by Sloane West
The memories flared in her mind, and the pain was almost unbearable. She’d been working at the Dairy Dip, and midway through her shift, the freezer had died a shuddering death. With no way to keep all that frosty goodness from melting, the manager had sent Amy home with a tub of cookie dough—Wayne’s favorite. Amy had grinned all the way to the clinic. What could be better than an unexpected evening off, gallons of ice cream, and Wayne all to herself? Back then, it had been the trifecta. The holy grail of good days.
Or so she’d thought.
The sense of betrayal returned with crystalline sharpness as she recalled the moment her full-of-hope life had imploded.
When Amy had gotten out of her car that evening, she’d glanced through the living room window out of habit. Inside, Wayne had been talking to her best friend, Jen. Amy had grinned, thinking that Jen’s sweet tooth must have psychically alerted her to the possibility of free ice cream. But then Wayne had taken off Jen’s shirt, and Amy’s happy thoughts had crumbled like a brick under a sledgehammer.
She’d watched with tear-filled eyes as Wayne murmured something to Jen. In response, Jen had wrapped her arms around him, clad in nothing but her bra and panties. Devastated, Amy had dropped the ice cream, the sound of the heavy tub hitting the driveway startlingly loud. She could still see the melted cookie dough glopping onto the white rocks in her mind’s eye. With a pounding, broken heart, she’d stumbled back into her car and sped away, her tires slinging gravel as she went.
She hadn’t spoken a single word to either Jen or Wayne until today.
Now, here she was, driving the same car, standing in the same driveway, looking at the man who’d ruined everything.
And that same man was now offering her money in exchange for sex.
Sex she knew from experience would be so, so good.
Part of her wanted to take him up on the offer. Really wanted to. She wanted to remind him of exactly what he’d given up six years ago. What he’d thrown away. And, if she was brutally honest, she wanted to remind herself, too. God, she missed him. Even after everything, she missed him. His touch. His scent. His voice in her ear as he moved inside her. As he moved her. Mostly, she missed how safe she’d felt when she was in his arms. Like nothing bad could touch her. Not the sharper knives of life. Not her sister’s slow suicide. Nothing. There was only Wayne and his love.
But it had been a lie.
He stared at her, his blue eyes burning with both frustration and regret. “You didn’t see what you think you saw, Amy,” he said. “If you’d let us explain—”
She held up her hand to stop him, his use of the word us a slap in the face. “Unless you can tell me I didn’t see you undressing my best friend, then there’s nothing to explain.” Her voice shook. “Can you?”
His jaw clenched. “No.”
Though she’d already known, his admission sank like a sour stone in her stomach. She turned to leave. “I didn’t think so.”
He beat her to the car and put his hand on the door, preventing her from opening it. “You still need the money, don’t you?”
She did, but she didn’t need it so much that she was willing to compromise her dignity. The idea of working a few extra shifts on top of the extra shifts she was already working was daunting, but she’d damn well do it. She’d do it because she had to. It was what she did. She survived. What she didn’t do was sleep with ex-fiancés and daydream about what might have been.
No matter how much a weak, wailing part of her wanted to.
“Let me go,” she said without looking at him. She couldn’t. He was too close. Too . . . Wayne.
“You need money,” he repeated. “I want to give it to you.”
She finally glared up at him. “I’m not a prostitute.”
He glared back. “I never said you were.”
“Same as.” She tried the door again, cursing when it didn’t budge.
His mouth twitched. “You were always so stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” she insisted. “You’re just an asshole.”
Though it was clear he was still angry, he grinned. “But I’m a handsome asshole.”
She remembered the first time she’d heard him called that. It had been the day they’d met. She’d been coming out of Dewitt’s Market with a bag of groceries. As she’d started across the parking lot, she’d noticed a very small, very angry elderly woman shaking her purse at a bewildered man who was doing his best not to grin.
“You’re nothing but a handsome asshole, Elmer Jones. My mother was right about you!” the old woman had declared before storming off. Well, hobbled off was more accurate, but the intent had been there.
Amy had looked at Wayne and demanded, “What did you do to her?”
“I have no idea.” He’d let out a puzzled laugh. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Still skeptical, Amy asked, “So . . . you’re not Elmer Jones?”
Wayne had looked at Amy for the first time. Their eyes had met, and it had been instant chemistry. His smile had turned into an up-to-no-good grin that she would one day grow to adore. “Name’s Wayne Colby,” he’d said, offering his hand. “Handsome asshole at your service.”
She’d laughed. “I guess if you’re going to be an asshole, you might as well do it handsomely.”
Their mutual amusement had led to a first date, which had led to a second, which had led to head-over-heels in love. It had been a whirlwind of laughter and kissing and, ultimately, an engagement. And whenever they would bicker over some silly something, she’d call him an asshole, and he’d remind her that he was a handsome one, and they’d end up in bed, tangled in sheets and endless love once again.
Only their love hadn’t been endless. And it turned out he was just a regular asshole after all.
“Not this time, Wayne,” she said stonily. “Now let me go.”
He didn’t.
“Easy money,” he said in a lower voice. “You and me. One hour. Last chance.”
The hint of challenge in his tone crawled under her skin and burned. Who did he think he was? She wasn’t the same naïve girl who’d fallen in love with him. She was grown. Wiser. Stronger. If he thought she’d melt under his touch like old times, he was sorely mistaken. What, exactly, did he expect would happen? That he’d kiss her senseless and she’d forgive him? That a roll in the hay would convince her he was a white knight in scrubs and not a two-timing heartbreaker? Well, two could play that game. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, but a rebellious part of her wanted him to know that she hadn’t been pining over him. That she was over him. That she’d moved on.
Even if it wasn’t true.
She’d give him his hour, take her money, and walk away, leaving him cold and alone and regretting the day he’d ever betrayed her.
It would be the closure she’d never gotten. The vengeance she’d never sought.
It would also destroy what little remained of her heart, but it would be worth it.
“Fine,” she said, pushing off the car and striding toward his clinic.
Behind her, he was silent, and she knew she’d caught him off guard. Good.
After a moment, he followed, swearing as he walked over the sharp gravel in his bare feet. “Where are you going?”
“To the clinic,” she answered. If they were going to do this, it wasn’t going to be in his house. In his bed. There were too many memories there.
“Why,” he demanded.
Opening the door, she marched inside. “This is business, remember? Makes sense to do it here.”
He sighed and followed her.
The waiting room was dim, but she could make out the shapes of chairs and side tables strewn with magazines. The air smelled of lemon-scented disinfectant with an underlying hint of dog. It was just as she remembered. Small, tidy, and outdated.
And so unbearably familiar.
She went into the hallway and paused, wondering whether to head toward the office or an exam room.
Behind her
, he began, “Would you wait—”
She turned left and chose an exam room, flipping on the light as she did. It illuminated a small but organized space, the fluorescent bulb glinting off a stainless-steel table in the center. Perfect. “I hope you have cash,” she said as she dropped her purse on the chair by the door.
He grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. He looked . . . hurt. Furious but hurt. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Stop this.”
Even furious, he was gorgeous. God, she wanted to reach up and rake her fingers through that disheveled blond hair. She also wanted to pull it out in a fit of rage, but that was her broken heart talking. This wasn’t about broken hearts. It was about money. And revenge. The reminder stiffened her spine. “I’m taking you up on your offer,” she said, unbuttoning the top of her smock. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
His gaze caught on her fingers as they worked, and he looked away, dragging his hand down his stubbled jaw. “Not like this. Lord, Amy. I didn’t think you’d . . .” He shook his head, letting the sentence drift.
“What?” she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. “That I’d go through with it? Well, I am. I need the money just like you said. Let’s get it over with.”
For a long, tense moment, she thought he’d leave, but then he pulled off his shirt, the muscles in his chest flexing.
“Fine,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans. “You want it, babe, you got it.”
4
At the sight of him nearly naked, a hundred thoughts assaulted her at once.
I want him.
I hate him.
I love him.
I’ll never forgive him.
God, I miss him.
But she didn’t say any of that. Trembling, she stepped out of her smock and toed off her work shoes. Then, in nothing but her bra and panties, she said, “How do you want me?”
And he did want her. Despite the hard lines of anger on his face, his eyes burned with desire, and the bulge in his briefs spoke volumes.
His nostrils flared in response to her question, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he spun her around hard enough to make her gasp. She was forced to grab the exam table, the metal clang echoing around the room. Raking hair aside, he leaned down and kissed her throat. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, either. It was a hot, licking, open-mouthed kiss, and it made her stiffen with shock and traitorous pleasure. “How do I want you?” he asked in a low, unsteady voice. “How don’t I want you?”
“No kissing,” she breathed, even as she arched against him, tilting her head to give him better access.
He ignored her, kissing his way up her jaw with an appreciative groan. “Don’t make it this way,” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Let me love you again.”
Her heart soared like a bird on a tether, and she wanted to do as he commanded. But then she remembered, and the leash snapped tight, jerking that bird back down to reality. “This isn’t about love,” she said, closing her eyes as he nipped her earlobe. “This is about money.”
His grip tightened in her hair, and he pushed her down, bending her over the exam table and making sure she felt every hard inch of him against her backside. “Dammit, Amy,” he growled. “I wanted to get you in my bed and kiss some sense into you. I didn’t want this.”
The need to hurt him still quivered inside her, but she ached with something sweeter and far more dangerous as she waited. Palms flat on the cold stainless steel, her breath steaming its shiny surface, she said, “We don’t always get what we want.”
He didn’t try again. Instead, he reached between them and jerked down her panties. His briefs came next, his knuckles grazing the backs of her thighs, making her gasp. And then he was inside her. She cried out, her hands squeaking across the exam table. He grunted, forcing her to let him entwine their fingers. His warm hand over hers was almost as perfect as being filled by him. Both felt so right. So missed. The circumstances were cold and tumultuous, but the act itself was beautiful. He began moving inside her, his breath hot and harsh in her ear, and she couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t breathe. There was only Wayne. In that moment, she wasn’t thinking about what he’d done. She was only thinking about what he was doing.
And how well he was doing it.
She loved it and hated it. Loved it because she was incapable of not loving Wayne. Hated it because it was both a reminder of what had been lost and of what could never be again. As he thrust, she curled her fingers into his so tightly her knuckles ached, and she let out short, hoarse gasps, her warm cheek pressing into the cool metal table.
“I missed you so much,” he breathed in her ear, finding and tugging down her bra with his free hand.
She whimpered at the unexpected touch, closing her eyes. “Wayne,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. It was one word. One name. But it held so much meaning. Meaning she didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. The more he kissed, licked, and touched her, the less she cared about why she’d agreed to this. The money—the revenge—didn’t seem nearly as important as him not stopping. Never stopping.
He seemed to take his name on her lips as encouragement, because his fingers found their way between her legs. It was too much. She came with a cry far too loud for the tiny room. Throbbing in all the right places, her bottom lip trembling, she savored every tender pulse, satisfied and boneless. Behind her, he grunted and came a moment later, his thighs straining. He then collapsed atop her, his heart pounding against her back. They were both spent. Both suspended in the afterglow. An afterglow she knew would shatter any moment. Soon, reality would return. So would the consequences of what they’d done. It had been reckless and stupid, and she felt more heartsick now than she had before. Tears melted in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she found herself suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.
He’d begun kissing her temple, her cheek, her throat, softly, gently, reverently, and it took him a moment to realize she was crying. He stilled. “Hell. Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, staring at the wall across from her. The words spilled out. Raw. Honest. Painful. “You hurt me. So bad, Wayne.”
“Oh, baby,” he said, seeming to know she wasn’t referring to the here and now. “I’m so damn sorry. Please let me explain.”
Her first instinct was to say no. To shove him away, grab her clothes, and storm off, revenge in hand. But she was made momentarily vulnerable by their lovemaking. Some young, helpless part of her wanted to know why he’d done it. Wanted to know if, against all odds, he was innocent. She was also terrified that once she heard what he had to say, she’d believe him.
And that she wouldn’t.
Because, right then, beneath all her bitterness and mistrust, she wanted there to be a plausible explanation. She wanted to be proved wrong. To know that the man she’d fallen in love with was who she’d first thought him to be. That he was good and decent and faithful.
That he loved her.
He turned her around and searched her eyes. “Will you hear me out?” he asked, looking so earnest that it broke her heart all over again.
She held his gaze for a long moment, a cyclone of arguments whirling inside her. She was in the eye of the storm, and if she wasn’t careful, it would tear her apart.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
5
Wayne closed his eyes as if overwhelmed with relief. When he finally spoke, his voice shook. “I did not sleep with Jen.”
Amy’s instinct was to balk, but she forced herself to wait. To listen. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
He seemed to realize that he had a small window of opportunity and rushed on. “Jen came over that night looking for you. She was a mess, Amy. Drunk and high and covered in blood.”
Amy frowned. Of all the excuses she’d imagined, that hadn’t been one of them. For the first time, doubt flickered to life inside her. “Blood?”
He hesitated, and she could tell that what he was about to say was difficult for him. “Sh
e’d been . . . raped.”
For a moment, Amy could only stare at him, her brain unable or unwilling to accept his words. But then the horror sank in. “What?”
“She’d gone to some bar in Fredericksburg. Followed this guy out to his car after he told her he had coke he’d share.”
Amy’s heart skipped a beat. “And he raped her?”
“Yeah,” Wayne confirmed grimly. “At least, until she stabbed him with a broken beer bottle and ran.”
“I . . .” Amy’s voice trailed off as shame billowed inside her. Had anyone ever jumped to the wrong conclusion faster and harder than she had? She knew what she’d seen that night had looked incriminating, but she should’ve given Wayne, and Jen, the benefit of the doubt. They were her fiancé and best friend, for God’s sake. Instead, Amy had assumed the worst and clung to that assumption like an alley cat with a scrap of meat. She’d stubbornly refused to consider another explanation, and she’d hurt not only herself but also Wayne and Jen because of it. “I . . . didn’t know.”
“She could barely stand up that night,” he went on. “She was trashed, but he’d roughed her up good, too. She kept asking for you.”
Tears welled in Amy’s eyes as she thought of what Jen must have gone through. “And I abandoned her.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Anyone would’ve thought the same as you. Hell, if I’d seen you with another man like that, I’d have killed the son of a bitch.”
Her thoughts swam. “It’s just . . . when I saw you through the window and you took off her shirt, I thought . . .” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Jen was so wild then. I didn’t think. I reacted.”
He pulled Amy to him, holding her as if afraid she’d get away again. “I only took off her shirt because it was bloody and puked on. I helped her to the bathroom and that’s all, Amy, I swear. As soon as she was in the shower, I called you.”
Amy could remember that phone call. And the one after that. And the one after that. She’d ignored them all. Too caught up in her own misery to consider that she might have been wrong. Jen had called her as well. Later that night and then every day for a solid two weeks. When the calls had gone unanswered, they’d dwindled until eventually stopping altogether. At the time, Amy hadn’t wanted to hear excuses from either of them. She’d been so convinced of what she’d seen, so sure she’d been betrayed, that she’d protected herself by cutting all ties.
