Page 46 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
In a shaking voice, I tell him the truth. “I was the only person who ever told him no, and he punished me for it.”
His hand covers mine. If I’m not imagining it, his tone is hopeful. “You weren’t in love with him?”
I want to laugh. Or maybe vomit. “Love? There are things much stronger than love, Connor.”
His eyes glow with emotion. “I thought nothing was stronger than love.”
Unthinking, I blurt, “Fear. Hate. Self-loathing. The way your own mind can betray you if it’s left alone in the dark for too long.”
Connor takes my face in his hands and gazes down at me, his brows pulled together, a look of something like fury darkening his face. “What the hell did he do to you?”
Flooded with shame, I close my eyes. I whisper, “He held up a mirror to my soul and showed me what it looked like.”
After a while, Connor says, “Open your eyes.”
I obey him and stand there helplessly shaking, feeling as if my heart is exposed, dangling out of my chest.
“Let’s put aside the question of Søren for the moment. I want to make a new deal.”
I can’t speak. I can hardly even breathe. I wait, my nerves standing on end like a million screaming exclamation points.
“Let’s extend the one night to one week.”
My breath leaves my chest in an expulsive rush. He makes it sound so rational. So businesslike. So simple, when it’s anything but.
“You said you didn’t mix business with pleasure. Ever.” I take no joy in turning his words back at him, but it has to be said.
“I did say that,” he admits, nodding. “Because I never have before. But in this case, I’m willing to bend my rules.”
His thumbs gently stroke over my burning cheeks. Why does he have to do that, be so distractingly tender when I’m trying to concentrate on all the reasons why what he’s asking for is insane?
“It’s a terrible idea,” I say. “It will be too much of a distraction.”
“I’m aware.”
He’s aware but obviously doesn’t care. His face is getting closer to mine. I’m beginning to feel a little desperate.
“I’m not sure I like you.”
His lips curve. Faint amusement is reflected in his eyes. “I’m not sure I trust you.”
Touché.
I put my hand flat on his chest and push. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it,” he repeats slowly.
“Connor. We’re in a women’s bathroom—”
“You’d prefer the men’s?”
“I’m exhausted, hungry, and wrestling with some very dark personal demons. All while standing ten feet away from a row of toilets. It’s hardly conducive to romance.”
“Is it romance you want?” he asks softly, reaching for my hand. “Or is it this?”
He presses my hand to his crotch. Beneath my fingers, he’s rock-hard.
My patience snaps.
