He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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A spike of pain shot through my temple as the images replayed behind my eyelids. It was this same room, and I was standing in exactly the same place, but the room wasn't bathed in lamplight, instead it was the bright light of day.
I touched the books in front of me and another image fired through my mind. This time it was of a shelf, just like this one, packed with flawless books. Each one stacked side by side without so much as a crease or a crinkle. Unread and untouched.
I pulled my hand from the shelf as the unusual truth spilled from my lips, "I've been here before."
The words sounded like a question but the feeling in my chest held no sense of uncertainty.
I turned with slow steady steps to look at Atticus. He was watching me with the same expectant gaze but now his eyes narrowed with concentration as they searched my expression.
"You have," he uttered. His words triggered some internal domino effect, and I felt the room start to spin, lights and colours rushing into place. With them came the radiating pain creeping across my skull as it had the day in the bar when I fainted, sparking from my temples and creeping through my brain like worms burrowing through mud.
My palms pushed against my temples in a futile attempt to stem the ache. "Fuck's sake, not again."
As my vision started to sparkle, I felt strong arms guide me across the room until my legs hit the softness of the sofa.
While Atticus lowered me onto the cool soft fabric he murmured, "You have to let yourself remember."
I scrunched my eyes shut. The pain and the nausea swirled and with them my aggravation grew. "Remember what?" I ground out through gritted teeth. "How do I know this place?"
His hands held mine, his thumbs drawing soft circles on the back of my palms. With each pass the heat of his touch washed over my skin.
"The memories are there. They want to be found. The glamour's doing all the work keeping them hidden."
"Now you're just saying words," I snapped at his riddles. "Did you do this to me?"
"No... but I can help make it stop."
I whimpered as another spike of pain brought a series of images into my mind. Now I could see Atticus and me standing in this very room arguing about something. I couldn't figure out what, but I could remember the feeling of rage and betrayal. It was like a memory, except it couldn't be. Could it?
I felt the sofa shift beside me, but I refused to open my eyes. I wasn't sure if it was right or not, but I'd convinced myself that keeping them shut offered me some reprieve from the ache the light caused.
A waft of sweet spices and musk drifted through my senses.
"Just relax, let your mind wander," Atticus murmured, his voice warm and rough and distracting now it was combined with the masculine scent of him. I didn't think I could relax even if I wanted to. And worse still, I worried what I might do if I did. He was so close, I could almost feel his breath tickle the nape of my neck, almost taste him on my tongue. Almost...
