“I won’t have you talking bad about yourself. Not now. Not ever again.”
He was just a big old bully. “I want to go to bed now, Liam.” She was done with this conversation. She was done with Adam and Jake. She was definitely done with Liam. Except he had to come home with her. “You can sleep on the couch. There are no cameras, so no one has to know. All they’ll hear is someone shuffling around.”
“No.” Liam turned around and pointed a finger Adam’s way. “I catch you even looking at her ass again and I’ll kill you. I kissed Serena to prove a point, and it worked. It got the two of you working together. I don’t need any points proven to me. I’m smarter than both of you combined.”
Jake shrugged. “Serena would probably agree.”
“Come along. You want to go to bed. We’ll go to bed.” He tugged her hand into his.
She resisted, pulling back because she knew damn well she couldn’t get into bed with him. It would be a complete disaster, and she would look like an idiot. Again. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not saying yes, Liam. This is rape.”
He turned, those emerald green eyes rolling. “I’m not going to fuck you, though we both know damn well it wouldn’t be rape. I’m willing to give you some time to see how stubborn you’re being. You’ve had a shock, and you’re unsure of things right now, but you’ll see that things between us will get back to normal. I lied about my name and why I approached you. I didn’t lie about a damn thing else. I want you, girl. I want you so bad that I’m willing to give up the only family I have. That’s what I would be doing if Ian fires me.”
“Ian’s not going to fire you. He didn’t fire us, and we probably deserved it more,” Adam admitted, holding a bag of frozen peas to his left eye. “And I didn’t mean to be a Peeping Tom, Avery. I just couldn’t come up with an excuse to not help you. And I told my wife about it.”
She wanted to believe them all, but she couldn’t. It was too much for one day. She’d rolled around in misery and confusion and pain enough for one twenty-four hour period.
She followed Liam out and was silent as they entered the apartment she’d adored right up until a few hours before. This place had been her fresh start. She remembered the first time she’d walked in and realized that this was a place that held no bad memories, a place where she could make fresh ones.
And she’d spent weeks alone here with someone watching her every move.
Liam locked the door and pulled her along, her feet shuffling against the wood floors, taking the proper steps and, for once, not faltering. She simply followed him, her insides numb. It felt a little like a bad dream that she was being forced to survive until she could wake herself up. He tugged her into the bedroom they’d shared, and he was solemn as he pulled her sweater over her head, reverent as he unclasped her bra.
It didn’t matter. If he wanted to fuck her, he would, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it except survive. She almost welcomed it because it would be good to have one more thing to hate him for.
He leaned over and kissed her belly, just a light brush as he got to his knees. His head tilted up, and she would have sworn she saw a glimmer of tears there.
Forgive me. He mouthed the words. Forgive me.
She didn’t reply, had to look away. She couldn’t even think about it. Not yet. Maybe one day in the distant future she could let it go, but not tonight. She was still as he unbuckled her jeans and dragged them off. He sighed and got up, pulling back the covers and tucking her in bed. He didn’t give her the comfort of a nightgown. She’d never worn one around him. No underwear and no nightgowns, he’d dictated. Nothing that would come between his flesh and hers. But she didn’t need a thin nylon nightie. The truth was a wall between them.
The sheets were chilly against her flesh. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d known all along that he was too good to be true. He was still playing a game, and she was still his pawn.
Wasn’t she?
“Did I ever tell you about my brother?” It was odd to hear him talk in that flat American accent now that she’d heard the lyricism of his real voice. He pulled his shirt over his head and laid it on the dresser. It hurt to look at him, so she turned away.