Chapter Eleven
There’s nothing more honest than the moment of climax, the pure pleasure of it, the surrender. And afterward there’s an intimacy that you can’t escape. That’s what makes the moment uncomfortable for people who don’t care about each other. It’s what makes the moment poignant now, when West pulls back, his expression still taut with arousal—and a supremely male satisfaction after making me come.
I have to force myself not to feel it too deeply, not to want him too much.
I have to force myself not to show that my hand is loose.
If I pulled away now, he would hear the tape. He would see my arm swing free. And he’d be close enough to restrain me physically. I need to wait until he’s distracted, and physically farther away, like when he spoke to Blue earlier. Then I can grab the gun on the desk and escape.
He’s about to stand. I see the muscles in his arm flex. I feel the rush of cool air as it sweeps between our bodies.
“Wait.” A few minutes ago I said this to make him stop. Now I don’t want him to stop. Stopping means I’ll have to fight my way free. It means our moments in the dark will end.
One eyebrow rises. His lids are still low, his full lips damp with my cream. “Baby?”
Just that one word turns me inside out, the lazy way he speaks it, the sexy confidence.
“What about you?” I ask in a rush, clinging to any excuse. Clinging to him.
“What about me?”
“Let me touch you. Let me…please you.”
His expression turns stark. “Ah fuck, there’s nothing I want more. But it wouldn’t be right. Not like this.”
I knew he was a Boy Scout underneath all that sexy swagger. “So you can get me off, but I can’t get you off? That doesn’t seem fair?”
A smile plays at his lips. “None of this is fair. I want you in my bed, not in Ivan’s office. I want you free and clear.” The smile fades. “But I don’t have that.”
Panic claws at my throat. However much he wanted to taste me, that’s how much I want to taste him. It’s not about salt or about sex. It’s about giving him pleasure. It’s about that poignant moment right after.
“Please,” I whisper.
He tenses. “Oh shit, baby. We can’t. Not like this.”
Then we would never do it, and that thought fills me with despair. If I can get free, he’ll never see me again—just like he thought. “I know it’s not right, West. I know it’s not ideal. But this is how it happened. This is all we have.”
He may not like the way it happens, but he’s a soldier at heart. He understands working with what you have. He understands survival too.
“Christ, baby.” His eyes almost glaze over, his expression so tense it’s as if he’s climaxing. He even presses a hand to his jeans, pushing himself roughly, almost punishing himself for being so turned on.
I keep going, desperate now. There’s only one thing I can bargain with, and it’s the truth. “I wanted you all along. I was lying to you before. Lying to myself. I wanted everything you had to offer, but I was afraid. And then there was this debt. And I’m telling the truth that I didn’t want to do this, I hated to do this, because you would find out about it.”
My throat closes up, and I know I was too honest. I went too far, and he’ll never touch me now.
“I don’t have to do this.” It’s almost like he’s talking to himself.
“Do it for me,” I whisper. “Let me. You were right before. We’ll never see each other again after tonight. One way or another I’m going far away from here. Let me remember you like this. Not as the man who caught me. Let me remember you as the man…”
The words fall away as my throat closes. Tears sting my eyes. God, how embarrassing. I wanted to turn him on, and instead I’m crying.
“The man who let you go,” he says roughly. “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
My nails dig into my palms. I can’t even see him through the tears. “No.”
“Would you have given yourself to me so that I would let you go?” A stark pause. “Is that why you let me touch you.”
“No!” But it’s too late. I can tell he’s already sure of it. I can feel his grief over it in the air. He swings away, his hand running over his face, frustration and guilt evident.
And that’s when I know he isn’t letting me go. It was a long shot, but how can he? He wouldn’t be a Boy Scout anymore. Because that’s what he is—I’m more sure now than ever. Even the orgasm he gave me was a twisted sort of gift. He can’t change who he is any more than I can change who I am.
He’s walking away now, and I’m sure he’ll come back. He’s pacing now, distressed.
I can’t leave him that way. He shouldn’t have to make that choice.
In one smooth move, I twist my wrist and turn my body the other way, freeing my arm from the chair in a matter of seconds. I use my free hand to tear the other piece of tape away, and then I’m grabbing the gun in a mad dash. I half expect West to get there before me, for him to be lunging toward the desk in a wild rush.
He isn’t.
He’s standing exactly where I last saw him, his expression more tired than angry.
And God, he isn’t scared at all. Not even when I raise the gun and point it at him. I don’t know why I do it, exactly, except that it feels like what I’m supposed to do. I don’t want to hurt him. I definitely don’t want to shoot him, but as much as I care about him—and I do care, I can admit that now—I can’t let myself be captured.
It’s a question of survival, and I can see in his eyes he understands that.
His voice is steady. “Put that down, Bianca. It isn’t safe.”
A harsh laugh escapes me. “Isn’t safe? You were pointing it at me earlier.”
“I didn’t point it at you, if you remember. And I have a lot more training with it than you do.”
“That only means you can shoot me better. This is supposed to be comforting how?”
“I’m not going to shoot you.”
“Yeah, because I have the gun.” I have nothing if not bravado.
“I was never going to shoot you.”
It’s too much. “Then why did you have a gun with you?”
“I didn’t know if you were going to come alone. Maybe you’d even send someone else. I had to be prepared for anything.”
“Boy Scout.” I mean it like an insult, but it just comes out sad.
“Bianca, listen to me. I asked around about you once I realized you were in trouble. I know something about the money—”
“Don’t talk to me about the money.”
He looks frustrated. “You don’t understand. There aren’t—”
“Just stop, okay? I’m not stealing from you. Not stealing from Ivan either.”
As much as I hate the idea of stealing from him, of West knowing the truth about me, I can’t forget that Jeb’s life is on the line here. Maisie’s too. Even mine. But I’d never be able to crack the safe and hold a gun on him at the same time. He’d turn the tables on me before then. The best I can hope for is to get away and figure something else to give the cartel.
His voice is low, and that damned earnestness is back on his handsome face. “You don’t need to steal from anyone. I can help you.”
“You don’t know a damn thing,” I whisper, but I’m already backing away, already working my way up the stairs. I don’t want to hear anything else he has to say, fake promises that can never come true. There’s no happy ending for someone like me. I’m a thief and a stripper. And once the mafia realizes I’m Jeb’s daughter, I’m as good as dead.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I toss the gun aside and run for it. It’s not my smoothest exit, but then everything about West twists me up.
I think he could have caught me. I know he could have.
But I make it out the front doors of the Grand, where the morning light has already split over downtown Tanglewod. Then I’m dashing down the street to where Maisie is waiting for me—waiting for me to hand over the money that would have kept us alive.