He climbs back into bed and switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He adjusts himself and sighs and my heart’s racing, and there’s no freaking way I’m getting any sleep tonight. I put the phone down on my nightstand, trying to interpret that strange present. Is it his way of controlling me further? Or his way of giving me a measure of freedom?
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, and he’s awake next to me, also staring at the ceiling. We stay like that for a while, and I feel myself drifting when he speaks, bringing me back into the moment.
“I want to tell you something,” he says quietly, almost whispering in the darkness. “But I don’t know how to say it.”
“Now’s the time. I don’t think it gets any more intimate than this. Perfect for spilling your guts.”
Is that a smile? I can’t tell in the dark.
“It gets much more intimate, or don’t you know?” He turns his head and looks at me. “How many men have you brought back to that little cottage of yours?” The question sounds so innocent, like he doesn’t really care, but there’s a menace beneath it.
“None of your business.”
“Which means either a lot or none at all. I’m betting on the latter.”
“You’re such a prick. You know that, right?”
“That all but confirms it.”
“Okay, yes, I’ve never brought a man back to my bed, much less to the cottage. Are you happy?”
“You’re a virgin.” He says it like he’s whispering a prayer and I cross my ankles as a buzz of excitement runs up my core.
“Maybe.”
“God damn it, Tara. You’re seriously a virgin?”
“Will you leave me alone? I told you, there aren’t a lot of guys lining up to date a former drug addict and current wallowing weirdo like me.”
“What a fucking shame.” He turns on his side, facing me. “Wasting that fucking beautiful body of yours. Do you have any idea how many guys wanted you back in the day? You used to be so fucking popular. I bet you could’ve had your pick of those fancy prep school pricks you and Cait hung around with.”
“Stop it. Can we change the subject? What did you want to tell me?”
He’s looking at me with flames in his eyes, his gaze moving down my body, to the swell of my breasts beneath the sheets, to my hips and the crook between my legs, to my thighs and back up, like he can’t believe a man hasn’t touched me before. Like I’m uncharted territory, and he wants to explore every inch of my flesh.
And some stupid voice in the back of my head is begging yes, yes, please do it, spread my legs and touch me all the ways I’ve wanted to be touched for so long.
“Hey, asshole, stop staring and talk.”
His smile drives me nuts but he rolls onto his back again. “About the other day when you came into my mother’s room.”
“Are you going to yell at me for that again? Because I’m pretty sure you overreacted and I did nothing wrong.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then: “You’re right. You didn’t.”
I blink rapidly in shock. Did he really just say that? “I don’t think I ever expected to hear those words leave your lips.”
“They don’t often, but I’m capable of admitting when I make a mistake. I’m a grown man, believe it or not.”
“I don’t believe it, but thanks anyway.”
“Listen to me.” He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. “I wasn’t lying when I told you about feeling weak. My entire life I’ve done nothing but fight, kill, feel pain, and suffer. Weakness was beaten out of me a very long time ago. If my father caught me quitting something, or complaining something was too hard or hurt too much, he’d beat me with a switch until I bled. He took pleasure in that, Tara. I learned at a very young age that softness will not be tolerated, and I’ve worked very hard to eliminate any hint of kindness, humanity, gentleness. Those things got me beaten. When you walked in and saw me with my mother, I suddenly felt more exposed than I’ve ever been before, and I didn’t like it.”
“You know I don’t judge you for being a human, right? Your mother’s sick and she’s only going to get worse. You should spend as much time with her now as you can. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I’m sure the doctors are telling you the same thing.”
He grunts at that. “Strange you mention doctors. Did you know there’s no official diagnosis?”
My eyebrows arch. “Really? I assumed she had Alzheimer’s.”