Jason who breaks things, who breaks people, just to watch them fall apart.
I’ve spent my whole life fighting against that birthright, fighting against the nature and the nurture that made him the way he is. And, in the end, all it took to push me over was my unquenchable desire for Veronica Romero.
Blindly, I reach for the coffee mug on the next counter over. It only takes a second for my hands to connect with the handle and then I’m holding it, weighing it, wondering which spot to aim for to cause the maximum amount of damage.
But just as I pull my arm back, just as I prepare to send the cup hurtling across the room, shattering both the door and the life I’ve worked so hard to build, a picture of Veronica as she was this morning flashes through my head. Face pale, body hunched in on itself, skin marked up to hell and back. She put on a brave face—even a seductive one—but I could see the truth in her eyes. I could see how badly I’d hurt her. How badly I’d abused the trust she put in me.
I tied her to the bed. Spanked her. Bruised her. And I then I kicked her out without so much as thanking her for sharing herself with me, all because I couldn’t stand to look at the evidence of what I’d done. To her and to myself.
My breathing is ragged, my heart beating way too fast. Once again, I think how easy it would be to self-destruct, how easy to say to hell with everything and just give in to the rage. But I can’t do that. Not now, when I don’t even know if she’s really okay.
Very carefully, I set the cup back on the counter behind me. I look around the room, at the mess I’ve made and the destruction I’ve caused. And tell myself this whole thing is just a small lapse, just a small price to pay when it could have been so much worse.
I’m good enough at lying to myself that by the time I step into the shower five minutes later, I almost believe it.
Chapter 18
I’m in the middle of a toast to my mother when he walks into the black-and-silver bedecked ballroom where I’m hosting my mother’s birthday celebration.
It’s awkward timing considering everyone at the party is watching me and all I can do is watch him. It’s hard not to, when he’s dressed in a gorgeous blue Tom Ford suit that shows off his long, lean body to perfection even as it makes his eyes look impossibly dark. And warm, so warm that I swear I’m starting to sweat as he looks at me across the crowded ballroom.
Though my words haven’t faltered, people are beginning to notice my preoccupation. I pull my gaze away just as a few start to turn to look, and force myself to stay relaxed and engaging as I tell the last of the jokes I’d planned. Then, with a smile I’m suddenly far from feeling, I finish with a lift of my glass and a heartfelt, “Happy Birthday to the most beautiful woman I know. You don’t look a day over forty, Mom.”
She laughs and gives her head a small, self-deprecating shake as everyone around us smiles in good-natured agreement. And while forty might be a little bit of a stretch for a woman who has now turned fifty seven times, it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility. She does look good, really good.
Of course, I would have preferred to end the toast with something about who she is rather than what she looks like, but my mother—the woman who will probably still be “fifty” when she’s actually seventy—would kill me. Staying young is pretty much a religion for her. Then again, that’s nothing new in this town where ninety-five percent of the people I associate with feel exactly the same way.
Once everyone has clapped, I step down from the stage so the DJ I hired for the night can resume the music. The first thing I do when I’m no longer the center of attention is to down my glass of champagne in one long swallow. It’s my second of the night, and though I vowed to keep all my wits about me tonight—with everything that’s happened I feel like I need to—I can’t help wanting another. Especially when Ian’s melted chocolate gaze snags mine and refuses to relinquish its hold.
Or maybe it’s me who refuses to look away—at this point, I just don’t know. All I do know is that he’s heading straight for me, the crowd between us parting like so much seafoam as he cuts a path through them.