How could they ask this of me?
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t face it. Couldn’t stare him down and voice the horror of what he had done.
Because I’d been weak.
I was weak.
Pathetic.
Just a na?ve little girl.
And it didn’t matter how many false exteriors I wore. That was all I was ever going to be.
THERE ARE TIMES IN your life you know without a doubt you’re doing everything wrong. That tiny little spec you call your conscience? It’s still loud enough to assure you you’re making mistake after mistake. It’s loud enough to call you out on bein’ a sinner and selfish and a little bit twisted and sick. And there’s not a question left in your mind all those mistakes are hurting the people you care about most.
Yet you’re just that selfish to keep right on making those mistakes without a whole lot of contemplation of stopping.
That’s why I’d chosen a long damned time ago not to care.
To keep everyone out except for the few who’d already secured a spot inside the brittle, hostile place that made up my heart.
I’d told her as much.
Warned her.
I didn’t do it often.
Care.
But when I did? It seemed I did it in a way that instead of doing something good, it just turned around and threw me back into the sickening depths of that selfishness again. It was a goddamned vicious cycle. Take, take, take until there’s nothing left but what you’ve destroyed.
And when you did have the guts to stop? It was you who was left destroyed.
It was a no-win.
Yet here I was, desperate to piece those broken bits of her back together. To patch it all up with her strength, beauty, and bold, blinding colors. To mix up every hue of red and every shade of blue. To somehow help her paint a picture that made her whole.
Even though the truth of the matter was I already saw her that way.
All the while, I was doing my best to shut her out. Every day, I was fumbling, trying to protect this flimsy understanding we were teetering on and wanting more of it, all at the same damned time.
Fuck.
I wanted more. She was a complex riddle I wanted to keep sheltered in the palm of my hand.
Tamar had shared secrets with me I knew she’d never told anyone before. I also felt confident we’d barely made a scratch. But I also got the unsettled feeling if I discovered all of what she had buried, I might not be able to handle it. It was a little disturbing, the rage that slammed me every time those bright blue eyes dimmed, when they went dark and haunted, and my insides felt like they were being squeezed and ripped apart.
I would thirst for vengeance and blood, while at the same time I quietly promised her she was brave and strong and everything was going to be okay.
The girl brought out the best and worst in me.
Ash was right.
I liked her.
I fucking liked her and it was every shade of wrong. A glaring mark against the most important promise I’d ever made. But for now? I couldn’t seem to put on the brakes or take a turn.
And God knew it was too damned late to throw it in reverse.
Like I said.
Selfish.
But I had two months. That was all the time I’d been given. Two months to put that look on her face. Two months to touch and tease and erase. Two months to pretend I had the right to be doing it.
I knew it was going to run out. Faster than I wanted it to. This good thing gone. Two weeks had already been eaten up, and I was getting greedy. Antsy. Selfish. I wanted all her minutes and days and most of all her nights.
I was determined to make the most of them.
Because she was the first real thing I’d felt in years. The first person to chip away at all that hate. The first to make me want to do more.
Be more.
It wouldn’t last.
But for now, I needed it just as damned bad as I knew she needed to break free from her past. For someone to believe in her. To see her the way I did.
Strong and sweet and with everything to offer this world.
So much more to give than slinging drinks behind a bar.
So much more to gain than sleeping alone night after night.
Sitting in the oversized plush chair in Ash’s living room that I’d somehow claimed as my own, I tried to pretend I wasn’t affected. Tried to pretend I didn’t like it so damned much that she was sitting on the floor to the right of my legs with her back propped on the chair while she hung with my friends.
Like she’d always been there and she was always gonna be.
But maybe she could feel that same connection I swore was there every time she walked in the room, because she swiveled a fraction and looked back up to where I sat, red hair aflame, lips painted the same lust-inducing color. She shot me one of those sexy-ass grins.
That single look was enough to get my dick hard.
And I hadn’t even gotten inside my little red pin-up yet.
Crazy, because she was hands down the best non-sex I’d ever had.