He didn't love her. Sometimes he didn't even like spending time with her. Adele soothed the darkest urges in him, but being with her made him feel even more dirty. As if he came away from sex with her covered in a thin layer of grime.
He'd almost walked away so many times, but that strange attraction compelled him to stay. To punish and be punished. Control and be controlled. It was never quite enough--always just shy of satisfaction--but with her he at least came close to the unknowable, unreachable nirvana he craved.
After about three months, she confessed that Colin had told her about the kidnapping. More than that, she'd eased close, brushed her lips against his ear, and told him she could guess his darkest secrets.
She'd been right. About Jane. About what they'd meant to each other. Done with each other.
About everything.
She'd turned her trained eye on him, and she'd seen right through him.
He should have ended it then. Instead, that's when it had gotten even hotter. Dirtier. Kinkier.
He'd needed the release. The escape. The control.
But there were lines he wouldn't let her cross, and when she'd told him it would be therapeutic to pretend that she was Jane--naked and captive and wanting Dallas to fuck her hard--Dallas had balked.
He'd pulled on his jeans, left the room, and hadn't looked back.
That had been four months ago, and though she had called and apologized--though they'd talked casually and exchanged emails and salvaged the friendship, such as it was--they both knew it was over. At the time, Dallas had even considered that it was Adele who'd been sending him the taunting letters, but he'd dismissed the thought. The first letter had arrived a year ago, long before Adele had any reason to be hurt by his departure. Besides, even while they'd been sleeping together, they'd both known it was only sex. Hell, they'd both known it was mostly therapy.
"You shouldn't lie to me, you know," she said cheerfully now. "It's not work that has you tied in knots. I know you too well."
He grimaced and dragged his uninjured hand through his damp hair. "I'm not lying."
"You do realize that Colin and I are still friends. For that matter, we occasionally fuck. Friends do that sometimes, you know."
"Why are you calling, Adele?"
Her laugh was like the tinkling of bells, and he rolled his eyes, not quite able to stay mad at her. Irritation, however, was still lingering.
"I thought you might need a sympathetic ear. Jane talked to Colin, so I heard the news."
"About Ortega?"
"What else? I hope they rip every bit of information they can out of the miserable bastard. I hope they catch and destroy whoever was behind your kidnapping."
Dallas didn't disagree. He also didn't tell her that Ortega was dead. She'd hear soon enough.
"But I didn't call about Ortega," she continued. "I called because Jane told Colin that she was going to go see you. To tell you the news personally."
"She did," he said.
"And that's why I thought you might need someone to talk to." Her voice was soft. Soothing. "Seriously, darling. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Even to his own ear, it didn't sound believable.
He heard her draw in a breath. To him, the breath sounded judgmental.
"She's your obsession," she said gently. "You need to let her go."
He looked at his bandaged hand and knew she was right. "You're not my therapist."
"No, but I could be."
"Adele." His tone was reproving.
"What? I'm just saying that I can help you work through it. You need to let the obsession go, but we both know that's hard, especially when this imprint of her is such a huge part of your pathology."