Page 13 of Masked
“Why did it have to end with my dad in a mess?” She won’t look at me, speaking into the void in hopes that it will make her questions and my answers easier.
“You know why.”
“He owes you money,” she says.
“He does.”
“He doesn’t have it,” she bites, mouth hardening.
“I know.” This conversation had to come up at some point, but I didn’t expect it to be so hard.
Sadly, I can’t buckle or show remorse. It’s not in my nature. I would do anything to make see her smile again, but if there’s any hope that we can build a future together, I refuse to let it stand on a foundation of lies.
If this is going to have any chance of progressing beyond a bar room fling, she has to know who I am.WhatI am. Taylor must understand that this devil wears a suit and tie, flashes a charming smile as he doles out money, but can flip on a dime without compassion.
“He won’t next week, either.” The triumphant hum in her tone fades.
“I know.”
“So what? You’re just going to keep coming back, bruising his face, making it impossible for him to land a job?”
Never thought about it like that. Outward appearances are everything and I do a good job of making them messy.
“You tell me to walk away, you’ll never see me again, Taylor.” Painful as it is to say, I mean it. “You want our bad deal settled? We’re square. I’ll clear his debt, wipe the slate clean. Hell, as long as it’s benefitingyou, I’ll give him more money than he knows what to do with. Don’t you see this,” I gesture between our bodies. “Has nothing to do with him. I’m not here because I expect anything. It’s because I want it. Need it. Can’t fucking live without it.”
Cards on the table, no holding back.
She isn’t playing me with the threatening waterworks. Realizing it was me behind the mask must’ve awoken a clusterfuck of emotions no one in their right mind can grasp. The weight lifted off her shoulders from clearing her father’s debt only adds to the mix.
Her dad’s bruises will subside and there’s no reason to fear another visit from me. But where I could play dumb, pretend I have no idea what’s running through her mind, there’s no point in that either.
She fell for the man behind the mask long before she saw me behind it. Our kiss, the exploration of our bodies, made it damn clear that she wants this. Me.
It doesn’t have to change because of what happened earlier.
“Rickon . . .” Her head snaps back in my direction, tears welling in her eyelids. The same way I met her. “Don’t know if?—”
“You have all I can offer,” I cut her short before she says something we can’t come back form, and level my gaze with hers. Never blinking, watching for any sign of a shift. “My turn to ask you something.”
She nods.
“Why are you still here, if you’ve already made your mind up about me?”
“Because,” her voice is brittle, like twigs snapping underfoot. “I haven’t. How am I supposed to make sense of this? I hated you a couple of hours ago, now . . .”
You can’t stop thinking about me.
“Rickon, I need time to think about this. I can’t make any decisions right now.” She scooches out of the booth with the statement. Her body movement punctuating the moment.
I don’t let her get far, grabbing her loosely by the wrist and easing her back toward me. This time, she doesn’t fight it. Nor plays at delivering another echoing slap. Taylor merely faces me, eyes wide with anticipation, or maybe expectation. Giving in to the base desires her flooding emotions muddied.
“Hopefully this will make your thinking easier,” I say, my hands snapping to the small of her back to pull her into me. I kiss her with the same passion and fire as our first.
Her hands slink over my shoulders and hug loosely around my neck, mouth and body making decisions she’s too afraid to admit aloud. It calls out for more, the same way mine calls out for her. Eager, desperate, insatiable want.
Time to think . . . yeah, right.
When our kiss concludes, it isn’t abrupt or out of rage and disgust. Taylor’s smiling as she pulls away, face dry and fear gone.
