Chapter Fourteen
St. Lucia was even more beautiful the next day, as I toured it alongside Adam. We were able to spend time at a secret beach known only to the locals. And I suggested we go back to Diamond Falls so he could see it, too.
He’d told me we should go somewhere different because I’d already seen the falls the day before. But I had insisted. And in the end, as we watched the gorgeous white waters of the cataract tumble over the colored yellow, blue and taupe rocks of the cliff, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me on the cheek, thanking me for bringing him.
The coastal water was a shade of brilliant turquoise against baby-powder white sand. And it was so warm, unlike the water off the coast of California, which was really only tolerable—and even then still chilly—during the height of summer.
We returned to the hotel in the late afternoon and I immediately went to the bathroom to wash off the beach. I took my time, leisurely letting the warm water sluice over my body, reinvigorating me after a full day of sun and sightseeing. I had my eyes closed, rinsing my hair, when I felt a rush of air near me.
The shower was open to the rest of the bathroom, tucked in a corner of colorful bright blue tile. I felt his presence behind me long before he actually touched me—to nudge me out of the way of the water spray!
“That’s enough water hogging,” he said with laughter in his voice. I stepped aside but didn’t leave the shower, watching while he scrubbed himself down, washed his hair and rinsed himself of sand, salt and soap. The masculine hardness of his body was beautiful to behold. I wanted to reach out and touch it, map the valleys and hills of the firm muscles under his skin. I didn’t think I could ever get enough.
When I looked up into his face, I saw him watching me watching him. He smiled and held my gaze, lowering his hands from where he rinsed his hair, reaching for me and pulling me against him.
“You better watch out.” I murmured against his lips as I pressed my hands to his hard chest. “You might accidentally get a tan while you are here.”
He laughed. “Are you mocking me, Ms. Strong?”
“If you got a tan, you’d definitely lose your geek card.”
He pressed his mouth to mine and we kissed as the warm water coursed over us from the rain showerhead—like a tepid tropical downpour. I kissed the raindrops from his jaw and the small curl of a rumble rose in his chest.
“This is the fourth time I’ve showered with you and every single time I’ve wanted to pin you to the wall and fuck you,” he growled.
“And this time?” I said breathlessly.
He kissed me again, this time forcing my mouth open to accept his invading tongue. His hands went to my hips and he moved us to the corner of the shower. When he pulled his mouth away, my breath faltered.
“This time I’m going to finally do it,” he said in a hoarse voice.
He lifted me several inches off the ground and sandwiched my body between his and the cold, smooth tile of the shower. He kissed me again and nudged his knee between my legs, cueing me to open them for him. I locked them around his hips and he gasped against my mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmured.
My arms tightened around his neck as he maneuvered the lower halves of our bodies to line up properly. “Likewise,” I said.
He entered me in one swift push and I gasped. The fit was tight and things were still tender from the newness of this intimate contact. I braced my hands against his shoulders and with a groan, he began to move against me.
Our wet bodies slid together in sensual abandon as he drove himself in, again and again. His mouth pressed against my temple and he rocked his pelvis against mine, the pleasure scorching me.
“I don’t know how I kept my hands off you all this time,” he groaned against my hair without once missing a beat in his rhythm.
“Adam,” I whispered. “You feel so good inside me. Make me come.”
He pulled my right leg away from his waist so I could leverage myself, tiptoed on the floor. My left leg remained hooked around his hips. He drove into me with longer, fiercer strokes. “You’re so tight. So goddamn tight. You feel so good. Like you were made to fit only me.” He kissed me along my brow and the rise to climax threatened as he continued.
And with a few more fierce pushes, I was coming, gasping his name. But he didn’t stop, didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. His movements grew more urgent, more rushed until with a long growl, he climaxed, stiffening, his pelvis grinding against mine.
After several long, silent moments, his body went lax, his face buried into my neck. “Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers pressing into my hips. “That was incredible.”
His mouth found mine and we kissed, his arms latching around my waist, cinching me against him. I pulled my mouth away laughing. “I think we just wasted about fifty gallons of water.”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “It’s your fault for being so fucking irresistible.” He kissed me again—a dizzying caress of his lips on mine that made me want him again as ferociously as before. I pulled away, knowing that if this didn’t end now, we’d never get to dinner.
I took the brief time away from him to contemplate us in silence. Every time I was in his presence, that rushing force of nature tore at me, made me want to release my convictions and be blown away by him, whisked away into the unknown by gale force winds from the grounding bedrock to which I clung.
There were things I needed to do. A person I needed to become—that vision of myself in surgical scrubs, which had been so important to me for most of my youth. I was the one who was going to save others, save myself. I couldn’t get carried away by someone else’s will. My past failures notwithstanding—I closed my eyes and my fists in conviction—I had to hold on to that vision and not allow it to slip away.
On our last night together in St. Lucia, we ate at the Place, the resort restaurant that featured flavorful Caribbean-inspired cuisine. Adam dressed in a black suit and I wore the crème-colored gown from the night of Adam’s house party, feeling again like Cinderella about to dine with her handsome prince.
His eyes slipped over me appreciatively as we sat down. I shook my head, laughing. “You are unbelievable.”
He smiled. “What? I was about to tell you how gorgeous you are.”
“And how you can’t wait to get me out of this dress.”
“I was going to save that for a little later, but since you took the words out of my mouth…Let’s just say that dessert isn’t on the menu. The last time you wore that dress, I tore off your panties. I can’t be completely responsible for my actions later tonight.” He grinned wickedly.
“Unbelievable,” I repeated. “Making up for lost time.” And my eyes darted away. I tried not to think about the horrible letdown that would follow when we got off that plane in LA. Something tightened in my chest and—contrary to everything my head had been telling me, my heart began to wonder if I could bargain my way out of the decision to end things after tonight.
What if we agreed to get together occasionally for sex—and maybe dinner once in a while? Would he even want it? I glanced at him as he cut into his pecan-encrusted snapper.
He was so damn handsome in that suit—or who was I kidding—in just about anything he wore, and even better naked. And he was kind most of the time—the times that he chose to act like a human instead of a robot.
I was ready to make a tradeoff for more time with him, on my terms.
We lingered over our crème brulée dessert, which apparently was on the menu. He darted a pointed look at me from where his head was bent, scraping out the last of the custard with his spoon. I set aside my barely touched dish and folded and refolded my hands on the table. It was time to stop being a coward.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t think I could’ve picked a more perfect night for our last night together.”
He didn’t look up but his features chilled. Setting down his empty dish, he stared at it for a long moment. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said in an even, quiet voice.
Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing I had. Maybe he was ready to bargain for a little more time, too. He looked up and fixed me with that intent, dark stare. The air pressure thickened between us, making the barometer soar as I struggled to find my breath, to find my will. That I wanted to be with him again so much scared me. If it happened, it needed to be on my terms, not his. “It needs to be,” I said, my voice faltering.
His brows lowered just a fraction over those piercing eyes. He took no other action but to enfold one of my hands inside his, running a thumb across my wrist in a sensual, possessive move. I swallowed, struggling to ignore the desperate thumping of my pulse.
He seemed to be wrestling with himself, coming to some unknown decision. I braced for the myriad of possibilities of what it could be. Of them all, I could never have predicted in a million years what would next come out of his mouth.
“We are more to each other than you realize, you know,” he said.
My wrist trembled inside his hand, feeling so vulnerable, so delicate, so trapped. Cold fear clamped at the base of my throat. Was he about to admit to feelings for me? It was time to push him away. Far away. “Adam, we’ve had a lot of fun together and I’ve had an amazing time. But we hardly know each other. It’s only been a month—”
“No.” He swallowed. “It hasn’t.”
I clamped my mouth shut and waited expectantly for him to explain himself. He gave a short nod as if reassuring himself and then glanced away for a split second, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. “You once asked me why I bid on the auction. I never answered you, but I assume you still want to know.”
I nodded.
“I can tell you the exact moment I knew I would win that auction. Win it, not just bid on it. You’d sent me the rough draft of your Manifesto to read and we’d been up discussing it in game chat past two a.m. I’d spent most of that time trying to talk you out of the whole thing, but you wouldn’t budge and when you started to get upset, I dropped the subject. That was the moment I knew I’d prevent it in another way because I could.”
I grew cold inside and dizzy with disorientation. What the hell was he talking about? I never had that conversation with him. That was months before we’d even met! I’d stayed up talking that night with…My jaw dropped. I shook my head.
“What—?” I gasped.
He watched me intently, like a child might watch a firecracker after lighting the fuse and waiting for it to explode.
I shook my head again. “That wasn’t you. It was—” Fuck. No. No. This couldn’t be happening.
I remembered that conversation. He’d been so adamantly against the auction. He’d tried to pick apart every single argument I’d made in the Manifesto and it had hurt my feelings. We’d sent in-game messages back and forth for hours, my wrists growing sore from all the furious typing.
And my mind flew to the times before. When I’d poured my heart out to him about my mom and how sick she was. About how helpless I felt being too far away to care for her, to drive her to all her appointments. He’d consoled me then. Had told me I was making her proud by staying in school. That I was so close and that he believed in me.
I was shaking and pale, and static crackled behind my ears, the only other sensation where his fingers tightened over my wrist. I struggled for a breath as if I’d been underwater a hundred years. “You’re FallenOne.”
And, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, his obsidian eyes never leaving mine. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes fluttered closed. I pulled my arm back and felt only the tiniest resistance from his hold before he relinquished it.
I stared at the tabletop between us, my mind racing over all the things he knew. Every experience we’d shared. Our regular gaming group of four had always had a great time playing together, but Fallen and I had spent hours and hours just alone in each other’s company. Online text chat, doing personal quests in the game, sharing quest notes and items. In some ways, I felt as close a friendship to him as I did to Heath.
To Fallen—to Adam—I corrected myself. “This doesn’t make sense. Fallen lives on the East Coast—he’s a student—” I said, my voice shaking, still unable to look at him.
He shifted in his chair. “Some of that was to mislead you. Some of it was stuff I never actually said but you led yourself to believe. Sometimes I was on the East Coast for work when I logged on.”
He knew so much about me and I knew practically nothing in comparison. On the day my mom had told me about her diagnosis, I’d turned to him because Heath was on a camping trip with his then-boyfriend. Fallen and I had chatted all night long and logged off at six in the morning. I’d cried to him. Sobbed over the very real possibility of losing her. I struggled to breathe. “How—how did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He glanced away and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I’ve told you that I go into the game and play from time to time. I playtest my own product—I wasn’t lying about that. I get into groups and help people finish quests and get the rewards that they needed. It’s fun to see them enjoying the game so much.” He hesitated and cleared his throat but didn’t look at me.
“One night I grouped with this Barbarian Mercenary and Spiritual Enchantress and their friend, Persephone. I could listen to your voice chat even though I was in text. I think we were working on one of the newbie quests that night. That last piece of quest armor for Fragged—I mean Heath. I’ve had fun in other groups but never like that night. I laughed so hard at all the witty jokes that were flying around as we went through that annoying dungeon. And then Heath told me about your blog, said I should go read it. So I did.”
He shot a tentative look my way, but I was staring into my own little happy place somewhere on the tabletop. “I loved the blog and—well, I broke my own rule about not grouping with the same people more than once. That night after work when I logged in, I went looking for your group again. I seldom left the office that week. I actually looked forward to logging on with you guys every night. That probably sounds pathetic—”
I still couldn’t look at him. “No more pathetic than my looking forward to logging on to group with you all weekend.”
He paused, fidgeted with his laced hands for a moment. “Between reading your blog and gaming with you and then spending all that time in game just getting to know each other over in game messages as much as we did. I got to know you. I got…attached.”
Some invisible vise clamped around my chest and my eyes and throat stung. That same cold fear was back and this time I was numb with it. I blinked, worked my hands on the table in front of me, tried to tune out the irritating sounds of dinnerware and chatter from nearby tables. My eyes drifted to the candle flame gleaming inside a hurricane lamp on the table. What did this all mean? We were more to each other than I’d realized—but it had never been more than he’d realized. We’d been on unequal footing all along. He’d known everything and had willingly kept me in the dark. And now, he said he was attached.
I drew in a sobbing breath. I was attached, too. But now, I was determined that there would be no tomorrow for us. It was too life-altering. That cut would slice me twice as deeply. Tomorrow I’d be losing both Adam and FallenOne with the same severing blow.
I pushed back from the table and out of my chair. “We should go,” I said quietly.
His eyes widened and he stood. We faced each other across that table for a long moment. The swirl of chaos inside me told me I had hours—probably more like days or weeks—of thinking to sort all this out and figure out what it was. But I didn’t need him to speak to me of being attached. I didn’t need his confusing, tempest-like sway ripping my control from me.
I didn’t say another thing as I turned to leave and he followed closely behind. We twisted down long walkways and up two flights of stairs to make it to our suite. After several long minutes of silence, Adam rested a light hand on the small of my back, walking beside me in the darkness as the balmy Caribbean air swirled around us. As my dress was backless, I was all too aware of that hand and the heated imprint it left on my skin, the way his thumb moved across it with the tiniest caress. I was so focused on that touch that I nearly tripped and fell in my heels, making a huge fool out of myself.
Back in the suite, things felt tense, awkward. I looked around the room, with the candles lit and the bed turned back, the white mosquito netting loosed and dancing in the breeze like an errant bridal veil. My heart started to race. How could I avoid the conversation, the declarations that were certain to come, that were hanging in the air like dark clouds threatening to drop a torrent of rain at any moment?
He’d moved to the dresser and, after having doffed his coat, was now undoing his tie. He looked at me, his face unreadable, but he didn’t say anything.
I went to fetch my T-shirt, which was in the dresser beside where he stood. I thought to change for bed because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wasn’t terribly tired and I knew I’d have no ability to concentrate on a study guide.
I pulled the shirt from the middle drawer on the dresser while he watched me with unreadable eyes. He had unbuttoned his shirt and I was feeling weird and tense and shy. I kept my eyes averted.
I moved to the bed, stepping out of my heels and letting the gauzy material of my skirts float around my legs. Of the three, this was the dress that most made me feel like a fairy princess. Only thing was, midnight was about to strike and I could feel it in every tense look we shared, the silence hanging over our room.
And my handsome prince—well, he wasn’t who I thought he was, either. I reflected on that. He knew so much about me and yet he’d always kept himself a mystery from me. He was hiding still, behind the persona, behind this entire arrangement. Heated anger stirred in my chest. I was most angry with myself, for not knowing, for not realizing. While I’d mostly found Adam remarkably easy and fun to be with, I’d never once associated him with FallenOne. How could I have been so blind?
I almost went to change in the bathroom, but that seemed silly after we had seen so much of each other. I laid the shirt on the bed and tried not to focus on where he was in the room—or the fact that he’d removed his shirt and undershirt and now wore only his suit pants and socks. I wouldn’t look. Nope, I wouldn’t. Confusion or no, my body still wanted his. Hungrily so. Probably more now than before we’d started sleeping together.
I reached around and unhooked my skirt before loosening the halter at my neck and lowering it, feeling the cool bay breeze hit my breasts, bringing my nipples immediately to hardened points. I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it.
Suddenly his hands cupped my hips. He’d come up behind me while I was concentrating on trying not to notice him. I froze and he slowly pulled me back against him.
“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered against my hair.
I closed my eyes, shivers cascading down my spine in a waterfall of quick succession. Just a couple whispered words and the lightest touch from this man and I was in pieces, ready to surrender to him.
I didn’t say anything, just let him hold me for a long moment, the feel of his warm, muscular chest pressed against my back stirring my desire to life.
“Emilia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
I held my breath. His hands cupped my shoulders, traveled down my arms. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted our bodies pressed together, sticky with sweat and passion. I wanted one last memory before I said good-bye.
I turned around in his arms and pressed myself to him. “I want you. Right now.”
He hesitated, looking into my eyes for a long time before bending to kiss me. I wanted the storm. I welcomed it. I wanted him to fly over me and overwhelm me, to suck me in so I wouldn’t think or feel anything else but his hands, his mouth, his body.
I threw myself into that kiss, opening for him, hooking my arms around his neck to pull him to me. This would be our last time together. A tiny sliver of me lightened with relief. At the back of my mind, the greater part of me protested.
His eyes darkened and his hands were on my breasts, softly caressing the peaked nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through me. He nudged me toward the bed and I acquiesced, swept up in him.
“Emilia—” he said.
“Shh.” I put my hand on his mouth. “No talking.”
He pulled my hand away, grabbing both my wrists, leaning against me to push me down on the bed with him. He held my arms above my head, cinching my wrists together in the grip of one hand to secure them there.
He then proceeded to kiss me senseless. His other hand floated across my breasts, my stomach, to rest at the apex of my thighs.
His head came up and he looked me in the eyes, a multitude of questions unasked. I wouldn’t let him give them voice. I couldn’t. I squirmed against his hold, pushing my chest toward him.
“Stop it,” he said. I stilled, looked at him with the question that he didn’t wait for me to ask. “You’re using sex to avoid talking about this.”
I closed my eyes and pushed against his hold. His grip tightened in response and my pulse leapt. I ached for him everywhere. “Please, Adam. I want you inside me.”
His hand returned to rest atop my underwear and he began a firm but languorous stroke. My gaze flew to his and he had that calculating stare that had taught me to be wary. “You want this?” he asked, sinking his mouth to my nipple, taking it between his lips, his teeth.
I gasped, throwing my head back, arching myself into him. “Yes. Now. I want you now.”
He tore his mouth away almost violently, eliciting another cry from me. The pressure of his hand on my sex increased. “What about tomorrow? Do you want me tomorrow, too?”
I froze and looked away. Now I understood him. If I was using sex as avoidance, he was using sex to force the conversation. His hand stilled, then slipped inside my underwear. His touch was light but I shivered everywhere, needing more. “Don’t talk about tomorrow,” I whispered, my eyes closing tight.
His fingers slid inside me and stopped again. “I want to talk about tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that—”
I struggled against his grip on my hands. My eyes shot open and I fixed him with a ferocious stare. “No.”
He moved his fingers again, stroking in and out, and my eyes rolled back, an intoxicating dizziness overtaking me. Trying to concentrate on anything else was like downing three shots of whiskey in quick succession and then walking a tightrope.
“Fuck me,” I whispered.
His hand didn’t stop its tortuous slide inside me. The tension tightened in my belly. I moaned.
“I don’t want to,” he said, his posture stiffening. “Not if I can’t have you tomorrow, too. And the day after. Not if this would be the last time.”
Despite my aggravation with him, his hands were working a spell on me. I was so close, and he knew it. He withdrew his hand, then rolled his hips on top of mine, pinning me down. “Will this be the last time, Emilia?” he asked, his voice husky. His erection pressed against my sex.
Here was my moment of leverage. I’d dictate my terms. He’d have no choice but to abide by them. I couldn’t have planned it better. “I’ll have sex with you again.” I gasped when he moved over me, fitting himself between my legs. “I can be your fuck buddy.”
He thrust against me again, his hand still clamped around my wrists. “But I don’t want a fuck buddy.”
I hesitated, frowning. Wouldn’t most guys be overjoyed about that type of arrangement? He seemed more annoyed than anything else. Confusion swirled inside me. It threatened to rise up and drown out these other, more pleasant feelings. “We could hook up—”
His expression went blank, his voice flat and even. “I want more than a cheap, quick fuck.”
My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, irritation contending with arousal, threatening to supplant it. “Then you can fucking buy me dinner once in a while,” I ground out between clenched teeth.
Our gazes collided in silent struggle. He released my wrists and I immediately put my hands on his solid shoulders and shoved. He didn’t budge.
“I know what I want,” he said in that firm, charged voice that held an angry undercurrent. “And when I put my mind to something I tend to get it.”
Heat flushed my face and I looked away from his dark, penetrating stare. “I hate to disappoint you, but in this case, you aren’t going to,” I replied.
He studied me for a long moment and I couldn’t take his scrutiny a minute longer. I pushed on his shoulders again and he slid off, unburdening me of his weight. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair while he rolled on his side and watched me.
“What are you afraid of?”
I clenched my teeth. “Who said I was afraid?”
“I’m saying it.”
Stiffening, I bent to snatch up my T-shirt and pull it over my head, turning my back to him in the process. “There are two of us talking here and only one of us is a proven liar. I’d stop talking if I were you.”
I jerked to my feet and began pacing in front of the bed. Adam watched me with enigmatic eyes the color of midnight. “Actually there’s only one of us really talking. Me.”
I smirked, gesturing at him sharply. “The proven liar. That’s just great.”
He shrugged. The movement was stiff, like he was faking it. “You’re the one who’s lying now.”
I halted, turning to him with arms crossed over my chest. “Oh? And what am I lying about?”
“Your feelings. About the fact that this doesn’t bother you. You don’t want to talk because you’re afraid of what this is going to start.”
Hot anger pooled, settled into my joints, stiffening them. “I’m pissed at you for not telling me the truth. How’s that? I may have been preparing myself to lose you tomorrow, but not Fallen.”
“You don’t have to lose either one of us,” he said quietly.
I put my hands to my forehead. The whole concept made my brain ache. “You are still two separate people in my head. I haven’t even had a chance to absorb any of this and you demand to know my feelings? I don’t even know what the fuck they are.”
He stood and walked toward me slowly, as if I were a scared rabbit that might hop away from any sudden movement. The ambient light gleamed on his muscular torso, his pants slung low on his hips. He was so damn sexy he took my breath away, even when he was irritating the hell out of me. He stood very close but didn’t touch me.
“Then allow yourself the time to figure it out. Give us the time.”
I sighed and looked away, off to the side, anywhere but at him. “No.”
His hands came up to take my shoulders in a gentle hold. When he spoke, his voice had a desperate edge to it. “Emilia—”
“No!” I gritted out, finally meeting his gaze. “Explain to me about this fairy tale you are proposing. About how something like this is supposed to even work—even beyond the trust issues, which are monumental at this point. With my two jobs and preparing for medical school and your hundred-hour workweek, how would something like that work? Neither of us even date.”
“It’s not a fairy tale. It’s a real life, honest, grown-up relationship where two adults work out their differences once they decide they want to be together—”
I pulled back against his hold on my shoulders and he dropped his arms. I continued to back away. “Is all this because you feel guilty about us sleeping together even though you never planned for it to go this far?”
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No.” His fist knotted.
“I think it is.”
His head darted up to pin me down with an angry glare. “Well, you’re wrong. You have no fucking idea what is going through my mind, so stop twisting things to support your cynical and warped view on the world.”
I stood still, stunned. I’d never seen an angry outburst from him. I put up a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’m sorry for doing that. I hate it when people do it to me.”
He fixed his unwavering gaze on me. “Why aren’t you willing to give it a chance?”
I took a deep breath. “Because I don’t want a relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone.”
“Why?”
Frustration crawled up my spine, tightening that knot between my shoulders. I put my hands to my temples, closing my eyes. “You are making me crazy, Adam.”
“Because I’m forcing this conversation when you want to avoid it? It’s been the elephant in the room for days—weeks, now—and I’m not going to shove it aside any longer, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. When we get back to California, I want to know where we stand. Exactly where we stand.”
My mouth set, irritation burning like hot lava. “You’ll be standing in your office somewhere in Irvine and I’ll be standing in my apartment in Orange.”
He folded his arms across his chest and angled his head, studying me. “I’m not amused.”
“Quit trying to save me. I don’t need you to save me.”
He blinked. “Emilia, I’m telling you I want you in my life. I want a relationship with you—as equals—and you somehow twist me into your knight protector coming to a meek maiden’s rescue?”
I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Isn’t that what it is?”
He shook his head. “That bastard really fucked you up good. He’s screwed you because in every decision you make for the rest of your life, you’ll never even consider trusting someone enough to allow them in.”
I tensed. “I did my therapy. I’m fine. That little shithead has no part in what decisions I make—”
He exhaled in exasperation. “I was talking about your father.”
Those words hit me like a blow, knocking my breath away. I held up a hand to ward off any more words he might consider hurling my way. Because they stung, like darts sinking into my skin.
I fought for breath. Memories of taunts on the playground from my erstwhile friends—Mia doesn’t have a daddy. She’s never had a daddy. At least their daddies came to see them on the weekends, or took them on fancy vacations once in a while. Mine just wished I’d never existed, if he ever thought of me at all.
I wasn’t the only child from a broken home. Well, that would imply that our home had ever been in one piece to begin with—but at least they knew their fathers, their paternal grandparents, their siblings, their heritage. Their names. Late at night sometimes I’d hear my mom crying. She’d rifle through a box of letters that I knew were from him. A box of letters that I wished I could burn when she wasn’t around.
She’d tried to tell me, once, who he was. She’d wanted desperately to talk to me about him—upset that I’d only heard the negatives from her and from my grandmother as I grew up. But I’d screamed at her. I’d thrown a vase against the wall and shouted that I never wanted to hear her speak a word about that scumbag. And I’d stormed out of the house.
He hadn’t cared about me. Why would I care about him? I tried to breathe, instantly aware of the truth behind Adam’s accusation. It burned me like the raging wildfires that screamed through the dry hills in autumn.
“Don’t even—” I said, baring my teeth.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t even move. “Hit a nerve, did I?”
“Fuck you,” I whispered, struggling to dam the tears. They clogged in my throat. I hadn’t cried in the longest time. I was a tough woman. But Adam had shredded my defenses in less than five minutes. He knew too much. I stepped back and gestured stiffly at him. “You don’t know shit about my father.”
His expression was grim, gaze focused on me like two laser beams. “I know he turned you into a coward. I know that every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. And I know that you are running scared—not just about this but about your entire future. How many times did I tell you to go out and retake that goddamn test? You could’ve taken it a dozen times by now but you still haven’t. You keep studying and studying, hoping for that perfect moment when you’ll know everything, because you’re afraid to fail. In your education, in your life. So you protect yourself in this little isolated cocoon you’ve built. You’re a coward,” he sneered.
“What—are you a fucking shrink now?” And I hated how my voice sounded, that strangled sob that escaped my lips on that last word. He heard it because his face changed immediately, softening for the slightest fraction of a second before I got in his face. I strode up to him and shoved against his chest. What I really wanted to do was throw my best right hook at his perfect jaw but, like my attempt at pushing him, it would have done nothing.
He caught my wrists and wouldn’t let go when I flailed them. His grip tightened, holding them still easily. I spoke between clenched teeth. “Get out of my head! You have no right to throw your amateur theories in my face because I make a decision you don’t agree with. Especially when you are so fucked up yourself!”
A warning gleamed in those coal-black eyes. “I’m fucked up?”
I nodded. Fury built inside of me like a pressure valve ready to blow. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. Lash out. Cut him deep. And I knew enough about him to do the damage.
“I know you are.” I took a deep breath. “You bought into the auction because you were trying to save me from myself. You say you aren’t my knight protector but you want to be. I’m not her, Adam. I’m not Sabrina and you can’t save her by saving me. It’s too late.”
His eyes fluttered closed, then opened and his grip around my wrists tightened just slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”
I shook my head. “You’re just as big of an addict as she was—and your mother. You won’t touch hard liquor or drugs but you’ll numb yourself to exhaustion every day with work.”
He opened his mouth to protest but I rode over him, raising my voice. “Because you’re clever. You chose an addiction that was socially acceptable. In our culture, it’s a good thing to be a hard worker. People won’t suspect the real reason you do it, if you’re successful.” He paled but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d plunged that knife in, now I had to twist it.
“Admit it. Work fills the exact same need as drugs or booze or food. It numbs you, it keeps you at a distance from life. It shuts out everyone who loves you. Your uncle, your cousins. Your friends.”
He released my hands and stepped back as if I had burned him. I pressed forward, unwilling to cede my advantage. I gestured at him with a pointed finger. “I know exactly what would happen if we were in a relationship. Maybe I’d become a diversion for you for a little while, until you got bored or until the next time you had to get your junky fix. Which wouldn’t be long, I’m sure. Just like I know you went up to the business center last night after we had sex in the pool.” He blinked as if I’d slapped him. I gritted my teeth and delivered the last few words with all the venom I felt, still wounded from his accusations. “You have no heart of your own and yet you are trying to convince me to open up mine to you? No, Adam. No way.”
The cords on his neck pulled taut and his hands clenched into fists. He shook his head at me. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. We watched each other for long, tense moments, my fingernails clawing at my palms. I was flushed. He was pale. I was full of rumbling rage. He was simmering with quiet fury. We made an odd contrast in opposites.
His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. He turned from me and went to find his shirt where he’d hung it across the back of the chair by the desk. With short, jerky movements, he pulled it on and buttoned it.
I was anchored in my spot, unable to move, unable to speak. All I could do was feel—feel this pounding wave of agony washing over me as he withdrew, those hurtful words still saturating the air between us.
He grabbed his shoes, sat down and slipped them on. I watched, mute and helpless. Those words were like the threshold we’d crossed together earlier—something to hang between us forever, to link us together and push us apart. They could never be unspoken.
“Adam,” I whispered, suddenly fearing what he wouldn’t say more than what he would.
He looked at me, his eyes blank, cold. “You were right. What was I thinking? I’d finally decided I wanted a woman in my life. You’re just a sad, scared little girl.” He stood and spun, heading for the bathroom. And I was rooted, unable to move, breathe, think. Unable to focus on anything beside the pain blossoming inside me.
Minutes later, he reentered. I had gone to the couch, holding my knees to my chest, my mind racing with what to do, what to say. He walked to the door and turned back to me just before leaving. “I’m moving to another room for the night. I suddenly lost my desire to sleep here.”
I tipped my forehead onto my knees and he waited just a minute before jerking the door open and slamming it closed. I was cold inside. I could cry if I allowed myself, but the tears didn’t come. I squeezed my knees tighter to me, wondering what this meant. What would the plane ride home be like, sitting next to him, silent, seething?
And after that, after he dropped me off, then what? Never see each other again? That had been my clever safety mechanism, clearly delineated and structured from the start. But there was no deal to conclude. So what would be our conclusion? Complete and total estrangement—as if the fairy tale had never existed at all?
A tiny shard of glass pierced the center of my chest and my soul was bleeding. I didn’t want to think about it. Somewhere along the line, I moved to the bed and curled into a tight ball and fell into a restive, dreamless sleep.