He’s still here.
I know it. Not from the tantalizing smell of rich coffee wafting out of the kitchen. Or, from the warmth filling the apartment from him fixing the thermostat again. But I swear to goodness I can simply sense his dominant presence. Always confident. Forever certain. Constantly assured.
Until last night.
For the first time ever, uncertainty clouded his expression. Baffling me how a man as rich and powerful and demanding as him could be insecure about me. A woman like me, to use his words. How a notorious mobster could be afraid of a naïve librarian. Well, at least I used to be. He taught me well how quickly pleasure turns to pain. Now I’m more jaded than I like to admit.
Regardless, I’m all too aware of the power he holds over me as I climb out of bed. My naked body proof of his control. My racing heart deliriously happy he didn’t leave. My wary mind cautioning me against letting myself fall for him again. Too late for that advice. I’ve already tumbled too far, easily ensnared by his possession of me.
My head doesn’t hurt as much as it should with all I drank when I wrap my robe around my tender body and shuffle to the bathroom. I guess he’s a good cure for a hangover. Leaving only slight bruises on my arms and thighs from our attempts at reconciliation. Contrasting with the gentleness he conveyed while bathing me.
The first time ever he’s done anything like that. Or this. In the kitchen, exhilaration takes flight in my chest from his intense focus on buttering toast. Usually I was the one to cook. To take care of him. Not because he’s a chauvinist but because no one ever had. With his non-existent father and early passing of his mother, he’s never known the touch of a gentle hand or been surprised with his favorite dinner or given rapt attention to his answer after asked how his day was. All the things so completely foreign to him and so common to me, I wanted to give him.
He soaked up my affection like a wilted flower finally watered. Blooming from attention and patience and love. Traits I knew were deep inside him too that just needed to be coaxed out. That he always returned to me. Until that night.
All of my fondness drifts away. The tenderness and generosity of last night and this morning do nothing to erase what he did. We had sex. I messed up making love to him. I know giving in to him was wrong. I accept the punishment of my actions, regardless of how much I ache inside, and now it’s time we both move on. “I don’t want you here Gio. Please leave.”
His muscular shoulders droop from my voice behind him, and he tosses the knife back on the plate. The rattling clank of metal bashing against glass cuts the silence as punitive as my request. Which I hate, but I have to be direct. Especially after I caved so easily last night. Shame burns my cheeks from being so wanton in seducing him. I can’t leave any room for discussion. Can’t weaken again. Neither my heart nor my pride can withstand the humiliation.
I know I was intoxicated. But I can't blame my lapse in judgment on alcohol. I would have slept with Gio even if I was sober. Which seems even more sad and pathetic. After what he did, I should be able to resist him. Detest his touch. But I can't. I don't.
Turning around, he drives his hand through his dark hair. Already tousled from my fingers tangled in the strands earlier. Shame burns my cheeks. That I wish I could stroke again.
"Can we at least eat breakfast?"
The defeated tone sounds so weary. So drained. I'm sure from lack of sleep. And strenuous sex. Not genuine remorse. I tug my robe tighter, only making my hardened nipples even more prominent. Straining against the navy and red silk. A gift from him, back when he used to spoil me. Back when I thought he actually loved me.
God, I hate how my body responds to him. Unable to ignore his chiseled physique with only loose boxer briefs covering his thick body. My favorite gray pair I never could bring myself to throw away along with the rest of his belongings. Which I guess he realizes from the comforting scent of his woodsy soap clinging to his skin.
Even just thinking about his touch heats me to my core. Surprisingly, he keeps his eyes locked with mine. Almost as if he genuinely wants a connection between us beyond the physical. "I guess..."
One meal – that's all I'll give him. Besides, from the slices of burned toast in the trash can, I would feel guilty wasting more food.
I wish my dinette was bigger. Sitting across from each other, we're less than two feet apart. Separated only by a pitcher of orange juice and a platter of eggs, dotted with tiny bits of green and blue.
The bleu cheese olives.
My stomach lurches. He knows about the surprise I intended for Leighton. Punishing me out of spite. Which is so like him. I've witnessed the vengeful streak in his reactions before. Directed toward others who disappoint him. I guess I never thought I'd be one of them. I never thought he would care. "Why are you here?"
"I told you last night."
He licks his lips. Seemingly involuntary and his gaze sweeps over me. Hunger I know all too well flashes in his darkening expression from the reminder of our mistake.
Danger.
Much too dangerous to be alone with him. I can't trust him. Hell, I can't trust myself.
My hands shake as I push away from the table. His reaction is just as fast, and he hops up too. Making the cheap wooden legs wobble from the force. My empty glass tips over onto the scratched Formica top, rolling in an endless circle. Stuck in the same useless path. Just like us. I back away. Trying to keep him from gaining on me. But I fail and my fingers brush his smooth skin when he corners me. The warm muscles, inked with a flame tattoo he didn’t have before, flex under my fingertips. I can't breathe. "You need to go."
His head twists from my whisper, and his hands slam the wall on both sides of me. Trapping me in a heavenly prison. He would never hurt me. Not physically anyway.
“New rule. If you run, then I fuck you when I catch you.”
I can't keep myself from shuddering. Furious with my body for blazing from his threat. “I’m not playing your game.”
The fist curled next to my cheek opens, and he caresses my skin. Not gentle like before. Rough fingertips drag down my throat with an intensity that makes me shiver again before his thumb strokes over my collar bone. Squeezing enough to make my breaths blow even heavier. My thighs clench together just as tight.
“It’s not a game angel.” His body floats over mine, and his lips skim my earlobe, making it almost impossible to think. To argue back. To remember that I want him gone. “We talk or we fuck. Hopefully both.”
Forcing my heavy eyes open, I meet his. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to sleep with someone as boring as me?”
My question catches him off guard. Surprise lifting his eyebrows before his face falls blank again. Too late. He can’t hide the emotion I garner from him with my insolence. I refuse to give in to my desire.
“You’re not boring. I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.”
Shock fills me. The third time he's apologized in less than eighteen hours. While I don't think he ever did once when we were together. Seeking my forgiveness for his indiscretions with flowers and books and sex rather than words. “What did you mean then? Did you mean to humiliate me? Crush me? Make me question everything I ever trusted between us? Is that what you meant to do? Because if so, you succeeded. Completely and absolutely. That’s exactly what you did.”
I hate the wetness on my cheeks. I hate the cracking of my voice. Most of all I hate that I still care enough I can’t keep from crying in front of him.
“I’m sorry.”
Done. I'm so done. I cannot do this anymore. Can't listen to anymore of his lies. “Stop saying you’re sorry. Stop saying you want me and you love me and you didn’t mean to hurt me. You can’t take any of it back just because you’re jealous. We both know you're only here because you want what you can’t have.”
He doesn't flinch from my yelling up at him. Probably my stale morning breath wafting in his face. Instead he grins. With a sensual cockiness I use to love. When the seductiveness was meant for me.
“I did have you. Several times, if I remember correctly.” His fingertips wander down from my throat to the vee of my kimono. “And I’ll have you again.”
“No…”
Why do I sound so unsure? I need to be confident. Or at least imply that I am even if I’m not. “This is finished. I have things I need to do. I can’t–“
“What do you need to do?”
“Call Leighton.” Now it’s his turn to heave. Deep breaths lifting his broad chest. Redness creeps up his taut face. “Better yet, go over to his house. I’m sure I can find a way to convince him to take me back.”
His hand claws back to my throat again, and I'm pinned in place. Trapped by his strength over me and my weakness for him.
“I’ve already told you, it’s over between you.”
This time I smile. Toss up my chin with a defiance I don't feel but attempt just the same. “You don’t decide that. You gave up any rights to influence my decisions when you dumped me.”
“I will kill him if he touches you again.”
“You already told me that too. You need some new material because your threats are worthless to me. Just like I was to you.”
My voice breaks at the end. Betraying my true heart. Revealing my false bravado. I’m not as tough as I claim to be. He’s not either from the shame pulling down his expression. He finally steps back. Letting me breathe. Making me miss his touch.
“You were never worthless.”
Anger – not sure if it’s directed at me or himself – rumbles in his tone. Huge hands scrub down his face, and he glares at the ceiling. A huge sigh ruffling the rogue black strand of hair falling onto his lined forehead. Seconds tick by with only the gurgle of the coffee maker breaking the strained silence.
"I don't think Dr. Coy’s car wreck was an accident."
Where in the hell did that come from? "What are you talking about?"
My body begins to tremble before he answers. Suddenly freezing from the repulsion paling his face. Dread already coursing through me despite my confusion.
“I can't prove it. But I was under attack from a crazy sick bastard, and she might have been one of his targets to get to you through me. From the information he compiled, it looks like he might have gone after your family and friends too. I had to protect all of you.”
Astonishment bolts through my body from the fierceness sharpening his voice. Never expecting him to be honest. And, never ever imagining that my professor and maybe the people I love could’ve been in jeopardy.
“If I told you the truth of what was going on, it would have scared you. And as much as it fucking killed me, I had to make you hate me – make you want to stay away from me – to keep you safe.”
I’m not foolish. I knew the possibility of being in danger existed. But he always made sure I never felt afraid. Never exposed me to anything that made me feel at risk. That he would always take care of me. I can't hide the shuddering of my shoulders. For him and for me. “Are the threats still there?”
“No, I took care of him.” He leans closer but doesn't touch me. Seeming to hesitate, his fingers stop a few inches from my cheek and curl into a fist instead. Drifting down to his side as his face hardens with worry. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
I'm not afraid. I’m terrified. “You killed him?”
“I made sure you and the people you care about are safe.”
That would be a ‘yes’ then. Anxiety flushes through me too. From the realization overwhelming me that I finally have the answer I've been seeking for so long. And somehow doesn't satisfy me. Only agitates me more. “But we could be in danger again? If there are other threats?”
“It’s possible.”
“Then why aren’t you pushing me away now?”
This time his long fingers caress my cheek. Deep blue eyes searching my face. “Because I’m a selfish bastard, and I can’t let you go again.”
The real truth he won’t admit. “You can’t let me be with someone else.”
“You belong with me.”
His stern tone leaves no room for argument. At least in his mind. I won’t allow him to manipulate me.
“I don’t…” I’m unable to finish. Uncertain what to do. Unsure how to absorb this information that my advisor’s safety was compromised because of me. From being with the man I love. Losing him to protect them. And myself.
Everything I’ve believed to be true for the past six months is a lie. I think. Maybe this is a ploy too. Just to manipulate me into taking him back. Only for him to tire of me again. Yet his torment seems genuine. His remorse appears sincere. “I need time to think.”
“Nothing to think about.”
How is it possible I love such an irrational man? Who just sees his perspective? A selfish inclination from years of only caring about himself. That waned when we were together yet returns in full force when he thinks he's right. “Yes, there is.”
“We love each other.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Yes it is.”
An impervious lift of his shoulders that infuriates me. As if I'm obtuse for missing the obvious. I don't know what to say or do to get him to understand. “You put me through hell. I didn't sleep for a week. Crying and agonizing over you. Questioning what could have happened to make you suddenly not want me anymore."
I have to swallow down the burning in my throat. Still unable to speak of the loss after all of this without breaking down. "I had to mourn losing our baby all by myself. Curled up in bed bleeding and cramping wondering why you weren’t there with me. Knowing that everything I loved between us was slipping away. And then after all that I still had to get up and go to class and work, pretending to my family and friends that everything was fine. That I was fine. When I was really shattered inside. For months. Every single day. Alone. And now you just expect me to forget all of that?"
His lips part but he remains quiet from my uncharacteristic outburst. The first time I've ever shocked him speechless. A frustrated shake of his head before he tugs me against him. I don’t resist. Accepting the comfort he offers me. Squeezing me tight and stroking my head and tucking his face into my neck. Because for all his faults, I know he hurts too. He’s the only person besides me who suffers the pain of what we created and lost.
After a minute, I push him away. I know he thinks I'm trying to punish him more. But his confession doesn't absolve him of his sins. I can't forgive that easily. Can't forget that quickly. “Then you tell me it was only a ruse. To keep us safe. And now you just expect me to accept your explanation and get back together?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation in his expression or his answer. I shake my aching head. “I can’t keep doing this. I have to get ready.”
Insistent fingers curl around my arm. Yanking me back to him. “I told you you’re not going to see that bastard.”
My mind is spinning from this merry go round. Twirling from one crazy emotion to the next. I refuse to let him control me. Maybe he can get away with dominating me in bed, but definitely not in the rest of my life. Jerking my arm, I can’t twist out of his possessive grasp. “I’m not. I have to go to work.”
“You work on weekends?”
Suspicion that he isn't allowed to insinuate hardens his question. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I volunteered to help with the children's Christmas party at my old job. I'm not flaking on them. Unlike some people, I keep my commitments.”
Instead of reacting to my sass, he nods. Well aware how much I loved working with the kids at the small neighborhood library before I accepted the position at the university.
“Fine.” Warm lips brush my cheek before he releases me. “I’ll go with you.”
Well, him being a controlling tyrant obviously hasn't changed. “I don’t need your permission or an escort.”