But I knew that was nothing but a lie when she opened the door and looked back at me.
Grief.
Sorrow.
It was signed on her just as boldly as my name was signed on Bennet’s falsified documents.
She swallowed hard, and her face twisted in remorse. “And there you went and had me believing in fate. I guess I really am a dreamer, after all.”
She sent me the saddest smile before she stepped out and quietly latched the door shut behind her.
Both my hands went to my forehead, jerking through my hair. “Fuck!” I roared. I flew around and kicked the wall like it could take the brunt of what I was feeling.
I threw myself into my chair, body rocking forward as I bent at the waist and buried my face against my palms.
That motherfucking feeling was present again. Though this time it was stinging in my eyes and burning in my chest.
A groan pulled from somewhere deep inside. Deeper than my guts. Deeper than my lungs.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
Fifteen
Grace
Trying to remain upright, I quickly glanced both ways before I rushed across the street toward where my car was parked at the curb about a half block down. My heels dragged along the pavement, held down by the piece of my heart and soul I’d left back there.
I’d cut myself open wide. Exposed myself. Put everything on the line.
Trusted him.
That dirty money was burning a hole into my side where I had it tucked against my body, the rash decision I’d made the day I’d left Reed the final time. But if I was going to fight him, I needed money. What better money than his own.
A car horn blared, the screech of tires coming from out of nowhere on the nearly desolate side street, and I lurched forward, fumbling to get out of the way.
Tears burned in my eyes, the heartache and sorrow that I’d tried to keep shored up by the flimsy blockade I’d made around my spirit trying to leak through the cracks.
I’d been doing my best to keep that well full of hope and belief and faith.
Ian Jacobs might as well have punched a fist into my chest and ripped the barrier down.
A dam that had burst.
Toppled.
Devastation underneath.
I never should have let him in.
The second I’d seen him, I’d known the man could wreck me with the barest brush of his hand.
And oh, had he done a whole lot more than let those fingertips caress my cheek.
A flashflood of memories from last night invaded my senses, my blood still pulsing with desire, with the remnants of that ecstasy he’d evoked in me.
Skin tingling, my heart and belly took turns doing wild things. Thumping and thudding and turning upside down.
Then he’d turned around and accused me of the most horrible thing. Acting as if I’d sought him out, used my body as a weapon against him.
Anger and hurt twisted around my heart, ribs constricting, everything too tight.
Had he actually been serious?
As if I could possibly wield the power to tie that man around my pinkie finger. Just a big red, sexy bow.
Yeah right.
I doubted that was even possible.
He was untouchable.
That heart so brittle and cold there was no chance of getting through.
I’d given him myself. Offered him a part of myself that I never should have after I’d already known exactly how that was going to make me feel. How I’d already known I was falling when he’d shown up at my salon yesterday evening.
Hell, I’d been falling all along.
That should have been warning enough.
Then I’d gone and pinned all my hope on him. A fool who’d deluded herself into believing that the connection we’d shared had been intended for something more. That it might have a greater purpose.
Gasping for a breath, I fumbled to get my keys free from the small front pocket of the bag as I approached my car.
The bag bounced around on my hip as if it were trying to break away from me.
What the hell was I thinking carrying around the proof of my extortion as if it were a tube of lipstick that’d been forgotten at the bottom of a purse?
My running lights flashed as I pressed manically at the fob, needing to get out of there before I lost my mind in the middle of the street.
Jerking open the door, I tossed the bag across the console to the passenger front seat.
I had to get away.
Put space between me and the man who was making me do irrational things.
A shriek ripped from my tongue when a hand landed on my forearm. Curling forcefully. Fingers painfully digging into my skin. Yanking me back.
Fear burst.
Volatile and violent.
I whirled around, half led by my anger and half compelled by the force being exerted on my arm.
I was sucking for the missing air when I saw who was standing there, the one who was pushing me back against my car and acting as if we were involved in nothing but a simple embrace.