His hand fell from mine and as I pulled on the helmet, the cop sighed. “We’re supposed to keep you safe all day today. We’ll follow you then?”
I swung my leg up and climbed behind Kian. My arms wrapped around him.
He spoke for me, “We’ll be at my hotel.”
I stopped listening. He told the cop where we would be. They would come. They’d do their job, be around me so the public couldn’t hurt me. They did it before, and they’d do it again. Until things settled down, they would continue doing so, but I wasn’t considering them anymore. After the interview, saying my side, and having Kian waiting for me, everything would be okay.
It had to be.
He had come for me, and when I went to him, I knew right then and there… I was in love with Kian Maston.
If someone told me three years ago, as I was covered in blood and sitting in the back of an ambulance while watching Edmund’s covered body being wheeled past me on a gurney, that I would be riding on the back of a motorcycle with Kian Maston, I would’ve laughed my ass off. From the hysteria, the absolute perplexity of it, that both of us would be infamous, that we’d be hiding under black motorcycle helmets, and that I would’ve just realized I was in love with him—I would’ve laughed, cried, and punched whoever told me that.
But here I was.
Kian’s hand would cover mine whenever we stopped at a stoplight, waiting at an intersection. It was completely ludicrous, what we were both doing, but I didn’t care. If we were together, the media would never stop. If we went our separate ways, maybe we would have a chance for a normal life, but I couldn’t walk away from him. That was all I knew. It’d been this way for a while, ever since he came back into my life. I hadn’t been able to stay away, much less walk away.
We went back to his hotel. I was tense going in, but no one was there.
Seeing my look, Kian chuckled. He still held my hand, and he tugged me farther inside. “When I saw the interview, I asked everyone to leave. They went to their own rooms for the night.”
“The whole night?”
He nodded. A shadow fell over his face. He asked almost tenderly, “Is that okay?”
I couldn’t talk. My throat closed up, but I moved my head up and down. It was more than okay.
Feeling his gaze on me, I felt shy for some reason. My cheeks warmed, and I glanced to the floor, fingering the bottom of my shirt and tugging it down. This was ridiculous. We had sex. I just went on national television and bared my soul, but now, after realizing I was in love with him…
I eyed the floor beneath my feet. Could it swallow me up? Was it too ludicrous for me to wish for that?
“Jordan?” Kian moved closer, his voice dipping low.
I mustered up a smile, looking up. God, he was gorgeous.
His eyes were intense and focused on me. His lips were pressed together. I remembered how they’d felt and tasted before, how his hands had caressed me and trailed over my body, how his body had felt on top of mine. Every little caress, ministration, kiss, tender touch from him—I was remembering all of it in one overwhelming moment. Had I loved him this whole time? Had I not known it?
“I did that interview today.”
“I saw.” His finger touched beside my eye. It was the slightest of touches. “You took your contacts out.”
“I needed to be all of me. I felt it was the right thing to do.” Even more emotion swept up and lodged in my throat. “I didn’t do it just for me. I did it for you, too.”
His voice dipped even lower, so soft. “How so?”
“People think I seduced you. That’s always bothered me. It wasn’t just that they blamed me. It was that they were putting the wrong spin on it. You didn’t go in my house because you were mindless or brainwashed, like you were under my spell or something. That’s beneath what you did. You went in and saved me. That was it. There was nothing else to it.”
“Jordan.” His hand lifted back to me, but he held it still.
I sucked in my breath, knowing he was going to touch me. I was ready for it. I almost closed my eyes, waiting to relish the feel of his hand on me again, but he pulled back at the last second. I looked up to find him staring at me with a wondering look on his face.
“What?” Had I said something wrong?
His head gave the slightest shake, but he still moved back another step. “Nothing. I…my parents hate what I did. My sister, too. Justin raped her, but when she heard what I did and the real reason behind it, she was angry. How could I save you and not her? She’s been resentful ever since, but just now, hearing you…thank you.”
“What for?” My lips parted from confusion.
“I’m not the hero.”
“You saved me.”
His head clipped from side to side. He didn’t move, but I felt him retreating even further. “I’m the bad guy. Don’t you get it?”
“What kind of bad guy saves people?”
“The kind like me. I didn’t do it out of the goodness in my heart.” A stricken look passed in his eyes. “I didn’t give a shit about anyone until you came to school. I didn’t care about any girl, any friend, or even my own family members.
“People hurt people. That was my motto. Everyone and anyone deserved what was coming to them, but you came to school, and all of that went away for me. You were good. You are good. It would’ve been the worst goddamn thing to happen. You matter. Your life. Your soul. Your heart. Everything about you matters: the breath you breathe, the tears you cry, the smiles you give, the sound of your laughter, how your mind thinks, the values you hold dear.” He was fierce. “They don’t matter, Justin and Edmund. You gave. They took. They hurt. You heal. You are worth both of them, a thousand times over. You, Jordan. You are worthier than anyone I know, including me. You are pure. You don’t use people. You don’t have hidden agendas. You don’t misuse your friendships. That’s all I saw while growing up, until you. What you say, you mean. There is nothing hidden with you. You are good.”
I frowned, gazing up at him.
“Edmund was evil, but I’m still a bad guy. I just hurt someone who was worse than me. That’s all I did that day. I can’t let you turn me into some hero that I’m not.”
“Stop.” My head was buzzing. “So what if you’ve done bad things? So what if you were a shitty person at some point in your life? That doesn’t define you. You did a good thing. Saving my life, that was good. Don’t twist that. Please.” My chest was aching. “If you say that wasn’t a good thing, then what am I? If you cheapen what you did, you cheapen me. Don’t you see that?”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyebrows furrowed together.
I was good.
Saving me was good.
Therefore, that made him good.
It was so simple in my mind. I didn’t want that taken away from him or me.
I choked out, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about the interview. It happened so fast. I just wanted a chance at a normal life.”
“My publicist told me.” Some of the intensity lessened a bit, and he gave me a rueful grin, raking his hand through his hair. “She thought you were going to throw me under the bus.”
“What?” I started to shake my head. Never.
He nodded, stopping me. “I know, and it was a good move. You needed your message to be out there. I get it. But when they find out that we’re together…” he started, holding off.
My stomach churned. I knew what he was saying. “I’ve worried about the same thing.”
“What then?”
“What we are isn’t—” But I was wrong. It was their business. I’d just gone on national television and projected how it was. We were no longer just the two of us. “Maybe we could—”
“You told your story,” he said.
I held his gaze, frowning slightly.