Spade is still frowning at me as I set it on my bedside table and begin to strip out of my dress. Tonight was supposed to be fun, a way to make heads turn despite my discomfort. It worked. Spade gave me a second look when I entered the clubhouse, and I felt justified. I felt like the sexiest woman alive, but then he got distracted.
At first it was by the kids having their pre-countdown party, and by the time the other women showed up, each one of them sexier than the next, it was as if I didn’t exist.
It bothered me then. Right now? I don’t even care. I’m disgusting, vile, a woman who doesn’t question bad things going on around her because of what? A friendship with a man I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years? It’s as if I allowed the awful behavior to continue by saying nothing. I’m not just complacent but an accessory to it, my passivity providing my approval for such horrendous actions.
“Let me help you.” Spade turns me, his fingers gliding over my skin as he lowers the zipper on my dress after I struggle to reach the damn thing.
It isn’t a sexual touch, but there’s just something calming about the warmth of his skin on mine that I want to cling to, but I know I don’t deserve the reprieve.
I hate the absence of him when he steps back without making any overtures, and I view it as his disgust with me, another sob getting stuck in my throat.
I’m exactly what he hates—a woman who made excuses for a bad man. I might as well have abducted those women myself.
The strapless dress leaves me braless as I reach for a nightgown very similar to the one he saw me in at the bed-and-breakfast in Telluride, but as it glides over my head and down my body, he doesn’t make a quick joke about me wearing something many grandmothers would wear. I’m not even worth the comedy at this point, and I can’t blame him. If I could get away from myself right now, I would.
I do my best to ignore the tremble in my hand when I reach for the bottle of wine, but he stops me before I can wrap my fingers around the neck, my eyes fluttering closed as he pulls it back into his chest.
Sadness and regret flow down my cheeks in rivers before the sobbing renews. My body doesn’t care that my face is red and raw from crying. It doesn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood either.
There is no forgiveness for the part I played in all of this, and his comfort, albeit something I crave, isn’t something I feel like I can handle right now. I’m moments away from cracking.
I pull away from him, both grateful and sad that his arms just fall away rather than holding me tighter, and the man doesn’t say a word as I cross the room and lock myself in the bathroom.
I need to escape, not just him but all of these feelings. I need an exit strategy from the pain I’m feeling, but I know I’ll never find one. I don’t deserve any of it.
After washing my face, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, I return to my bedroom, finding Spade in my bed. Any other night, the sight of his exposed chest and abdomen would give me all sorts of ideas. I’d be making plans on where to put my mouth first, but my head is too full of everything else for anything of that nature to take hold.
I swallow thickly when he pulls back the blankets, a clear indication that I should join him in bed.
I hesitate and not for the same reasons I would’ve if the offer was made in Telluride. Then, I would’ve been indignant. I would’ve thought he was being manipulative. I would’ve accused him of having ulterior motives, but right now, I know he’s only offering kindness.
Like he said before, he’s very good at reading people. I know what my body craves despite my own inability to voice those needs myself, and he’s offering it to me.
Selfishly, I turn off the light and inch closer, climbing right into bed with the man, too tired to fight, too exhausted to continue to punish myself tonight.
I open my mouth to apologize, not just for what Will has done but also for playing a part in ruining his night. The countdown was missed. He wasn’t able to get one of those other women in his bed. He’s stuck here with me on orders from his boss once again when I just know he’d rather be anywhere else.
No words form on my tongue, but I gasp when I feel his hand on my hip.
I don’t want what he’s offering but will allow it as a form of punishment. The sex will be amazing. Eventually, he’ll manage to get me out of my head, but he doesn’t run his big hand down my hip and across to the apex of my thighs. He simply pulls me back into his expansive chest, hiking my leg up on his hip to close all the space between us.
He doesn’t mention my tears as they skate down his chest. He simply runs reassuring circles on my back as if he’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
It works because I start to allow myself imagining that I’m friends with this man, that there’s something more between us than once upon a time being angry lovers who are quite skilled at taking what they need from the other. I need the connection even though I know he’s going to rip it from me the very second I accept it. He’s no longer attracted to me. I can feel the softness of his disinterest against my thigh despite the grip he has on my leg.
I want to pull away, but I don’t. I can’t. He feels just a little too good, too warm, too perfect. The strong, rhythmic beat of his heart is calming, a balm to the soul-deep pain I’m feeling.
“Most people don’t notice the evil in others until it’s too late.” His voice booms out of his chest despite him whispering.
It feels like another slap in the face, another blow this man seems all too capable of delivering where I’m concerned.
He holds me tighter when I try to pull away.
“Humans inherently believe the face that people show them. They believe what they see is the true nature of the person. You have nothing to feel guilty for.”
His grip on me tightens, and I stop fighting him because what’s the point?
“I only know what to look for because of my training.”