Forty-four

Henley

This isn’t what I came here for. Not exactly. I wanted to tell him about Jeremy. The truth. I wanted to make him understand.

This time I can give in.

I can give you what you want.

I stare at the ceiling while struggling to get my breathing under control. I can still feel his tongue. His mouth. His fingers. The buzz of it all, humming in my ears. Tingling down my spine. I’ve thought about, what it would feel like to be with him. I’ve had years to fantasize and imagine. I’ve touched myself a thousand times, pretending that it’s him between my legs. His mouth. His cock. His hands.

None of those fantasies even begin to come close to what he just did to me.

“You thirsty?” he calls to me from somewhere above my head, his question followed by the sound of bottles clinking. “I have beer and… beer.” So normal, so casual, it stains my cheeks. He’s playing gracious host while I’m lying, practically naked, on his kitchen floor, having just orgasmed so hard I don’t know what day it is.

Life is decidedly unfair.

I scramble to my feet and find him leaning against the short length of counter that looks to be the same as when Tess and her Dad lived here. Matter of fact, it all looks the same, save for Conner’s personal belongings. Clothes and books. A sparse-looking futon. A floor lamp that looks like a house fire waiting to happen. A wide leather chair I instantly recognize.

We used to sit in it together in his father’s den—me, curled up against him, my head on his shoulder, legs tangled with his, while he read to me. He gave me a ring in that chair. Put it on my finger and asked me to be his.

I don’t know why seeing it now makes me so mad. Maybe because I’m standing here naked while he casually sips his beer, looking at me like what just happened was all in a day’s work. Maybe because he was finally able to fuck me.

Me, Henley O’Connell, not some random rich girl in a bar.

Maybe because I know what that means.

It means he doesn’t love me.

Not anymore.

He holds out the unopened beer in his other hand, offering it to me.

“Beer?” It comes out sounding judgmental and rude. “It’s six o’clock in the morning.” My gaze slides to the left. I can see a pile of bottles in the sink. Mostly beer bottles but there are enough empty fifths mixed in to give me pause. Make me think about my father.

He drops his hand, sets the beer he’s offering me on the counter with a shrug. “I can make you some tea, Daisy,” he says, drawing my attention. “But I’m fresh out of crumpets.” Despite his easy tone, I know he’s reading my mind. Knows what I’m seeing and what I’m thinking.

And he doesn’t like it.

“You can shove your crumpets up your ass, Gilroy,” I snarl at him. Turning on my heel, I shoot across the kitchen, past him, toward the bedroom. I don’t realize he’s behind me until I feel his hand latch around my arm and spin me around. As soon as we’re face to face, he lets go.

“I was kidding,” he says lifting his beer to his mouth again to take a drink, lips quirked in a smartass grin. “Do I look like the kind of guy who buys crumpets?”

Tess is wrong.

We don’t need time. No amount of time will fix what’s broken between us.

What I broke between us.

“Jesus,” Snatching my pants off the floor, I jam one leg in and then the other. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Pretty much.”

He’s never going to forgive me. Never let me in. And what am I even doing? I can already feel myself sinking into him. Solid ground crumbling under my feet. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t give him what he wants.

I never could.

“This was a mistake.”

“Daisy…” He laughs somewhere over my head. “On that, we can agree.”

“I changed my mind,” I say, jerking my jeans upward. “Let’s just—”

When I straighten, he’s not grinning anymore. He drops the half-empty bottle and comes at me, no more than a step and a half across the narrow hall, and he’s in my face, so close I can feel his chest brush against mine, with every breath he takes. “Let’s just what?” he says, those shards of black in his eyes sharpening to a razor’s edge. “Cut our losses? Call it quits? Forget it ever happened?”

Yes.

Yes to all of it.

It would be better. So much easier to walk away now. I got what I came for. I could go home. Back to my safe, easy life. Lunch and shop. Chair committees and organize benefits.

Plan a wedding.

Live a lie.

When I don’t answer, he reaches for me, his hands sliding over the silk of my shirt. Pulling it closed, he starts to push its buttons through their loops, one by one. “None of that is going to happen,” he says, his gaze lowering to concentrate on his hands. “Because this is happening—you and me,” Last button fastened, he looks up at me. “And this time, it’s not going to be over until I say so.”

“Until you say so?” I can feel my eyes narrow, hackles instantly raised.

A muscle in his jaw twitches once. Twice, before he answers me. “That’s what I said. Want me to spell it?”

“No. What I want is for you to shove your say so straight up your ass.”

“Such language for a lady.” His lips quirk, but there’s nothing humorous about his expression. “What would your mother say?”

“Fuck you,” I seethe through clenched teeth even as shame burns its way through my gut.

“I always loved that sassy mouth of yours.” He tips his head forward so he can whisper in my ear. “But we both know I’m right. You’re not going anywhere.” His fingertips skim across my belly, lower and lower until they’re between my legs, brushing against the juncture of my thighs, stroking the seam of my pussy through my jeans. “You can’t.” He slips his free hand into my hair to cradle the back of my head, his mouth skating across my cheekbone. My jawline. “Because I’m it. I’m the one. The only person who can do this to you. Make you feel this way… and you know it. That’s why you’re here. Why you climbed in my window.” He applies pressure between my thighs, loosening the hinge on my knees. Making me gasp. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I can’t.

“Conner.” I orgasmed twice only minutes ago, and I can already feel it building again. A tingling heat seated low in my belly. The resolve I felt just seconds ago evaporates, replaced by the sort of breathless desperation that should scare me. Would scare me if I had any sense.

He’s right.

All I want is him.

All I need is this.

“Fantastic—now that that’s settled…” His fingers slip higher, pressing my clit through fabric and flesh, giving me slow, tight sweeps that set me on fire. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and use that mouth of yours to tell me what’s bothering you…” He whispers while the fingers between my legs stop circling to move even higher. He raises his head, looks me in the eye while he pulls the zipper of my jeans up. “Instead of saying things you don’t mean.”

Dizzy. I’m dizzy and shaking, my hands latched around his biceps. Fingers digging into hard muscle. “You’re not going to like it.” I say it to his cheekbone once the room stops spinning.

“I don’t need to like it, Daisy—” Fingers grip my chin, tilting it until I’m looking him in the eye again. “I just need to hear it.”

I stare up at him, pressure building behind my eyes. Prickling at their corners. “You drink a lot.”

“I do.” That’s it. That’s all he says. No excuses. No justification. No reassurance that it’s not a problem. That he can stop if he wants.

His blunt honesty knocks something loose inside me. Makes it easier to say what comes next. “I don’t like it.”

How many times did I say as much to my father? Tell him how much it scared me to see him wasted. How many times did I find him unconscious and think he was dead. How many times did I beg him to stop.

Clean up.

Take care of himself.

Take care of us.

Me.

It doesn’t really matter how many times I said it. One time or a million, it was never enough to make a difference.

Conner’s watching me with that calculating way of his. The one he used to get when he was trying to figure me out. “Do you want me to stop?”

Yes. I want to say it but I can’t so I nod, my heart lodged in my throat.

“Okay.”

The word confuses me. Steals my breath for a different reason altogether.

“Okay?” I croak, my face crumpling because I don’t understand. “Okay?”

He frowns at me. “That is what I said.”

“Just like that?” It can’t be that easy.

“Just like that.” He takes a step back, slumping his shoulders against the wall. “Anything else about the way I live my life that you find objectionable?”

I mean to say no but the word comes out sounding different. “Kaitlyn.”

He smirks at me. “Who?”

“The girl.” I bite the words in half and spit them out. “You took her into your office tonight.”

“Oh, her…” He shrugs, stacking his arms across his chest. “What about her?”

“I don’t like that either,” I tell him, using the same casual, easy tone he’s been using on me all night.

“Her specifically or is your objection to other women in general?”

Of course, he’s going to make me say it. Of course, he’d want to hear it. “In general.”

His mouth parts and he cocks his jaw, giving me a look caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “That so?”

“It is.” I mimic his stance, crossing my arms over my chest. “If we’re going to do this, then I expect exclusivity for the duration.”

“Exclusivity for the duration.” The look he pins me with knocks the air from my lungs. Makes me glad I’m leaning against a wall and not trying to stand on my own. “We’ve gone from sass mouth to downright dirty talk.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His gaze rake over me, slow and deliberate. “I’m so hard right now, I could hammer nails with the head of my cock.”

His off-handed assessment draws my gaze to the front of his jeans like a tractor beam. The second my eyes land on the bulge, straining against his zipper, my face catches fire, which is ridiculous considering where his face was less than fifteen minutes ago.

Never. Conner never would’ve talked to me this way when we were kids. Even when he teased me, he was always gentle. Careful. Like he didn’t want to spook me. Like he wanted to get it right.

Every word.

Every moment.

This Conner doesn’t seem to care either way. Not about what I think or how I feel.

I try not to let that hurt. I try to be like him. I try not to care.

“Is that a yes?” I push the words out on a sigh like I’m impatient but really I’m just trying to remember how to breathe.

He doesn’t give in. Instead, he ignores my question completely. “What’s it matter to you?” He gives me that cocky grin of his, the one I’ve never been able to resist. “You jealous?”

“It’s not jealousy,” I tell him, scrambling for cover. “It’s an aversion to Chlamydia.”

My words knock the grin right off his face, his jaw suddenly snapping so tight I can practically hear his teeth crack. “Whatever you say. It’s your dime, Daisy.” I hurt his feelings again. “No booze. No other women.”

His agreement leaves me out of sorts. I expected him to tell me no. That he’d do as he pleased. Other women. Oceans of whiskey.

I’d been prepared to accept both.

I drop my arms and stand up straight.

He doesn’t move.

“Okay, well—”

“No ring.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, gaze dropping to the engagement ring on my hand. “The ring. I don’t want to see it on your finger again—for the duration. Next time, it’s going in the goddamned harbor.”

“It’s a family heirloom.” The ring has been in the Bradford family for generations. I’ll have to return it when this whole thing is finally over, which is just as well. It’s too much for me. I prefer simple.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s the goddamned One Ring.” He laughs at me. “He gave it to you.”

“Jeremy is gay,” I blurt it out, finally finding a place to fit in the confession I’ve been carrying for days. “That’s why we’ve never been intimate—we’re just friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. Our relationship has never been real. He’s paying me to marry him.” I look down at the ring on my hand. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. If someone tossed me in the Charles right now, I’d sink to the bottom with no hope of surfacing. “None of it is real.”

“It feels real enough to me.”

His words jerk my gaze upward. I find him watching me, his jaw flexing and clenching like he’s struggling to keep himself in check.

“Con—”

“And stop bleaching your goddamned freckles.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand, and that’s exactly what it sounds like.

I think about the tube of skin cream in my travel bag, prescribed by my dermatologist. I use it religiously. I could deny it. Tell him they just faded on their own over time, but something tells me he’d know I was lying.

I swallow and nod, silently agreeing to his terms. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s all.” He drops his arms and pushes himself off the wall. “Now, if you’re finished with me, I’ve got a business to run.” He moves down the hall, toward the kitchen, shoulders stiff, he calls out to me, right before he walks out the door. “You can leave the same way you came in.”