He doesn’t say that last out loud, but I hear the words clearly in my head. I swallow the knot in my throat and blink rapidly, trying to stave off a flood of tears. I messed so much up. So many people, so many lives, and all because I reached for more than I should have.
And maybe I should stop pushing and just walk away. I’ll get the money somehow. If I have to, I can sell my Mustang, although it would kill me to do that. After all, Griffin painstakingly rebuilt it for me, and it would just hurt him all over again if I parted with it. Even if I was selling it to help him.
But walking away isn’t an option. Not anymore. Now it’s not just about me. It’s about Wyatt, too. About everything he’s been saying.
He needs me.
Maybe I can never make up for the way I hurt him twelve years ago. But I can help him now. And while that may not be everything, at least it’s something.
“I won’t run,” I promise. “I don’t know how to make you trust me. All I can do is tell you I mean it and hope that you believe me.”
His eyes bore into me, as if he’s trying to read the truth on my soul. Then he rolls his neck and starts pacing in front of me, his body as tense as a wild cat about to spring.
But even though that’s the impression I have, I still gasp when he does exactly that, lunging toward me and caging me against the side of the Navigator, his arms on either side of mine. His body dangerously close.
“Why?” he asks.
His mouth is so close that his breath warms me, and the scent of whisky is strong enough to be intoxicating. For the first time, I wonder how long he was in the club before I noticed him. Did he sit at a table and drink while the other girls danced? Did he enjoy them? Or was he there only for me?
“Answer me,” he demands, the heat in his words pulling me from my thoughts.
“I told you. I need the money. Please, Wyatt. Let me go.”
“Why?”
“You’re making me feel claustrophobic.” That’s a lie. I feel uncomfortable, yes. But not like that. What bothers me is the way my body is reacting to him. The way that, despite everything, I want him to lean in just a little closer.
“I meant, why do you need the money?”
“Oh.” Bitter mortification sweeps over me. “That’s really none of your business.” I lever myself away from the car, as if I’m going to shove past him. “You want to get out of my way?”
He uses his whole body to push me back, so that now I’m completely flat against the car, and he’s pressed against me, body to body. I feel my pulse kick up, and I have to clench my fists in order to fight the unwelcome urge to lean my head forward and kiss him.
“You’re making it my business,” he says, lifting one hand off the car so that he can run a lock of my hair through his fingers.
“Tell me, Kelsey. Why did you walk through my door? What kind of trouble are you in that you need money so fast?”
“I just do. What does it matter why? I need fifteen thousand, and I need it before the end of the month.”
“So that’s all this is about?” His fingertip traces the curve of my ear, and I can’t hide the shiver that cuts through me.
“That tickles,” I say, as if that’s all I’m reacting to. As if his touch isn’t really affecting me at all.
“It’s just about the cash?” He shifts his touch from my ear to my collarbone, exposed by the V-neck tee I’m wearing. “You’re not looking for publicity?”
“Publicity? For what? Why would I—”
“I could lend you the money,” he continues, putting his hand back on the car so that I’m fully caged once again.
“You won’t,” I counter. “And I wouldn’t take it if you did. I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt, much less yours.”
“Why not mine?”
I meet his eyes dead on. “Because you hate me.”
He flinches, and for a moment he’s completely silent. Then he slowly takes his hands off the Navigator and steps back, freeing me.
“I don’t hate you, Kelsey. It would probably be easier if I did.”
“Oh.” I glance down so he can’t see the tears that prick my eyes. I blink, then draw a breath to steady myself. Only when I’m sure I’ve got it together do I look back up at him. “Does that mean you’re giving me the job?”
He exhales. Loudly. “Fine. You want the job? It’s yours.” He takes another step back and looks me up and down. “We start tonight.”
I push away from the car, then stand rigid. “Tonight!”
“You have somewhere else to be?”
“I—no. Tonight it is.”
He nods, apparently pleased with my acquiescence. “I can’t be wrong about this, Kelsey. So I have some conditions, and they’re non-negotiable. You don’t want to comply, you walk away now. Is that clear?”
I nod firmly, hoping I look more certain than I feel.
“You saw the prints at the studio. The nature of my photos. They’re not porn, and they’re not snapshots from a strip club,” he adds, aiming his thumb toward X-tasy. “But there is an edge to them. A raw sensuality I’m trying to convey. Do you get that?”
Once again, I simply nod.
“And that means I need you to wear what I tell you and pose how I direct. Agreed?”
“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Because how else would this go down?
“Good. You have to do what I say, Kelsey. Like I said, that’s non-negotiable.”
“Well, yeah. Isn’t that pretty obvious? I mean—”
“In front of the camera,” he interrupts. “And in my bed.”
I gape at him. “You’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m not.”
“But . . . why?” I don’t know what else to ask. More than that, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. I know I should slap his face and storm off, but somehow, I can’t quite manage.
“Why?” he repeats. “You already know why.” He takes a single step closer. “I’m punishing you, Kelsey. Exactly like you said in my studio earlier today.
“I’m punishing you,” he repeats, as I stand there mute and confused. “But you can still walk away if you want to. I’m leaving this entirely in your hands. You know my conditions. Now ask yourself what you want. And then ask yourself how much you want it.”
He walks to the driver’s side, opens the door, then pauses before sliding in. “I’ll be in the studio. You’ve got one hour to make up your mind.”
Then he slams the door and starts the car, and I’m left standing like an idiot in the parking lot wondering what just happened—and what on earth I’m going to do next.
11
Twelve years ago
Wyatt watched her, his body tightening with a combination of excitement and nerves, as she continued to unbutton the dress. The style reminded him of one of his grandmother’s old movies, with a fitted bodice, a narrow waist, and a skirt that flared.
It suited Kelsey perfectly. Sweetly feminine, but with a definite allure. But right then, what Wyatt liked most of all was how the buttons went all the way from cleavage to hem. Because, holy shit, watching her fingers move over each of the flower-shaped buttons was like watching his most anticipated Christmas present unwrap itself.