Nikki’s eyes jerked open as a crack of sunlight pierced through the air.
No. She’d fallen asleep. In his bed.
And for a few minutes, it felt right. So she pretended. Pretended he wasn’t an angry jackass. Pretended it wasn’t a one-night stand. Pretended that she was able to take from him what he’d never given—a proper good-bye.
But she’d never given him a chance to say good-bye before, had she? She was complicit in this pain, this sorrow that was buried deep in her heart.
Ask me to stay, he’d begged with tears in his eyes. Ask me!
She’d ignored him. She was hurting too much. And he’d done everything in his power to make it better.
But when things got worse—so much worse—and she needed him the most, needed the rescue, he was gone. Just. Gone.
She breathed in the pillow; his scent lingered. This was a mistake, a huge mistake, because there was no coming back from this.
From the feel of him inside her. The feel of them together.
She had to get out. Before her heart cracked all the way open.
Clutching the cool sheets between her hands, she bit down on her lip and tried to think of what to do. First, she had to locate her clothes.
Right, and how was she supposed to do that? With a gulp she slowly sat up in bed and winced when Brant let out a groan. The weight of the bed shifted, and she froze as her entire body went on high alert.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She was an idiot. A complete idiot.
What? Did she really think it would be easy? Sleeping with the man who held her heart? Her soul? Things didn’t look better in the morning, and she sure as hell didn’t feel better, not for lack of trying on his part.
“Wake up.” Brant’s lips grazed her neck as he pressed into her from behind. “Spread your legs.”
She woke up, all right. And came apart all over again, each orgasm shaking her body more intensely than before, until she had to fight to keep her tears at bay.
Not just tears of pleasure. Tears of absolute searing pain. Because it wasn’t real. Maybe it never was.
Maybe they just had been too disillusioned, too young. The world had been theirs—until the world turned on them, and they turned on each other. It was so much easier blaming someone else than taking responsibility for your own pain.
She pressed a hand to her suddenly too-tight chest as his words washed over her.
“I’m not done yet,” he growled hoarsely as he flipped her onto her back. “Hold on.” He grabbed her feet and pulled her down the mattress. Her skin slid against the expensive sheets as she held on to his biceps for dear life, closing her eyes against the darkness that was suddenly not as dark.
He pulled her under. Sank into her deep.
“Me either,” she whispered back, clawing at his body. “I’m not done yet.”
He’d marked her. And she’d let him. And then she held on to him as he drifted back to sleep.
Be brave. No tears.
Clothes. She needed to get her clothes on, find some coffee, and try to escape without Brant or Cole finding out.
She gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Not only had Cole completely abandoned her after one dance, but she hadn’t even told him where she was going. He would be worried. Right?
Her purse had to be somewhere in that stupid hotel room, right? Think, Nik, think.
They’d walked in. She’d dropped her dress to the floor as well as her purse because, well, his hands had been all over her, and she’d been so desperate for him she hadn’t thought past getting her clothes off.
His hands. His mouth.
Focus!
Okay, so the bedroom had been ten steps forward and four steps to the right. She focused on the blur of color on the wall. She could do this. She slowly got up and took a step, directly onto her dress. When she dropped to her knees, her shoes, purse, and mask were all lying right next to it in a neat little pile by the bed.
Frowning, she knelt down and grabbed for the dress.
Why had Brant arranged her things for her? Probably because he was trying to be nice, right?
He’d made promises with his body that he had no right to make, let alone keep. Then again, so had she.
One night. That was it.
With a shudder, she pulled on her dress and tried to quietly zip up the side. Naturally it was the loudest zipper on the planet, so with every tug she was convinced Brant was seconds away from jolting awake.
Oh, God, this is bad, very bad.
“Leaving so soon?” His sleepy voice had no right to sound like sex this early in the morning.
Her fingers froze on the zipper. “I, um…” Tears threatened.
“I think pancakes,” he said in a bored tone. “Yesterday I tried the waffles.”
What? Why was he talking about breakfast foods?
“You can finish getting ready.” His gravelly voice was closer now, and then he was walking by her, smelling like sweat, sex, and really bad decisions.
“But—”
“It was fun, Nik.”
It. Was. Fun?
She opened her mouth to scream or at least give him a piece of her mind when he silenced her with a finger, followed by his mouth.
The kiss was angry. He was livid.
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t…” She shook her head in confusion.
“It was just sex, Nik. No need to get all tongue-tied, unless you want round four, and then I’m game.”
Her eyes burned as hot as her skin, embarrassment, sadness. It meant something to her; he meant something to her.
Used to.
She was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his face.
Hearing his voice, the anger, reminded her that the man who’d held her in his arms last night and made love to her early in the morning was gone the minute the sun rose.
Her Jekyll and Hyde.
She had nobody to blame but herself. It was easier to hate him. To hate herself. Than to allow herself to feel sad.
She clung to the hate, draped it around her shoulders like a blanket, and finally found her trembling voice. “I should get to work.”
“Okay.” He stepped away. His voice was emotionless. His stance casual.
She didn’t recognize this lifeless man. Life had destroyed him and replaced him with someone safe. Someone numb. Someone she still, somehow, loved.
He placed her shoes in her hands and guided her by the elbow to the door.
As she walked out into the hall she heard the door shut quietly behind her. She turned and stared at the white blur. And then the sound of glass breaking ripped through the silence.
She made it as far as the elevator before she burst into tears. She wasn’t even sure which buttons to hit, because she’d never been able to see the shiny one that said Lobby, meaning she had to run her hands along the buttons to feel the right one. In frustration, she just hit the bottom three and slunk to the floor in the corner of the lavish elevator, her shoes in one hand, her purse in the other.
The elevator dinged. Doors opened. She lost track of how many times.
And then footsteps sounded, and the familiar smell of peppermint and cologne filled the small elevator.
“Fuck.” Cole kicked something, she wasn’t sure what, and then he was on the floor with her, holding her while she sobbed in his arms.
* * *
Blood caked Brant’s fingers as he scrubbed the soap over the cuts he’d gotten from punching the mirror and then slamming the expensive lamp into a million tiny pieces.
It looked like his life, that lamp. Broken.
With a roar, he shut off the water and stomped into the bedroom, stripping the bed of every sheet and shoving them into the corner followed by the pillows.
She was everywhere. Impossible to escape. Her scent, her body.
And suddenly he was transported back. To the loss of her. The painful realization that what they had was broken. And that every single thing in his life was infused with a part of her, a part of them.
He’d gone and done the unthinkable. He’d touched her. He’d kissed her. He’d fucking invited her back into his prison—except the joke was on him, because when she stepped out, everything about her remained right along with him.
The doors slammed against his face.
Trapped. He was trapped again. With all the memories of what they had.
And the feel of her beneath him, on top of him, there wasn’t a place that existed on the planet where he wouldn’t feel her—where his body wouldn’t want yearn for hers.
Discarded sheets. Broken lamps. The bed.
He thought he should burn it all. But he knew it wouldn’t help.
He’d survived it once. And he stupidly told himself he could do it again.
His hate boiled to the surface, only this time it was directed at the man staring back at him in that cracked mirror.
She might have pushed him away. He might have caused her both emotional and physical pain.
But this time? He went in with his eyes wide open. She went in blind. This was on him. All of it.
He clenched his fists and swore until his voice was hoarse. It was both too early and too late for whiskey.
His phone rang. With a curse, he surged to his feet and snatched it off the table. “What?”
Bentley sighed on the other end. “What happened?”
“Why did something have to happen?”
“Brant.” Bentley sounded miserable. “We’re twins…so I’m going to ask you again, what the fuck happened?”
Brant closed his eyes. It didn’t work; he still saw her, still felt her. “I slept with Nikki.”
“I’m on my way.” The phone went dead.
Brant nodded even though his brother couldn’t see him, and then got dressed, shoving all thoughts of Nikki away.
He had a job to do, right? Three days in, four days left.
Damn Nadine Titus. Damn her to hell.