He winced when he saw me, moving across the room to cup my face. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured.
I hated how tender his touch was, especially when paired with the whole shirtless thing. It was an inconsiderate seductive spell that rendered even the fiercest feminists mute.
“I’ve had worse,” I said, trying to make him feel better.
By the way his body tensed and his eyes darkened, that didn’t help. “Say again?”
Shit.
I tried to move, but his other hand fastened on my hip. “Anastasia?”
I scowled at him. “You can’t just manhandle me into telling you shit,” I snapped. “Especially when I can’t do the same.”
“What have you had that’s worse than this?” he asked, moving the hand at my chin up to lightly brush my already-bruising cheek.
I didn’t miss the fury in his voice again. Mixed with that unexpected softness. Nor did I understand it. Where were all the emotions coming from? Sure, I knew he was the kind of man that would totally and utterly protest violence against women. I got that. But this was different. This was a complete 180. And in addition to the shiner, I was getting whiplash from this man.
I should’ve told him to mind his business. Should’ve jerked myself out of his touch, averted my eyes, and locked myself in the bathroom until he was safely in bed, but hopefully asleep.
I sighed, resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to stop. If I was honest, I wanted to tell him. There was no one I could share my past with, my truths. That was supposed to be a good thing. But suddenly it all felt so heavy, I needed to share it with some strong shoulders. “I was young. Stupid. Thought that the bad boy was a great exciting boyfriend. Until he beat the shit out of me one night, while high on meth,” I said.
Duke flinched, worse than he had when Tanner’s fist connected with his cheekbone. He’d barely moved when that happened.
“Jesus, Anastasia,” he whispered.
“It was a long time ago,” I said, trying to gloss over the memory and the hurt in his voice. I hadn’t dealt with what happened. Not really. I’d just stored it neatly in a box with all of my other traumas.
“I dumped him the next day,” I continued. I didn’t add that it was very late the next day since I couldn’t walk for most of the morning. I hadn’t checked into the hospital because I didn’t have any insurance or money, so I was in agony for almost a month. But I healed. “Plus, it gave me good insight into domestic violence—and I was able to get an Oscar for that role. I should’ve thanked him in my acceptance speech.”
Duke’s other hand went to my face so he was cupping my cheeks. “Don’t do that,” he growled. “Don’t try to act like your past is nothing but material. Like it doesn’t matter.”
His words hit me much like Tanner’s fist on my cheekbone. I swallowed roughly and worked hard at trying to make it seem I was indifferent. “It doesn’t,” I said. “I’m not someone who lingers in the past, and I’m not going to pay a therapist thousands to dissect me like a teenager might a dead frog in science class. Shit happens.”
Duke didn’t like that response. It was in his face that I’d only known previously as carefully empty or with a thin veil of detachment over dislike. But he didn’t argue.
Instead, he snatched the ice from my hand and in an impressive move, changed our positions so he was slightly on top of me pressing it to my cheek.
My sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with the cold against my bruised and swollen skin.
“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he said, voice soft and rough at the same time.
Fuck. I thought I’d gotten out of that.
“Answer what?” I asked, figuring playing dumb would be my best way out of it.
Duke raised his brow and gave me the impression that I wasn’t fooling him. “You didn’t love Salvador. Is there anyone you have loved?”
I bit my lip. There were many responses to a question like this coming from someone like Duke. Namely, I could tell him it was none of his damn business and that our relationship was strictly professional.
But that wouldn’t really hold the same weight considering we were in the same bed together and his body was pressing into mine without rational argument from me.
I could lie, could try my best to settle us into our respective corners—macho security man and bitchy spoiled movie star. Tempting.
Lying was basically just acting with higher stakes. The two were almost interchangeable in my life, since most of it was a carefully constructed lie. I was great at it. An expert. Usually. I wasn’t as good with Duke. My lies were thin, felt weak coming off my tongue. I didn’t commit to them like I should, because I didn’t want him to think less of me. Well, I didn’t want him to think any less of me. I wanted to redeem myself. I was harboring some girlish fantasy that he’d discover that there was more to me, here underneath the Montana sky, and we’d live happily after.