“Who? Andrew?” I was confused, wondering what Andrew had to do with anything.
“He doesn’t know shit about me!” His lips twitched and his nostrils flared.
“Well, he seems to think he knows something.”
“With all the rumors, he probably believed them. He seems the type.”
“Before I touch that last part…what rumors?”
That stopped him cold and he turned to stare at me. “Lila, you’re intelligent, so I know you’ve figured out transactional law and contracts are not my area, but I can do it.”
I nodded. “You don’t have the personality and no one graduates with honors from Harvard Law to work contracts at a law firm in Indianapolis, albeit a large one.”
“Exactly.”
There was a pause, his hand moving through his hair, tugging at the chestnut strands. His jaw clenched, his forehead crinkled, as if lost in thought.
“The last few years…hell, they’ve been hell…” He trailed off and began pacing in front of me. His other hand moved to his chest, fisting the fabric above his heart. “I can’t go through that pain again. If I love you, then that’s something they can take away from me. Take revenge on me by hurting you. I can’t deal with that.” His voice dropped to a whisper, so low I almost couldn’t make out what he said. “Not again.”
My heart thudded in my chest when he mentioned even the prospect of loving me; admitting to both of us that it was a possibility.
He stopped and turned back to me, closing the distance. He surprised me; his lips attacked my mouth, his tongue forcing its way in to mix with mine. There was desperation in his actions. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me to him. Our need was fierce, pushing and pulling.
He slowed his kisses. They became lighter, almost savoring. He leaned back, his hand reached up, caressing my cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I’m not worried about you being hurt by me, Lila. I’m worried about you being hurt because of me.”
He was soft and tender for the briefest of moments. Even that seemed too much for him and his expression turned pained, and then the pacing resumed.
He stopped with his back facing me, and I watched a shudder move through him; from his head down his spine. His agitation seeped out, infecting me.
I took my bottom lip between my teeth, my fingers knotted and fidgeted at my waist. My whole body was shaking; my chest constricted, hindering my ability to breathe.
We were the same.
Broken.
His pacing resumed, and I heard him mumbling, but I couldn’t make out the words. For a brief moment, I feared for his sanity. His chest expanded in deep hard breaths. I couldn’t tell what emotion would face me as they were all present, and the anxiety in the room continued to grow. He turned and stopped in front of me. His nostrils flared, his eyes wide, and I took an involuntary small step back, my body bending away from him. His gaze ran up and down my body, taking me in.
“You think being a federal prosecutor is great. You work hard to put heinous criminals away, hopefully for good. You don’t think about the repercussions. About how the ones you’re prosecuting or their families may be angry with you and want revenge for you trying to uphold the law and make people safe. You don’t think about how someone will try to take your life because they blame you for ruining their life or their loved ones. They don’t care who else gets hurt in their quest to get to you. Sometimes they even threaten them to scare you.” His manic pacing resumed.
After a moment, he headed to the living room and sat down on the couch. His eyes were fixed on the fireplace, his leg bouncing at a furious pace. He picked up a sandstone coaster from the coffee table and twirled it in his hand.
I moved to stand near him, remaining silent so he would continue. A snarl ripped through his chest as his arm pulled back and he chucked the coaster into the fireplace. It fractured, sending dust and debris around the room.