Page 113 of Manhattan Secret

I open my mouth to say something. I’ve carefully rehearsed everything I want to say to him holed up in that small motel not far from here.

Before I can speak, he grabs my upper arm, hard enough to make me wince and he forcibly drags me through the crowd of partygoers, pushing me into the kitchen and he kicks the door closed and flattens my spine to a wall.

“You’ve got some balls coming here.”

“Lachie…” I edge out. Love locks in my throat.

I have to strengthen my spine; I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Don’t call me that,” he grates through his clenched teeth. Unhinged destruction in his amazing eyes, he leans in, an intimidating move and almost connects our foreheads. “What do you want, Delaney?”

“I came to see you. I wanted to ask if we could talk. I messaged…not sure if you saw…I said I was going to be in town.”

His throat makes a mocking sound and he backs up a step, folding his rangy arms over his chest.

Up close I’m able to look my fill of the man who’s tortured my mind for months.

“Sure. You wanna talk now ... you threw me away like I was trash without a backwards glance four months ago, or did you conveniently forget that?”

I wince, deserving his disdain.

“I did do that. I’m sorry, Lachie—”

He growls then, moving back into my space. His scent comes first and twirls around my senses. And then his power follows.

I’m barricaded by Lachie, and my heart is delirious.

“I told you not to call me that.” I belatedly remember why. I call him Lachie when we have sex. Pressing my lips together until they stretch, I want so badly to reach out and stroke my hands up his chest like I once had the right to do. Instead I let them hang loosely at my side, doing nothing, and feeling like I’m carrying tree trunks with me.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for what we had. I thought I was doing the best for you.”

“Bullshit,” he accuses. “What do you want?”

Honestly, as hostile as he looks, I’ll take this angry version of Lachie over no version of him in my life at all.

That much love doesn’t go away so suddenly, does it?

I hold onto the hope that within his anger somewhere he still loves me.

I need to restore what I’ve lost, and it starts by looking up into furious blue.

Lachie’s jaw ticks.

“If I could do it all again, I’d do it differently, I swear to you, Lachlan. Can we please—”

“You didn’t come to talk, did you, Miss Sloan?” His gorgeous mouth thins, his eyes flare as he advances until his chest presses into mine.

I push my neck back to look at him and find my breath shallowing to almost nothing.

When he circles his big hand around my throat—not pressing hard, just holding me in place, my air evaporates altogether as lust catches hold of me and begins to vibrate through me. “You came all this way for this, didn’t you?” Roughly, he pulls at the button on my skinny jeans with his free hand and shoves his hand down inside, cupping between my trembling legs. “This what you missed about your teen lover, Miss Sloan?” He taunts, stressing on my name like he had those first few days of flirting with me when his every word made me blush, his gaze as penetrative as the hand in my pants rubbing me.

I sway and moan.

When his fingers part my folds to find how wet I am for him, I lose my mind.

“No, it’s not what I came for. Lachie, let’s go somewhere so we can talk.”

The door suddenly bursts open and a laughing tall guy holding empty red cups and a bottle of vodka tucked under his arm, ambles halfway into the kitchen.

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