Beauty Unmasked Page 4

  My bastard of a good leg shakes under me, but I’ll be damned if it ruins this moment. I pepper kisses up the column of her neck before crushing my mouth to hers. This kiss is frantic, bruising even—showing each other how badly we want to go up in the flames of our desire.

  I can’t pull myself back. I’ve fantasized about kissing Belle for too long. She’s kissing me as desperately as I’m kissing her, but I know it’s only a matter of time that she realizes she’s kissing me. I know this kiss isn’t fixing anything.

  She sucks on my lower lip, and the pull goes straight to my erection. “Fuck, I feel that…” I swallow my words as her pretty lips kiss down to my Adam’s apple. Little licks of electricity shoot across my body and I groan. The sound comes from deep within me, and the need to touch more of her takes hold.

  Releasing her face and neck too fast, my body sways for a moment. Long enough for her to notice and break away. Her lids flutter, heavy with arousal, and concern is etched around her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I say and rub my lips against hers.

  “Viktor.” This time my name is coated with regret, and I want to lash out.

  Belle deserves so much more than a broken man. Shit, after the way I treated her a week ago, I don’t even deserve to share the same air as her. If I saw a man treat her like I did, I would have killed him. Luckily you don’t need two legs to commit murder.

  “This can’t…”

  “No, this can’t.” Needing to calm the storm of emotions, I release her and carefully grab my crutches. “You deserve more than this.” I wave my hand back and forth between us to make it clear what I’m trying to say. Swallowing hard, I force any semblance of fluid down to moisten my throat that’s now dry.

  Belle’s face flashes with annoyance. “Seriously? What you must think of me?”

  Seeing she’s twisted the meaning of my words, I start to argue. “Belle—”

  “No. Look, let’s get this done. I need to go home and pack anyways.”

  My thoughts stutter, and fear grips me. “Pack?”

  “I’ll be back for our Monday session. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to witness some more of your self-loathing.” Looking over her shoulder at me, she mutters, “Yay,” and rolls her eyes.

  A small dose of relief hits me to know she’ll be back. The problem is I want to know where she’s going, who’s she going with, and why. All the questions I have no right in asking. Biting my tongue, I push them to the far recesses of my mind.

  “You can’t get rid of me yet. I need to get you ready for your CPO first. I’m sure the prosthetic is almost ready.”

  “Promise you’re not running away from me?” I ask and give her my most charming smile that I honestly can’t even back up right now.

  “Why would I run away? You’re my best patient yet. I want to see this to the end.”

  And there’s that fucking word again—patient. Unable to reply to her, I grunt and make my way to the mat.

  We go through the motions of finishing my session as if we hadn’t shared that intimate moment. I dig deep but can’t help puffing up when she praises me. The session finishes faster than I would like, especially knowing I’ll spend the next two days without her to look forward to. I feel like a sappy-ass bastard. All these emotions inside me are fucking with my head.

  After slipping on the shrinker I hop up on my foot, moving easier than I could have hoped for. Belle’s phone rings as she finishes packing the last of her things. I lean against the counter in my kitchen with my crutches resting lightly under my arms and eavesdrop on her conversation.

  “Hey! …What? …No. I need to go home and pack. …I told you Friday night I was going out of town this weekend. …Well, I can’t tonight. …Okay, I will. …Yeah I’ll be back on Sunday. …No everything is ahead of schedule. …I’ll check in on Monday. …Yeah, bye.

  I process the fact that the caller was her date last Friday night. Jealousy hits me stronger than ever. Questions race through my mind. Is he her casual date? Her boyfriend? If he’s her boyfriend, will she tell him about our kiss? Who was she thinking about when we kissed? Him or me? Where does the fucker live so I can go kick his ass?

  “Viktor?” she asks, breaking into my dangerous line of thinking.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “What?” she squeaks.

  Since I’ve already started on this road, I can’t seem to pull over to the safety of the soft shoulder. “The guy on the phone. Is he your boyfriend? Why isn’t he going away with you? He’s a dipshit for not remembering.” Fuck me. Where the hell did she hide my Jack Daniels?

  “Wow. None of that is your business,” she snaps.

  “He’s a dipshit then.”

  “Viktor! God! No, he’s not my boyfriend. There, are you happy now?”

  A lightness comes over me at this news. “Actually, yes.”

  She laughs. “You’re something else. I gotta go. I’ll be out of town, but if you have any issues just give me a call. You have my number, and I’ll be back on Monday.”

  “Promise?” I ask like the pussy-whipped asshole I’ve become. She’s not even my woman.

  “Promise you what?” Her brows crease, and her head tilts to the side. Her lips purse in thought, and I’m tempted to kiss the confusion away.

  “Promise me you’ll be back on Monday?”

  “Well, considering I came back this last Monday even after you acted like the beast you claim to be, I don’t see why you would even worry.”

  “I was an asshole,” I admit because there is no reason to avoid the truth. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Her eyebrow raises and she gives me a “no shit” look before grabbing her things and walking to the door. I can’t enjoy the view from behind, as she’s dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But this doesn’t stop me from imagining myself peeling back every layer—eventually reaching those curves that have been driving me crazy and fueling my daily fantasies.

  “Here let me get that,” I say and work my way around her to open the door for her.

  “I can’t believe how well you’re doing after two weeks of therapy.” She smiles and looks me up and down.

  I reach up and touch the silky strand of hair that escapes her ponytail. Her lips part with a small gasp at my innocent touch. “I’ve had therapy before…in the hospital. The truth is that I couldn’t have done it without my beast master.”

  She laughs like I hoped, leaving me with another memory of the sweet sound. “Stop calling me a beast master!”

  I shrug.

  “Okay, I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, I promise.” She blinds me with a brilliant smile, and I’m hit with the urge to rub an ache in my chest—just over my heart.

  “Monday. Bye, Belle. Stay safe, baby.” I freeze, unable to believe I called her baby. The light in her eyes dims a fraction, but she doesn’t say anything before walking out.

  I lean against the doorjamb and watch her settle into the car and finally drive away. It feels like I scared her off. Boundaries have been crossed, and I worry it’s too much for her. The next couple of days are going to fucking drag without her here.

  “Viktor Prinz? I’m Toby Gaston. I’ll be filling in for Ms. Marchant.”

  All the air is sucker-punched out of me with those words. “Excuse me?” I say to the man with thin eyebrows.

  “I’ll be your physical therapist today. My understanding is your prosthetic should be ready by tomorrow and then you’ll work with the CPO.”

  His words bounce around my brain, and I feel like an idiot. I can’t seem to comprehend this. It makes no sense to me. She said she’d be back. When the truth hits me, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched again, this time to the stomach.

  She lied…

  I give him a curt nod and move away from the door, granting him access. He removes his jacket, and I can’t help but note what a “pretty boy” he is. I’m suddenly struck with the urge to knock him around. Maybe give him a scar to roug
hen up that face.

  Pulling my muscles tight, I stand to my tallest, and I can’t help but smirk at the fact that I’m a full head taller. “You’ll have to excuse me, as I’m confused with my change in therapists.”

  “I understand, Mr. Prinz,” Mr. Pretty Boy tells me.

  I grind my teeth. “Viktor.”

  “Well, Viktor, this was last-minute, and I’m not at liberty to share my therapists’ personal matters. Now, let’s get started?” Mr. Pretty Boy tells me, and I squeeze the handles to my crutches. It’s either that or beat the smug bastard.

  I push myself to the max in my session, refusing to show this man any weakness. There’s something about him and the way he mentions Belle. I don’t like it at all.

  She’s not mine, I remind myself. I have no claim to her even though that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to mark her with my touch, my mouth, my body. The need within me is primal and, this asshole is testing my limits.

  Mr. Pretty Boy massages the tissue around my scars. The feeling is so different than Belle’s soft and healing hands. Both are conducted in a sterile and medical way. Only, Belle infuses her touch with something different, her concern for my healing isn’t superficial.

  Lost in my thoughts, I’m not sure what I did exactly, but Mr. Pretty Boy meets my eyes. I find pity reflecting back at me in his blue eyes. The slow simmer of anger I’ve been holding back for the last hour finally boils over. I jerk my leg from his hands and sit up.

  “Hey!”

  “Thanks for coming by. You can grab your shit and see yourself out.”

  “Mr. Prinz, you really need to ice your leg after this session,” he says and rises as I do.

  “I’m perfectly aware of what I need to do next. With all due respect, you can take your pity and get the fuck out of my house.” I bite back the growl itching to be released. The beast within me claws to the surface, struggling to be unleashed.

  “Hey! You can’t talk to me like this!”

  I step into the man’s face so he has to tilt his head all the way up. “Get. Out.”

  “Asshole.” The word comes out as a mumble, and I’m seething.

  “Yeah, at least you have that right. Now leave before this one-legged asshole kicks your ass.” Proving to the man how serious I am, I drop the crutches to my right, against the couch. Mr. Pretty Boy’s eyes round as I crack my knuckles.

  “You’re fucking mental,” he tells me and gathers his things.

  Balancing on my leg, I cross my arms and track him as he packs quickly. No way in hell can I say another word to him. I don’t need their help anymore. They already told me I’ve advanced better than they expected. I’ll keep the exercises, stretching, and icing up without him. I’ll be receiving my prosthetic tomorrow, and then I’ll be seeing a different therapist anyhow.

  I know I’m broken. I don’t need him to remind me of this fact.

  One reason I’ve become such a hermit, is I can’t stand the pitying looks people send my direction when they think I’m not looking. Only Belle and Aunt Mabel have ever spared me of that pity. Their belief in me has pushed me to dig deep, past all of the pain.

  Mr. Pretty Boy casts me a side glance and hightails it to my door before I hear it open and shut behind him. I grab my crutches and go to the door on a tired leg and lock it up. I return to the kitchen and grab an ice pack, determined to finish this marathon on my own.

  I’m pissed at her and pissed at myself for letting her hurt me. “She fucking lied to me…” I hear the hurt in my words moments before I succumb to my exhaustion from my comfortable spot on the couch.

  Isabel

  Looking through my windshield, I stare at the house. He’s in there.

  Viktor Prinz.

  He’s occupied my every thought for the last three weeks of my life. The kiss we shared the last day I saw him has burrowed itself deep in my heart. It doesn’t matter that I’ve tried ignoring this unethical attraction to the man. He’s all I see when I close my eyes at night. The rough timber of his voice visits me in my dreams, and my skin aches for his touch.

  This is wrong. He’s my patient. “ACK! Was. Was my patient.”

  Now I’m sitting outside of Viktor’s like a creeper. Toby told me what happened after his one session with Viktor. I had to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Toby’s a prick. I’ve seen him with patients, and I’m mostly surprised that it has taken this much time to get kicked out for showing a patient pity.

  Of course that’s not what Toby told me, but I know better. I’ve also come to know the prideful man that is Viktor Prinz. I really should feel bad for Toby, since I know how it feels to be kicked out of Viktor’s house. But Toby and his huge ego deserve to be put in their place for treating a patient like that.

  I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I kind of wish I was there when Viktor kicked him out. An angry Viktor is scary as hell—another reason I don’t know why I’m sitting here in front of his house. I know the man in there has to be pissed at me for not being there last week.

  I no longer have a reason to be here at all, but the need to see him is suffocating me. I’m like a drug addict needing my next fix, and Viktor is most definitely my drug of choice. His kiss branded me, and I crave another dose of his sweet, dirty mouth.

  I’m also curious to see how he’s adjusting to the prosthetic. He’s performed better than any of my prior patients. It helps that he was in immaculate shape prior to being injured. In two weeks, I watched the muscle memory in his body take charge. I know he pushed himself when I wasn’t around. Each session, I took extra care to make sure his leg was adapting to the stress. I never found a reason to tell him to slow down.

  Rubbing my face, I draw in a fortifying breath before I grab the handle to my door. My heart beats faster with each step I take toward his door. My nerves are shooting signals at increasing speeds—excitement over seeing him and fear that he’ll turn me away without an explanation.

  I promised him I would return last Monday, and I broke that promise. I hate it, but there was nothing I could do. I asked Toby to apologize and explain to Viktor what happened. He never told me what Viktor said, and I never asked for fear that Toby would see right through me.

  My fist hovers in the air before I finally knock on Viktor’s door. I shift my weight from one leg to another. When the door opens every thought flees my mind.

  God, he’s so beautiful! He’s wearing a tight, black thermal, and I can see every dip of muscle under the material. Dark jeans hang off his hips, and I smile when I see he’s standing there without crutches or the wheelchair nearby. Instead, I see the plastic foot of his prosthetic.

  “Hi.” I know how inefficient and simple of a greeting it is, but I’m excited just to see that strong jawline, even if the muscle over it is ticking furiously. If not for his eyes, I would have turned away right then.

  “Belle,” his rough voice whispers. I know he’s as surprised to find me standing here as I am at the all-consuming need to be here.

  “May I come in?”

  Viktor steps back, and I see the discomfort in his eyes. Getting used to the prosthetic won’t be easy, but the man is stubborn enough to get through it. He closes the door behind me, and my hands shake with nerves. I’m unsure if I should remove my jacket or not, so I stand there. I breathe him in, enjoying the scent of body wash and Viktor.

  “You lied.” The skin between his eyes crinkles, and I hear the hurt under his anger.

  I make a show of looking at my phone’s screen. “Is today not Monday?”

  Viktor doesn’t find it funny. He pulls himself straight, the invisible coat of armor he wears now in place. I hate it. I hate that I put him on the defense.

  I close the distance between us, feeling the electrical charge around us. “I’m sorry.”

  He looks down his nose at me as if I’m the crap left behind on the sidewalk when an owner doesn’t clean up after their dog. His nostrils flare as he ignores my apology and only continues to stare me down.

&nb
sp; Anger rises within me. “What would you have me do?” I snap. “Leave my father after his fall?”

  “What? Your dad fell?” Compassionate eyes bore into mine.

  Damn Toby to hell. “He didn’t tell you,” I say, because it’s now so obvious.

  “Why would your dad tell me he fell? I don’t know him.”

  “Not my dad, Toby.”

  Viktor’s eyes harden at the name.

  “Never mind. Look, I only got home late last night after visiting my dad. I was supposed to be home over a week ago, except dad took a tumble off a ladder.”

  “That’s awful! Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, dad got away with only a slight concussion, bruising, and a broken ankle. I stayed until he told me I was driving him crazy.”

  “That had to have been scary.”

  “God, seeing him lying motionless at the base of that ladder was the worst moment in my life. He looked small, and I thought I lost him until I checked his pulse.” The thread of life had spurred me into action. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was conscious and in pain. “I couldn’t leave him after that.”

  I called Toby, my supervisor, to tell him what happened.

  “Don’t worry Izzy,” he said, using the nickname I hated because of him. “I’ll cover Prinz this week. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

  “I’m glad he’s okay now,” Viktor said.

  Viktor’s angry reaction made more sense now. Although, I’m not sure he would have reacted any differently. I laugh and look down at my hands. Warmth seeps into me as he cups my jaw, and our eyes meet. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “No. I thought—” He looks away before meeting my eyes again. The intensity of his gaze takes my breath away. “I thought you broke your promise, that I drove you away with our kiss. That you remembered how much better you can do than your pathetic, broken patient.” He spat the last word out, bringing us back to the elephant in the room.