fluent Korean, Hope spoke her full name and where her mother was originally from.