His Purple Heart

12 - Burning Fuel

The night darkened as a lazy blanket of clouds drifted across the moon. In the absence of the moonlight, I took my time to study Trystan's face closely. He looked totally relaxed sitting next to me, his fake foot against the wall, his slacks hiked up to reveal the metal of his prosthesis.

Our eyes met and I couldn't hold his gaze for too long. His eyes were like beer bottles, sharp, green and translucent, as they dug right through me. When he looked at me, it was with the focused stare of a predator and I was the prey on the other side of his craving. One he did not care to hide from me.

He was strong, too, like a real jungle cat. I could tell by the tight ropes of muscles straining against the fabric of his suit that he worked out regularly. With the face of an angel, his perfect nose and strong jaw, it was hard not to notice him. My eyes couldn't get enough and my lips wanted more. Even the imperfect scar marring the skin above his eyebrow was perfection to me.

In that moment, with the silence stretching between us, I worried that maybe I was too weak for Trystan's onslaught of masculine perfection. The best course of action would be to eradicate him from my life. Easier said than done, I'm sure.

I glanced down at his prosthetic leg and then back up at his face when I was certain he was no longer able to read my desire for him on my face like I was an open book. He caught me staring and the predator-ish look disappeared from his eyes. Immediately I sensed that he was struggling to open up to me about how he'd lost his leg.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have asked about your leg."

His jaw tightened. "You keep staring at my prosthesis. Is that why you don't want to give us a chance? Does it turn you off?"

"You know that's not why. I already told you why. Let's say I was interested in a relationship or a man, at the top of my list would be his potential to make me happy. At the very bottom of that list is whether he has a real functioning leg or not."

He grinned. "I can make you happy."

"I'm sure you can make almost any woman happy, Trystan, but did you miss the part where I said I'm not interested?"

He scratched his beard and pretended to think about it. "No, I just chose to ignore that part. We both know that's a lie."

I scowled. "Am I attracted to you? Yes. But do I want to pursue this attraction? No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged and bit down on my lip. "Bad timing. Two years from now, maybe."

His eyes widened at the mention of two years, but he recovered quickly, his gaze darkening before he spoke. "Bad timing for what? To move on with your life and be happy? You said it yourself that your relationship with Drake had fizzled out long before the breakup."

"I did say that, but I'm still hurting." A frowned appeared on his forehead, but I did my best not to let it deter me. "And if you can't understand that, then there was never anything between us to begin with. I like you, so don't make me unlike you."

Seemingly agitated, he hopped off the wall, landed on his good foot, and started pacing around, an obvious lag in his step.

I hopped off the wall as well and took a hold of his arm, my fingers coiling in the fine fabric of his suit. He stopped and turned around to look at me with a quizzical glare. I ignored him and slowly lifted my hand to touch his beard, my eyes locked in on his irresistible mouth. He was taller than me, but not by much.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine, his hand snaking around my waist to pull me closer to him. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that I feel these emotions when I'm around you."