Page 68 of Star Struck

The eyes stayed shut. ‘He tried to kill you.’

‘I know. I was there.’

Now the eyes snapped open. There was something hellish in them and his voice was savage. ‘He’s recovering, Skye. He could have been killed falling off that roof, but he wasn’t. I wish he had been. He tried to kill you,’ he repeated, as though I might be in some doubt.

‘He’s okay?’ The gorgeous, ruined Gethryn Tudor-Morgan. But . . . ‘What happened? How come we survived?’ I wouldn’t think about the falling, wouldn’t think about that fantastic tawny body, those greenish amber eyes staring into mine, falling . . . falling . . .

Jack took a deep breath in again. ‘In a huge twist of ironic fate, you landed on Felix.’ His mouth creased. ‘He’d just got out of the hospital, got dropped off by taxi round the back of the motel, therefore neatly missing all the Security teams I had lined up at the front, and came to find out what was going on on the roof.’

‘Is that why . . . ?’

‘You dislocated his neck, broke two bones in his arm and rebroke his ribs for him. You, incidentally, got away with a broken ankle and concussion. I think Felix has a massive complex about that.’

‘Why the drip?’

‘It’s just to rehydrate you. You’d been wandering in the desert for quite a while before I found you, and then, with the accident . . . they had to put you out to set your ankle.’

‘But what about Gethryn?’

‘Two broken legs, broken pelvis, spinal trauma, and I hope it drove his cock out through his eye-sockets.’ Now he let go of the door and came over to the bed. He was wearing his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and his tight black jeans, but his feet were bare again. ‘But he’s going to be all right. Eventually. He’s going to get a lot of treatment, but it’s all for the best, because the public loves a tortured star. He’s even got bloody Lissa sitting at his bedside. By the time he’s recovered he’ll probably be a national fucking hero, everything will be forgiven. But not by me, Skye. He tried to kill you. Because of me, because he knew . . . he wanted to take you.’ He put his head in his hands with his voice cracking. ‘You could have died, because of me.’

‘Jack . . .’

‘I told you, I told all of them, I’m useless. I can’t love, I can’t feel, I cause more pain just by existing than anyone should have a right to, every single thing I touch turns to shit and ashes!’

I wriggled up the bed. The needle dragged at my skin. It hurt. Everything hurt. ‘That’s not true, though, is it? Look at Two Turns North for example — classic sci-fi TV. People will still be watching that in fifty years and enjoying it.’

‘North wasn’t mine, though. I was just one of the team.’

‘And doesn’t that tell you something?’

He raised his head slowly and stared at me. ‘Is it meant to?’

His skin was paler than I’d ever seen a human look. Like paper, with his eyes drawn in pain over the top. ‘Sometimes you need other people to make things truly work,’ I whispered. ‘And, look at it this way, if bad things come in threes, well, I ought to be immune for . . . oooh, the next fifty years or so.’

The bedside chair rasped against the floor as he dropped into it and slumped forward as though even his bones were tired. ‘I told you I was no good for you.’ Jack’s voice was muffled. ‘I told you.’ And when he dragged his head up to look at me, his eyes were wet and clouded. ‘I should have told you why . . .’ He looked quickly at me, then away. ‘I shouldn’t have sent you up there; I shouldn’t have let you get within a mile of Gethryn when he was in that state. I’m no good for anyone, that’s what it comes down to.’

‘You’ve been good for me.’

He stared at me then, with a kind of disbelief. ‘What? How have I been “good for you”? Have you looked at yourself lately?’

I held his stare. ‘Yes, I have, actually. And compared to the Skye that flew over here only a few days ago, I think I’m pretty much of an improvement.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have . . . I should have kept my distance.’

‘You can’t keep your distance forever, Jack.’ If I really strained the drip line I could just touch him. Should I? Those eyes . . .

‘But if I hadn’t got involved, you wouldn’t be lying here, all bruised and . . .’ He tailed off.

‘Yeah, and if you hadn’t got involved, you would never have followed me after the explosion. None of that would have happened.’

‘You’d have been fine. Someone would have found you, or you’d have made your way back to the motel.’

I wiggled my way further up the bed. It hurt like buggery, but now I could sit properly, meet his eye. ‘I wasn’t talking about that. I meant . . . after.’ Kept my eyes on his.

‘Oh.’

‘You were good for me then too, Jack. That was the first time since the accident.’