Whose Bed Is It Anyway? by Natalie Anderson

I?’
    â€˜Reputation is a dangerous thing.’ She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Mud sticks and all that.’
    â€˜No,’ he murmured. ‘Why really? Didn’t you ever challenge them? Didn’t you deny this crap this Dominic-guy spread?’
    â€˜There was no point. People will always think smoke means fire.’
    â€˜No,’ he challenged her. ‘Sometimes it’s just smoke. Sometimes it’s just there for someone to hide in. Like a stage set.’
    She shook her head and the haunted look returned. She glanced down, running over the long list of offences detailed on the Internet. ‘The underage clubbing thing is true, as is the underage drinking. But I never did drugs. Nor have I ever self-harmed.’
    She hit the back arrow on the navigation bar, and scrolled back a few pages until that mortifying article about him featured.
    â€˜Look at it, the grand total of two stories on you are fabulous,’ she said drily. ‘While the thousands on me are awful. Being labelled a sex stud isn’t anywhere near as bad as being labelled a narcissistic, deranged stalker.’
    She paused as the picture of him carrying the child out from the landslide popped up. She was right, but he still hated that image—what it had brought for him. A moniker he didn’t deserve. A supposedly ‘heroic’ status. Because in reality he couldn’t be less of a hero. He’d destroyed a family, not saved one. Yeah, the real story of his life, the most relevant thing about him, had never been reported in any newspaper.
    Caitlin looked at the way James was sullenly glaring at himself in that picture. He was cradling that poor kid so carefully, yet he’d had the look of a fighter on his face—sheer determination as he ran. His T-shirt had been spattered with his own blood, pouring from the nasty-looking gash on the side of his head.
    â€˜Did it hurt?’ Ugh . She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. You must get asked that all the time.’
    â€˜It looked worse than it was.’ He looked up at her, his moody reverie broken, amusement stealing back into his eyes. ‘Some women are fascinated with the scar,’ he said softly. ‘They always want to kiss it. Like they could make it better with their life-giving lips or something.’
    â€˜And do those kisses make it better?’
    He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Truth? I lost most of the nerve endings around the wound. I can’t even feel it if someone kisses it. It’s sure as hell not sexy.’
    â€˜Roger that,’ she said crisply. ‘No scar kissing, then.’
    Their eyes met. For a moment there was thick, expectant silence.
    He lifted his finger and ran it down his scar. ‘Women think this symbolises something that isn’t real. I’m no hero.’
    â€˜You are,’ she muttered. ‘You’re good.’
    â€˜Why do you think that?’ That bleak, almost angry look returned. ‘From what you’ve read?’
    â€˜From your actions, ’ she corrected. ‘You’re the guy who pulled back from having anything you’d like from me this morning.’ She glared at him. ‘Is it so bad to want me?’
    He flinched. ‘I was trying to do the right thing by you.’
    â€˜Who’s to say I wanted the “right” thing?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you get it? I’m the bad girl who always wants to do the wrong thing.’
    He hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t have said it was wrong. But it seemed to me you’re a bit bruised and I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you. Now I know for certain you are.’
    â€˜You cooled off to protect me?’ she flashed. ‘I can look after myself.’
    â€˜I’m sure you can,’ he said peaceably.
    That didn’t soothe her irritation. ‘And isn’t the fact I’ve had a tough time