“So, they’re, what? Excused from being assholes, because their position demands confidence?”
It felt like he was laying a trap for me, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
A shiver glanced down my back when Luka appeared pleased. “And what about you? Will your patients think you’re an asshole?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I lacked the confidence needed, and . . . “Because I care way more than I should about what people think of me.”
His half-smile was back, this time accompanied by a shake of his head, as if what I was saying was too good to be true.
“And to answer your original question,” I continued, “I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. I loved my AP anatomy class in high school. I loved working in the ER on Friday nights when it was the busiest. And I’ve watched tons of different medical procedures, most of which I found fascinating.”
There just wasn’t any other career for me, and it made me realize I had no idea what career Luka was in. I’d allow this one question before pressing him again on whatever he was working up to.
“And you? What do you do?”
His eye color wasn’t quite so dark in the sunlight, but he still looked intense. “I’m the controller at Markovic Motors.” I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, and it must have been evident, because he continued. “I’m the head accountant.”
“Oh.” He seemed young to hold such a high position, but he’d gotten his MBA from Randhurst, which was an excellent school. Nepotism may have played a role as well, although he seemed serious and older than his years. I forced myself to refocus. Breakfast conversation needed to move forward, and I needed to get back to my dorm. “Ask me the question, please.”
He looked resigned as he rose to stand, took a final sip of his coffee, and pushed his chair in. “We’ll go upstairs first.”
It filled me with anxiety. “Why?”
“Because your shoes and shirt are up there?” His tone was pointed.
Tension released in my shoulders. We were getting ready to leave. I stood, pushed in my chair, and glanced up at him. “Thank you for breakfast.”
My gratuity had no impact on him. I shuffled in my socks up the stairs and down the hallway to the room I’d slept in. I didn’t remember coming in last night, and wondered if he’d had to carry me, but I wasn’t going to ask.
Luka stood in the doorway watching as I gathered my costume shirt from the bathroom, and he pointed out my pair of black heels at the foot of the queen-sized bed. As I reached down to grab them—
“Tell me what you remember about last night.” His voice was deadly serious and my lungs tightened in my chest.
I abandoned my goal of picking up my heels and turned to face him. He had one hand on either side of the doorframe. It was a casual stance that displayed the lean lines of his body, but it was threatening as well. His positioning made me feel trapped. Words were difficult.
“Do you remember going upstairs with me?” he asked.
“Yes.” I hated how timid my voice sounded.
His expression was free of any emotion, but his eyes betrayed him. He looked nervous. “Do you remember kissing me on the couch?”
His nerves made mine worse, and my heart beat at a frantic tempo. “I remember a lot more than just kissing.”
His grip tightened until his knuckles were white. “I’m going to ask you that question now, and I need you to think carefully about how you answer. You have to be completely honest.” He took a deep breath. “Do you remember us fucking?”
Every muscle in me locked up at the memory of what we’d done last night. He’d stolen my virginity, hurt me, and now he was callously describing it as fucking. It made me so angry I could barely see straight. “No,” I said, finding my voice, and it was powerful. “I remember you raping me.”
“Shit,” he groaned. “Addison, that’s not how it happened.”
I balled my fists into the shirt in my hands. “I said stop.”
“And I did,” he answered quickly. His chest was moving quicker now too, breathing rapidly.
“I said no.” I clenched the shirt so tightly my hands began to ache. “I kept saying no, even when you put your hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.”
“Fuck.” His hands came down off the doorframe and he took a step toward me. “Yeah, maybe I got a little carried away last night. I drank too, remember? But we both wanted it. Don’t tell me you didn’t.” I backpedaled as he advanced on me. “We’d both been wanting it for years.”
I shook my head as a tremble worked its way up my legs. “Not like that.”
He paused where he was in the center of the room, disappointment etching his face. “Tell me what I can do to make it right.”