Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "

Автор книги: Lisa DeJong

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

AS SOON AS I OPEN THE front door, I see Pierce perched against the side of a sleek black Escalade. The chrome rims sparkle under the moonlight. It screams for attention in the same way the guy standing next to it does. He could step right into an Armani ad, and no one would blink an eye.

“Are you okay?” he asks, slowly moving toward me.

I cross my arms over my chest to chase away the unbearable cold. “I’m ready to get out of here.” Explaining the rejection I just went through wouldn’t be right. He’s my boss, and this isn’t the place or the time. Tonight was supposed to be fun, different, a way to advance my career, but instead, it feels like something I have to do in order to save face. And I’m losing everything in the process.

He places his hand on my back to guide me to the car. Not to my surprise, an older gentleman in a nice black suit comes around the back to open the door.

“Good evening, ma’am.” He nods his head, and I smile in appreciation before climbing into the back seat. Pierce follows, leaving just a few inches of space between us. His proximity, the herb, wood, and fruit scent that emanates off his body reminds me just how intimate this is. I turn my attention out my window, wanting to avoid him and his assessment of me.

The door clicks shut, and I wait for him to ask me questions, for the inner confidence to ask him questions about how he knows Blake. What are the chances that these two corners of my life would intersect? Chicago was supposed to be different than my hometown.

“How do you know Blake?” he asks, saving me. His name comes off Pierce’s lips like a language he’d rather not speak.

I look him in the eyes, knowing it’s what he expects. “He’s my best friend’s brother. I thought I was moving into an empty apartment because she’s in Europe. Surprise was on me.”

He assesses me. Reads me. Calculates my pluses and minuses. He’s not dumb—he can do a simple math problem. “Is that all it is?”

I chew on my lower lip, buying myself time to decide what to say. How much of my world I want to open to him, keeping in mind he’s not the average man who I can feed full of falsities.

“It is now.” It’s telling without saying much. He can read between the lines.

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure about anything.” I don’t need to look away because it’s true. Blake’s dangerous, and little by little, I caught myself falling. Luckily, I was able to pull myself back up before I hit the ground. Just like I’ve done over and over the last few months, I’ll bury away the negative and focus on whatever I have left.

“How do you know Blake?” I ask, realizing I have just as many questions as he does.

He studies me, eyes narrowing in. “I’ve worked with him in the past.”

I ponder my next question carefully. What went on back there was about more than work. It was personal. It was hate.

He interrupts my thoughts before I get a chance to interrogate him further. “You look stunning, in case I didn’t make that clear earlier.” My cheeks heat from his praise, from the sexy tone of his voice. Thank God for darkness.

I smile genuinely, not so used to being complimented. Maybe my questions about Blake can wait until later . . . he’s not who tonight is about. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“Oh, this,” he says, pulling at his lapels. “I drag it out every once in a while for a special occasion . . . when I want to look good for someone special.”

“Like once or twice a week?”

“Not nearly as often as you think,” he replies.

I know so little about Pierce Stanley. His professional success is clear, but everything else is a mystery.

“How old are you?” I ask. I kind of regret it as soon as it leaves my lips. Too personal maybe?

“Guess.”

Shit. If I guess too high, he’s going to be offended. If I guess too low, well, I don’t know. “Thirty-two?”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. He smells so good, I just want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe him in until I fall asleep with nothing but that memory. Only problem: I still want it to be Blake’s arms wrapped around me when I wake up. “I’m thirty-six.”

I recover quickly from my dreams. “You look younger.”

“You’re not saying that just to get a raise are you?”

“Nah, I like the challenge of surviving on peanuts. It gives me something to think about when I have nothing else going on in my life,” I say, smoothing my hands over my dress.

“Smartass.”

“Oh, how nice, I already have a nickname. Maybe by the end of the night, I’ll have one for you.” This banter is just what I need to take my mind off Blake.

“I’m totally fine with Handsome, Master, Oh Great One . . . unless you can come up with something better.”

I laugh . . . for the first time in a long time. “I think I have one already. How about Mr. Full of Himself.”

“You have me pegged already.”

I’m about to reply when the SUV pulls up in front of a brightly lit building. There’s a group of reporters outside snapping pictures of well-dressed people who walk in front of an Urban Arts banner. Watching it all makes me extremely nervous. Limelight, cameras flashing . . . it’s not my thing.

“You ready?” Pierce asks, squeezing my knee. It distracts me at first, but I’m quickly drawn back to the chaos outside.

“Do we have to stop for pictures?” My fingers shake against my clutch. Gripping it is the only way to keep them away from my hair, from ruining Dana’s hard work.

“We’ll take a couple then move on. Just smile and let me do all the talking. It will go quick, I promise,” he says soothingly.

I nod. He signals to the driver who swiftly opens the door, exposing us to the crowd. As Pierce steps out, I inhale the fresh winter air until my lungs can hold no more. He is by no means a celebrity, but he’s one of the ‘it’ men on the Chicago art scene. Being with him comes with limelight and elevated social status because of his money and success.

When he holds his hand out to me, I hesitate for just a second, doubts flooding my conscience. It all goes away when he bends down so I can see his smiling face. “Coming?”

“You got me this far, I can’t back down now.” I slip my coat off and then place my hand in his, letting him hold on to me as I slide across the seat. I make sure both of my feet are firmly planted on the ground before revealing myself to the waiting crowd. It’s overwhelming—the flashes and screams. One of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors is in their midst.

“Pierce! Pierce! Mr. Stanley!” It’s all I hear as he grips my elbow to guide me up the curb. As soon as we’re on level ground, he wraps his arm around my back, resting his hand firmly against my hip.

“Who’s your date?” one screams, loud enough I hear it over the rest of the crowd.

“Her name’s Lila!” he answers between pictures. My smile falters, but I quickly recover.

“What’s her last name?” the same one yells.

To my relief, Pierce is quiet, guiding us down the carpet toward the glass doors. The doorman opens it just in time for us to step inside without breaking stride. There are a few people gathered in the entry, but nothing like outside.

“You okay?” he asks. He stands in front of me, hands lightly caressing my forearms.

I nod. “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting it to be quite like that.”

He smiles, squeezing my arms once. “I promise we can sneak out the back when it’s time to leave.”

“You should have that same arrangement for your arrival.”

“That’s why expectations are rarely desires.” His words don’t make sense at first, but then they do. As soon as something hits a list of things to do, it loses its luster. Another responsibility added to our hectic, busy lives.

“You know what I desire?” I ask.

His lips part, eyes holding mine firmly. “What’s that?”

I lick my lower lip, drawing his eyes down momentarily. “Wine, red preferably.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Pinot noir? Merlot?”

Isn’t red wine just red wine? The only option I’ve ever been given before was between red and white.

“Merlot for now,” I answer, not recognizing the other one. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but it’s a sipping drink . . . it can’t be that bad.

“Let me show you where the ballroom is. Then I’ll grab us something from the bar.”

Showtime version 2.0, I think to myself as Pierce rests his hand on my lower back to once again guide me forward. Hopefully the cameras aren’t allowed inside, and all I’ll have to deal with are the other artsy folks who were invited tonight.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers in my ear. “Stay by me. I’ll introduce you to some people, we’ll eat dinner. The night will go by quickly . . . they always do.”

We cross the threshold into a room full of well-dressed people—men all in black suits, women in dresses that probably cost more than I make in two months. It’s overwhelming, especially when heads turn in our direction. We keep moving, but the rest of the room seems paralyzed.

My nerves are raw. My ears pound to the point that I swear all talking has ceased. Being the center of anything, especially attention, is absolutely terrifying to me. It’s worse here . . . where I feel so little and unimportant.

I’m torn from my thoughts by the stunning blonde in a gold satin dress standing in front of us. She’s probably old enough to be my mom but could easily pass for thirty. “Pierce, I’m so glad you made it.”

“Diane.” He reaches his free hand out, gripping her shoulder while quickly pecking her cheek. “Everything looks fabulous as usual.”

“I can’t take all the credit. The whole committee pitched in for this one.” She looks over his shoulder to me. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Friend. Nice. I hope Pierce isn’t the type who usually brings pretty, low IQ women to these things. I don’t want to be categorized with them.

“This is Lila Fields. She’s an up and coming designer who just relocated to the city.”

I hold my hand out, letting her swallow it up in her well-manicured one. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Diane Rector. I oversee the board that put this together.”

“From what I can see so far, you did a fabulous job.” Years of working in customer service gave me the gift of being able to make small talk with just about anyone.

“Wait until you sink your teeth into the dessert.” She winks, letting go of my hand. “I’ll catch up with you two later. I need to check how everything is coming along.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” she says as she starts to walk away.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I mumble under my breath as she sashays to the next set of guests.

“You’re a natural,” Pierce says next to me. I hadn’t meant for him to hear my inner jargon. Tonight is just as much about making a good impression on him as it is connecting myself with my peers. I don’t want him to see me as an immature woman or think I can’t handle all of this because I know I can. The skill is there; it just seems to be buried under a layer of shattered confidence.

He steers us toward the bar, probably well aware that I’m not ready to be left alone in the sea of perceived sharks. I’m careful not to make eye contact along the way, needing at least one glass of that liquid courage before we get too far into this.

It’s not a surprise that the bar is packed with people. Pierce picks a spot toward the end where the bartender can easily see him waiting.

After the bartender takes our order, Pierce turns to the guy next to him. “Long time, no see.”

“Stanley, I was starting to think you’d moved out of town. What have you been up to?” Pierce has at least six inches on the older, balding gentleman standing next to him.

“Been out of town, working on a couple large hotel projects,” Pierce replies.

He turns his attention to me. “And who’s this lovely lady?”

“This is one of my apprentices, Lila Fields. Lila, this is Wade Adams.”

“Interesting,” he says. “If she has even half your eye for design, she’ll do just fine.” He winks, sipping a glass of wine. Where’s mine?

“She has a great start.” I don’t think Pierce has seen any of my work; at least, I haven’t shown him anything.

“Look, I was actually hoping I’d catch you here. I’m remodeling the 5th Avenue location in New York, and I’d like you to head the project.”

I glance up at Pierce who looks taken back by the statement. He quickly recovers, pulling his business card from the pocket of his tux. Watching him work makes me respect him even more; he’s hard to shake and blends in easily with the variety of personalities. “I’d be honored. I’m sure you have my contact information, but take my card just in case.”

Wade nods, taking the card from between Pierce’s fingers. “I need to get back to my date before she calls a search party, but I’ll call you sometime this week.”

“I’ll be in town all week. It would be a pleasure to work with you.”

“Likewise.” Wade gestures to me before slowly disappearing into the thickening crowd. I guess this is just as much about making deals as it is about charity and goodwill.

“You seemed surprised that he wanted to work with you,” I say.

Pierce’s eyes narrow in on me. “We have a bit of a history. Not necessarily a good one.”

“Ah, maybe he’s going to lure you into an empty building and have his way with you.”

He laughs. “Doubt it. He hates to get his hands dirty.”

I’m curious, but I don’t push for more. I’m not going to share my deepest and darkest secrets so I can’t expect him to.

Before anyone else can introduce themselves, a glass stem is placed between my fingers.

“Let’s toast,” Pierce suggests, holding up a glass of whiskey.

“To?”

“To new friendships.”

“To new friendships,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his. I swish the red liquid once, then lift it to my nose, inhaling. When I finally bring the glass to my lips, I tip it back just enough to get a tiny sip. It tastes of vibrant black cherries and plums, sliding easily down my throat.

I take a second sip, then a third. Pierce just watches as I finish off the last of it and signal for a second.

“Slow down, at least until we’ve eaten,” he breathes against my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s the wine. It’s the warmth. It’s the smell of a man wrapped in an expensive black tux.

“We’re going to have to do something to keep me busy then.” I lick my lower lip, bringing the full glass to my mouth. This stuff is dangerous—it’s what one-night stands and surprise babies are made of.

“Dance with me,” he says, squeezing my hip.

“Where?”

He nods toward the side of the ballroom opposite of where we came in. A band with classic instruments in hand plays the soft music I hear overhead.

I drain the rest of my wine and set the glass on the bar. If I think too much, I’ll never get the courage to forge ahead with this. Pierce understands my wordless answer, wrapping his fingers around mine to lead me out to the wooden floor. This time, if people are staring, I don’t notice. That’s the difference between being sober and slightly buzzed.

He faces me, wrapping one arm around my lower back and keeping his other hand entwined with mine at our side. Our bodies melt together until we’re chest to cheek. So close . . . so intimate.

“I’m so glad you came tonight,” he says, his lips brushing my hair.

“Me too.” I mean it. This pushed things with Blake to a boiling point, but it was going to go there at some point anyway. Maybe it’s better to have gotten it over with than attach myself to him even more—before I fell in love.

Besides, I’m enjoying my time with Pierce. Tonight hasn’t exactly been perfect, but he has been.

“After dinner, I’ll introduce you to some more people.”

I don’t reply. I don’t think he needs one. We sway back and forth, turning ever so slightly along the way. He leads us with expert rhythm.

“What’s your favorite type of music?” he asks out of the blue.

“Angsty rock. I reflect on life when I get lost in the music.”

He leans back, looking down into my eyes. “Good or bad?”

“What?” I ask.

“Your reflections.”

I shrug, thinking back to how normal and great everything was until a few months ago. “I think about the painful ones the most. They’re the ones I still need to let go of.”

He smiles sympathetically. “I think we all have a few of those we’re carrying around.”

“How do you know it’s okay?”

“When you can still live with it on your back.” He’s right, because if we can handle it, it’s not too much. The space between us closes again as we continue to move to the music. “What’s your favorite band?” he asks.

“That’s easy. Coldplay. Yours?”

“Chopin and Horowitz are more my speed.”

The song switches as I press my cheek to his chest. The wine and my lack of sleep have brought me to this state where all I want to do is pull on a pair of comfy sweats and crawl into my nice, warm bed. Being with Pierce, like this, is just as good.

“Do you know what my favorite part of tonight is going to be when it’s all over?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

He hesitates for just a second. “Being here . . . like this with you.”

“Why do you say that?”

He slides his hand up my back, then down again. “There’s just something about you. Something I’ve been thinking about since I sat next to you on the plane.”

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly,” I say, feeling the familiar nerves creep back up.

“It’s the only way I know how to be.”

“Did you offer me this job because I had the skills or because you wanted to be like this?” I close my eyes . . . waiting. I’ve been second-guessing myself since I started at Stanley Development, and I hate it.

His grip on my hand tightens. “A little of both. It takes ambition to risk a move to the big city, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my own selfish reasons. I kind of like you, Lila.”

My eyes widen as my heart bottoms out. I shouldn’t be here. As soon as he says those words, I think about paint, tequila, and kitchen counters. I think about my blond artist—the man I’ve never had, but yet lost tonight.

That’s what I’ll always think back on.

THE MUSIC STOPS AT JUST the right moment, when this doesn’t feel right anymore.

“Please take your seats. The first course will be served shortly,” a female voice sounds over the loud speaker. Inner panic momentarily paralyzes me.

Pierce loosens his grip enough for me to step away. When he looks at me, I think he knows my mood has shifted. The wine and the dance—they aren’t enough to banish the heartbreak from earlier. I’m not ready for this.

“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing hold of my elbow.

I shake my head, searching for the right words. A reason to escape from here. “Can you take me home? I’m not feeling well.”

His brow wrinkles. “Is it something I said?”

“No,” I answer quietly, wishing I could simply fold myself back in his arms . . . and everything would be okay.

“What’s going on?”

“I have a headache.” My voice is meek, lacking assurance.

Pierce is at a loss for words, looking down then away. This room is filled with hundreds of people, but it feels like it’s just us. Two people at a crossroads. He’s not convinced, but I’m not either. Trying to crawl back into Blake’s bed will more than likely end with me suffering from more than a bended heart. And Pierce continually crosses the professional line. What he’s trying to accomplish, what he sees in me . . . I have no idea.

I can’t stay.

Yet, I feel like I shouldn’t go.

Life is one big tangled mess after another.

“Let’s get you home then,” he finally concedes. He steers us away from the dance floor, through a side door, and out into a quiet hallway. He pulls out his cell phone and makes a quick call to have the car come pick us up.

After it’s tucked back into his pocket, he envelops my hand in his and leads us through a pair of swinging doors. A huge kitchen full of staff in black chefs’ coats appears, and without seeking permission, Pierce ushers me through it. The staff barely blink an eye, like this happens all the time.

“Where are we going?” I ask, walking faster to keep up. That’s not an easy feat in heels.

“Back door.”

There’s a metal door that leads to a dark alleyway. The black Escalade pulls up just in time to rescue us from the cold. Pierce pulls the door open, letting me climb in first. He follows.

“Can I at least take you for a quick bite? I’m not one to send a girl home hungry.”

“No, I just want to get home.”

Silence ensues. I count the minutes, trying to remember how long it took us to get here . . . how long it will take to get back home.

“How much do you know about him?” Pierces asks. Him doesn’t require any clarification. His sense of perception is really starting to get under my skin.

“Enough.”

“What if I told you to stay away from him?”

“I’d ask you to give me a good reason.”

More silence. That seems to be the theme for tonight—a teeter-totter between conversation and nothing at all.

I watch out the window as we speed down city streets. Downtown slowly turns into the more residential area where I live. Seeing familiar houses and street signs calms me . . . just a couple more minutes until I can put this all behind me.

When we finally pull onto my street, I sit up straight, ready to make my escape. “I’m really sorry about tonight, Pierce.”

“I’ll let you make it up to me sometime. I think you owe me dinner.”

To that, I can only smile. Maybe I do owe him something, but some debts are never paid.

The car comes to a stop in front of my building. I contemplate opening my door and hurrying out to avoid any more conversation, but Pierce opens his first. “At least let me walk you to your door.”

I nod, sliding across the seat. The driver’s waiting for me, coat in hand. “Here you are, Ms. Fields.”

“Thank you,” I reply, slipping my arms into it.

As soon as it’s on, he disappears inside the car, leaving Pierce and I alone. The only thing that separates me from home is about ten feet of sidewalk; it seems much longer now than it ever did before. Pierce’s hand splays against my lower back like it has several other times tonight, startling me. “If it’s any consolation, I had a good time with you tonight.”

“So did I.”

“Hmm, I hate to see your version of a bad date.”

I laugh. “Guy takes you to an expensive restaurant, leaves you paying for dinner. Or better yet, he talks about his ex the entire time, audibly comparing you to her.”

“Damn. You must have dated some winners.”

He’s doing that thing he does again—making me forget. It’s just a little too late because we’re standing in front of my door—the only thing that separates me from the guy who holds a piece of my heart in his hands.

Pierce surprises me, cradling my cool cheeks in his warm hands. “For the record, I’d never leave you with the bill, and there’s no comparison to make between you and my past.”

“That’s good to know,” I reply, chewing on my lower lip. The way he stares down at me makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me of a defining moment in the movies . . . before a kiss. “I should get inside.”

“Remember what I told you about staying away from him,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. He reads the undying question in my eyes. “And if that’s not enough for you, ask him about Alyssa.” There’s undeniable pain in his voice when he says the name.

“Who?”

He kisses my cheek. “I’m going to leave it up to him to tell you.”

I nod, feeling a sting in my chest. What if there’s someone else? What if that’s where he disappears to? It’s been a doubt that’s lingered for far too long already, and Pierce just planted a seed to make it grow.

“Good night,” he says as he lets go of me.

“Good night and thank you.” I wave as I slip inside. For the second time tonight, I wonder if I’m making a mistake by leaving a man. They’re so different; Pierce probably the safer choice. I just can’t give him a second thought when every part of me is hooked on Blake.

Sometimes, it takes a moment of intolerance to realize where your soft place is. Everything Pierce did tonight was perfect yet I couldn’t be with him because deep down, I was with Blake . . . I never actually left him.

My feet ache from a few hours spent in heels as I make my way up the last flight of stairs. I script exactly what I want to say to Blake—how I want to package my bid to get him back.

Anger makes people say things they wouldn’t otherwise. Nothing happened between Pierce and I to change the way I feel about Blake. Nothing happened to make me feel guilty about tonight except for going in the first place.

The apartment is dark when I push the door open. He’s either away or asleep; I’m hoping for the latter. I need him, and I’m not going to let myself fall asleep until I have him in my sight again. I peel my heels off and flick on the kitchen light.

My stomach turns.

My legs buckle.

Life isn’t fair.

It certainly hasn’t been kind.

They say the awful things that happen to us in our lifetime only make us stronger. I think they just harden us until we can’t feel anymore.

Clothes are scattered in a clear path from the door to Blake’s bedroom—not his clothes. My eyes stick to them. Maybe if I stare long enough, they’ll just disappear. Turn into nothing but a wicked game my mind played.

I step over the tiny black skirt first, then the thin red sweater. I reach toward his doorknob as if it might burn me. I don’t want to know, but I have to. Was moving on this easy?

Before the door even opens, I hear the sounds—the grunts and moans. I see two dark silhouettes, and I know. I know I ruined everything we had, or maybe we never had anything at all.

It only took four hours for him to replace me with someone else—for him to replace me in his bed.

I should close them out of my view, but I can’t. My body is paralyzed, but my heart bleeds as the show of emotions slide down my cheeks. This I can’t erase. I want to take this pain and inflict it on someone else—on him.

It only took him weeks to fix me, and now, I’m broken again. I want him to hurt as much as he’s hurt me.

I step back, slamming the door shut. The moans stop, replaced by hushed whispers.

I wait, needing to see what makes her better than me. Who was worth throwing everything away for? I swipe my fingertip under my eyes. Even if I’m weak, he’s not going to get the satisfaction of seeing it.

While I wait, I pour myself a glass of wine to try and numb the pain. Minutes tick by, and just when I’m thinking they may have picked right back up where they left off, the door inches open.

A thin brunette with long, mussed up hair steps out first in nothing but a black thong and matching bra. Our eyes connect, but she quickly looks away, picking her trail of clothes up off the floor. Blake follows in nothing but his gray boxer briefs. His cock is still swollen—probably a symptom of unfinished sex. Years from now I’ll still think about it. How it felt inside me . . . how it felt to come hard around him. I hate myself for even thinking about it.

“Sorry,” the girl mutters as she reaches around my legs to grab her skirt. I watch her shimmy into it, her cheeks blushing more with each passing second.

“Do you want me to help you find your shoes?” I ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch of glimpse of Blake staring at me curiously.

She looks up through her lashes, her doe eyes studying me.

“They’re at the foot of my bed,” Blake answers for her. His voice hints of annoyance but not an ounce guilt. “Why don’t you go get them for her, Lila?”

I hate him. I hate that he called me Lila instead of Lemon Drop. Because I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking or feeling, I walk past them to his room. He won’t expect this. It’ll throw him off . . . make him wonder. I flip the light on, instantly spotting the black stilettos. I grab them up quickly, wanting to escape the lingering smell of sex.

The walk out to the living room is just long enough to take a breath, to clear up my emotions again. “Here,” I say, holding them out to her.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping them off my fingers.

“Not a problem. I’m used to it.”

Her eyes double in size, but she quickly recovers, slipping the shoes onto her feet. I muster everything I have in me to keep myself together. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let anyone take the best of me again. I’m definitely not going to let this woman I don’t know, who probably just met Blake a couple hours ago, take it. I’m not going to let him get away with it either.

When she’s done, she turns to Blake as if I’m not in the room. “Do you want my number?”

Even I know the answer to that.

He shakes his head, walking to the door and opening it for her. “I told you this would be nothing more than this.”

She sidles up to him, tracing a small circle onto his chest. “But can’t we do this again?”

He shakes his head again, more definitive this time.

Her finger quickly falls away. “Okay,” she says, sounding on the verge of tears. “I guess I’ll just catch a cab then.”

To my utter disgust, he reaches his hand out, a rolled up twenty between his fingers. “For the cab,” he remarks.

“Fuck off!” she seethes, pushing past him. “You’re an asshole.”

With no reaction from him, she walks away. I wonder if this is how his hook-ups usually end. If there’s a long path of pissed off women in his wake.

He closes the door, staring at it for longer than necessary. I want to run away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. Besides, I ran here and look where it got me. “What the hell was that?” he finally asks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just got home from my date.” I put extra emphasis the last word. “I heard noises, and I went in to make sure you were okay.”

He tugs at his hair, lifting his eyes to the barren ceiling. “Don’t fucking toy with me, Lila. What the fuck was that?”

He needs to feel the sharp edge of the blade. He needs to know what he’s done to me. Reaching my hands back, I work my zipper down, feeling the tight bodice loosen around my stomach. I slip one sleeve off my shoulder, then the other. My breasts exposed. My lacy, green panties the only thing that covers me.

His eyes find me, full of want . . . finally hinting at guilt. Or maybe that’s just what I think I see. He saunters to me, I take a couple steps toward him. I rest my hand flat on his bare chest; his heart beats viciously against it.

I imprison my heart to try to keep it from feeling as my fingers slide down his taut stomach. My eyes cloud over anyway.

He grips my hips. I stare up at him, remembering how good it can feel to be with him like this.