My Image of You Read online

  My Image of You is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Melanie Moreland

  Excerpt from Vanishing Act by A. M. Madden copyright © 2017 by A. M. Madden

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399180941

  Cover design: Makeready Designs

  Cover photograph: Mikhail_Kayl/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Part 1: Our Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part 2: Four Months Later

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Melanie Moreland

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Vanishing Act

  Prologue

  Adam

  PRESENT TIME

  My fingers yanked impatiently at the silk of the tie I was attempting to get in place. I cursed through gritted teeth as I looked at the skewed knot, and once again tore it off. Taking a deep breath in, trying to calm myself, I started over. A memory stirred of the last time I wore one of these godforsaken things.

  Her small hands held the length of silk, her touch confident as she twisted and tugged, smiling while she patted the perfect Windsor knot in place. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched up to smooth my shirt collar, and I ducked down to help her reach. Her warm fingers slid along the collar as she pulled and adjusted, her voice low and teasing. “Considering the magic your hands can create with so many other things, you would think you could figure out a tie, Adam.”

  Growling, I lifted her off the floor easily, holding her to my chest. “I’ll show you magic later, my girl. My big wand and all.”

  Her giggle made me happy, her kiss was filled with warmth, her touch love personified. She was mine.

  I shook my head to clear it as I looked in the mirror, my face angry now as I yanked the knot too tight. I didn’t have her touch anymore.

  He did.

  Grabbing my rarely used suit jacket, I thrust my arms into the sleeves, then added my press credentials and phone to the right-hand pocket. I frowned when my fingers brushed something in the bottom of the pocket and I pulled the item out, stopping when I saw the piece of pink paper. She always wrote me notes on pink paper.

  Thank you for doing this. I love you. —Your Nightingale

  Her writing. Her words. Her love.

  Lifting the paper to my nose, I could still smell the faint scent of her on it. Light, airy, floral. She always smelled so good to me. Like home.

  I looked at the words again and swallowed the painful lump. I had worn this jacket to have dinner with her parents, Sarah and Ronald—a dinner neither they, nor I, wanted to be at, but I did it for her. Back when she was mine.

  Mine.

  She wasn’t mine anymore.

  Tossing the note onto the table, I picked up my camera, although I didn’t plan on using it tonight. It was the prop to get me in. The only way I could think to come face-to-face with the past that haunted me. To get answers to the questions that echoed in my head daily. To stop the ache that burned in my chest every waking moment. Maybe once I did, I could move on.

  I ignored the voice in my head telling me moving on was something that would never happen.

  But I was going to fucking try.

  Part 1

  Our Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Adam

  I swung myself up onto the ledge, cursing Sean silently as I shifted and balanced. Tonight, of all nights, was when he had his boats out, and he wanted this picture. He rarely asked me for anything outside of work, so I couldn’t refuse him. It had rained earlier and now all the surfaces in the city were covered with a thin layer of ice after the temperature dropped suddenly—an unexpected thing in March. The angle was wrong from the ground, however, and I needed this extra height to give me the right depth for the shot.

  I lifted my shoulder to distribute the weight of the rucksack. I should’ve shucked it off before getting on the ledge, but my assistant, Tommy, had been a no-show. The roof was covered in half-frozen puddles, the gravel and sand accumulating with leftover snow in small piles. I didn’t want the bag to get wet or stolen—the contents were far too valuable. I wasn’t the only one out on this night enjoying the view. Several people were milling around on the large rooftop, although I was sure I would be the only one climbing the ledge. At least it was a cold, clear night—perfect for what Sean wanted—with no wind to hamper me. The cold I could handle. The wind was just a bitch.

  Another few inches—that was all I needed for the perfect shot. My foot carefully slid along the ice as I balanced myself and the camera, the view coming into perfect focus, the water smooth and reflective. The shutter clicked as I got shot after shot of the illuminated boats anchored in the harbor. I only needed a couple more, then I was done. A sudden shout and a hand on my leg caused me to start, my foot to slip, the bag on my shoulder to shift, and me to lurch sideways. I heard another shout, felt the sharp tug on my coat that threw me backward, followed by a nasty pain in my head…

  …and then the world went black.

  —

  My eyes flew open, my entire body in panic mode. The space around me was dim, unfamiliar, and unfocused.

  Where the hell was I?

  Someone was bending over me; the weight of their body on my chest felt peculiar and not welcome. My head ached and throbbed, and there was something wet and cold in my eyes. My arms felt heavy, as if they were restricted when I pushed on the weight, which only seemed to increase, and I started struggling in earnest, cursing and striking out blindly.

  “Get off him!” A voice broke through my panic. “You’re frightening him!”

  “He needs to be restrained! He’s been fighting us the whole way here!”

  “He needs to be looked after and his head is bleeding again! Back off, Hank. Now!”

  Gentle hands touched my face as I turned my head, trying desperately to focus and figure out where I was. A voice, close to my ear, low and caring spoke. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Please stop thrashing, you’re making the bleeding worse.”

  Blood? I was bleeding? Is that what was in my eyes?

  I shuddered, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

  God, I couldn’t stand the sight of blood—especially my own. It was one of the few things I couldn’t handle.

  Somehow, the quiet timbre of her voice helped to calm me down and I drew in a deep breath, pulling in the needed oxygen.

>   “Good. That’s good,” the voice soothed. “More deep breaths, Adam. Good.”

  I turned my head toward the sound of the voice. “Where am I?” I rasped.

  “You’re at Toronto General. You fell. Do you remember?”

  I frowned, searching my brain, and then it all came back.

  The shot.

  The ice.

  The hand grabbing me and the shout.

  Tommy.

  That little fucker had startled me.

  I tried to sit up, struggling against the sheet and whatever machines they had hooked up to me. “My camera. Where’s my stuff?”

  Hands on my chest eased me back. “Stay still, or I’ll call Hank back. Let me flush your eyes and finish cleaning your wound. The butterfly bandages they put on it didn’t hold.”

  “My camera?” I insisted.

  “You should be more worried about your head than your camera.” She chided me.

  “My camera is worth more,” I quipped.

  I heard a sigh, then felt the weight of my camera in my searching hands. “Your stuff is fine—somehow your camera hit your bag, not the rooftop. Your equipment and clothes are right here. Now will you settle down?” There was a pause and her voice became more teasing. “Or I’ll get Hank back. Your choice.”

  My fingers ran over the metal and plastic, checking for cracks, grateful it seemed to be fine. “I’ll behave,” I grumbled. “No need to get the fucker back.”

  “Language,” she admonished.

  Cold hit my forehead with a stinging sensation, and I jerked.

  “Sorry. I need to clean the gash. All your thrashing has made it reopen.”

  “You better be a doctor,” I growled. I didn’t want some med student messing with my eyes.

  “I’m a nurse—I went to school for it and everything. Will that do?”

  I huffed at her annoyed tone. “For now.”

  “I can let you keep bleeding if you want to wait for the doctor.”

  Right. Blood.

  “No, carry on,” I said grudgingly.

  “Fine. Then I’ll get to work.”

  “Why am I in a damn gown?” I snarled, fingering the scratchy cotton. “Is my coat in that bag?”

  “You were bleeding and we had to examine you,” she explained patiently. “Your coat is with your clothes in the bag under your bed. You fell into a nasty slush puddle, so your things are wet. Soon as we’re done and you’re all cleaned up, I’ll give you a set of scrubs to change into.”

  “Fine.”

  I ran my hand along my arm, relieved to feel the familiar heavy links and leather on my wrist.

  “We didn’t have to remove your bracelets.”

  Bracelets? Jesus, women wore bracelets.

  “Bands,” I corrected. “They’re called wristbands.”

  “Whatever you want to call them. I suppose wristbands sounds more masculine for you, so okay.”

  My lips twitched, but I didn’t say anything. She had me there, and her sass was amusing.

  “Do you want me to get your friend?” she asked, working away at my head.

  “Friend?”

  “I think he said his name was Tommy?”

  “No,” I hissed, shifting my torso. “It’s his fucking fault I fell. Tell him to go to—”

  “Adam,” she warned. “I asked you to stay still.”

  “How do you know my name, anyway?” I demanded.

  “You’re at the hospital. The paramedics got your information from Tommy, and we checked your wallet.”

  That made sense.

  “Why do I have an IV? Is it really necessary for a fucking bump on the head? Seems unnecessary to me.”

  “It’s standard procedure. Once the doctor examines you and okays it, I can take it out.” She paused with a sigh. “We’re only trying to help you.”

  Then her voice sounded teasing again. “If you’re good, I’ll give you a sucker.”

  I grunted in annoyance. Did I look like a fucking kid that could be bribed with sweets?

  I did like suckers, though.

  “What kind?”

  “Grape.”

  Those were my favorite flavor, and since I really had no choice, I decided to cut her some slack.

  “I think it’s only fair I know your name, since you know mine.”

  “Are you always this grumpy and demanding?” She countered.

  She had me there. I was being difficult. I knew I was being an ass, but I hated this feeling of helplessness. I wasn’t used to it, and it pissed me off.

  “Only when I hit my head and can’t see for shit. I need to see. My whole life revolves around me being able to see.”

  The bed tipped back, and gentle hands touched my face, then brushed along my hairline. “This won’t take long. I’m going to clean your eyes now. You have some blood, plus sand and dirt in them. Once I flush them, you’ll be able to see, okay?” She paused. “And my name is Alex.”

  “Okay, Alex.” I cleared my throat, feeling embarrassed at my demands. She was right—she was trying to help. “Thanks.”

  She worked quietly for a few moments. She was close enough that her soft fragrance overrode the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and I inhaled the scent deeply. The deluge of liquid in my eyes was warm, and the burning eased. She patted my arm and raised the bed. “Okay, Adam, open your eyes. They may be a little blurry because I put in some antibiotic ointment to prevent infection. The blurriness will clear soon. They might be sore, but I have the lights low to help you focus.”

  I blinked, feeling as if my eyes were coated in sandpaper, but I could see, although things farther away were somewhat fuzzy.

  “Hello.”

  My gaze flew to the sound of the voice. The only light in the room was the one over the bed. Alex was bent low and close, her kind smile the first thing to greet me. Time seemed to stand still as I looked into a pair of eyes so blue, deep, and fathomless they took my breath away. A small shock ran down my spine as I stared into their depths.

  “How are the eyes?”

  I cleared my throat, breaking my stare. “Good. Yeah, ah, I can see. They’re still blurry and sore.” I frowned. “So is my fu—” Remembering her chiding, I paused and reworded my statement. “Um…my head.”

  “I’m sure it is. You hit it very hard, judging from the bruises and how bad this cut is. I’ll finish cleaning it and then the doctor will come in to see you and discuss the results of the CT scan.” I relaxed into my pillow as she tended the cut on my head, trying not to wince at the pain. It hurt like a bitch.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s a deep one, and I think you need stitches.” Drawing back, she glared at me. “What were you thinking standing on the ledge of that building? Do you realize what would have happened if you’d fallen forward, not sideways and back? A bad gash and a headache would’ve been the least of your troubles. You could have been killed.”

  Her lecture took me back, but then I chuckled at her statement, and her bossiness. I couldn’t help but study her with my photographer’s eye, something I did without thinking. I took in many details about her appearance, even with the discomfort that lingered with my vision. She was a little thing, with hair that could only be described as one color. It wasn’t auburn or chestnut. It was red. It glowed under the light, a shimmering bright copper. It was pulled back into a ponytail, and I could only imagine how striking it would be loose and flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes were amazing—huge, with long dark lashes. Her ivory cheeks were rounded and smooth, covered in hundreds of freckles—small flecks of hammered gold embedded under her skin, enhancing her unique beauty. Even as she frowned at me, I could see the indent of dimples beside her full lips. They added a mischievous look to her pretty face. Her hands were on her hips as she lectured me, a stance I was sure she thought made her look tough and serious, but it didn’t work.

  “I wasn’t standing, I was crouching,” I teased, unsure as to why I was trying to defend myself, or wanting to reassure her. I wasn’t used to any
one taking notice of what I did, so her worried frown and gentle reprimanding were oddly touching.

  “You shouldn’t have been on that ledge. That was dangerous!”

  I shrugged dismissively. “I needed the shot. It was the right angle.”

  Her brow furrowed as she gathered up her used supplies. “You’d risk your life? For a picture?”

  I smirked, wondering if she lectured all her patients like this. I had to admit, I liked her spunk. But crouching on the wide ledge of a building was hardly dangerous stuff for me.

  “Here. Look.” I held up my camera, squinting as I flipped through the last few shots, and showing her the viewfinder. All the sailboats lit up in the darkness, their lights reflecting mirror images on the flat water, were fantastic. “I wanted this shot.”

  She gazed at the photo. “It’s lovely. But not worth risking your life.”

  “My life was never at risk. I was perfectly safe. I should’ve removed the bag from my shoulder—it knocked me off balance. I wouldn’t have fallen over the edge.” I frowned. “And I wouldn’t have fallen at all if Tommy hadn’t startled me.”

  “He feels very bad about what happened.”

  “Good.”

  She shook her head. “Between the cut, all the bruises, and the concussion you may have, I hope it was worth it. You’re going to feel it for a few days.”

  “Good thing I have you to look after me then, isn’t it?” I grinned and lowered my voice, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “My very own Florence Nightingale.”

  Looking down at our hands, she blushed.

  Blushed.

  The color flooded her full cheeks.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a woman blush. It was soft and feminine, and it seemed at odds with her sassiness, but it suited her. There was something about her. Something that drew me in and made me want to be closer to her.