by Tessa Bailey
“Good?” He dropped his head into both hands. “I’ve got nothing good left. I just need to know how Abby is, please.”
“What gives you the right to know?” Honey asked, still shooting daggers at him from across the table. “Whatever you did must have been pretty awful, Russell. She won’t even talk to us about it.”
He felt hollow. So goddamn hollow. “She didn’t tell you why she was upset?” A huge part of him wished she had. When a man hurt her, she should tell someone. Oh God, that man had been him.
You bruise up a lot of girls, Hart?
Roxy traded a glance with her roommate. “She wasn’t upset until she read your note and found out you’d split. Actually, she was singing the National Anthem in the shower. And I love the girl to death, but if she tried to carry a tune in a bucket, the bucket would sprout ears. Just so it could cover them.”
Honey clucked her tongue at Roxy. “We thought you finally came clean about how you feel—”
“Wait. Abby wasn’t upset before that?” Russell gave his head a hard shake. “The lawyer said she was . . . said she . . .”
Louis spoke up for the first time. “Mitchell? He left the night before.”
“No, he didn’t.” A pit was yawning wide in Russell’s stomach. “He was there on the road when I came up from the beach. He offered me money to leave . . . said it was best for Abby.” An ache splintered his concentration. “He said the money was from Abby.”
“Er. What now?” Roxy stared at him. “Have you not been wearing your hardhat in hazardous areas?”
“That sounds nothing like Abby, man,” Ben said. “Are you sure?”
“The guy knew about Hart Brothers Construction. And the business-loan meeting with the bank. I only told Abby about the meeting.” The protests sounded futile to Russell’s ears, but he felt obligated to push on. If he didn’t, it would mean he’d been wrong. Horrifically wrong. “I didn’t blame her for it. I didn’t even . . .” It had been the last thing on his mind, compared to hurting her. Anything she’d done to get away from him had seemed entirely justified, so he hadn’t examined it too closely. Even if she had offered him money via the lawyer, he’d assumed she’d done it out of whatever remaining generosity she had left toward him. Never out of spite. Not his Abby. But . . . what if she’d never done it at all?
Louis cleared his throat. “I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult to get basic information about you. Not for someone who has connections in the financial world. And if he’s the corporate counsel for a hedge fund that size . . .” Louis shrugged. “That’s where he lives.”
Russell’s brain was struggling to play catch-up. Through the haze he’d been living in the last five days, holes started to form, letting in blinding light. Mitchell had known his last name. At the time, he’d barely been capable of registering it as odd, but now it told him how the lawyer’s night had been spent. Protecting his asset, namely Abby, by getting rid of the man who could drag her down. Or drag her away from the world she lived in. The company that kept him driving the most current Mercedes. Yeah, that fucker had taken Russell’s number by the pool, and again in the kitchen. One of these things is not like the other. . .
Had Mitchell taken it upon himself to separate them? If he had done so, was it justified? If Russell had really hurt Abby, then yes, it had been. But he didn’t know because he’d left without even talking to her. Finding out how she felt.
“Why didn’t you tell us about the bank meeting?” Ben asked, gaze narrowed on Russell. “Why keep it to yourself?”
“I’ve had five fucking bank meetings, Ben.” The frustration burst out of Russell. Why were they asking him questions when his head was splitting in half? “You’ve known me for a while. Does listing my failures sound in character for me?” He pressed a hand to his right eye, hoping to prevent his skull from cracking. “I was trying for her. I’ve been trying for so long.”
“For Abby,” Louis said slowly, understanding clearing the confusion on his face. “While you were trying so hard, you pushed her away, man. She would have loved you all the more for it.”
Honey leaned forward on Ben’s lap. “What are you talking about?”
“I friend-zoned Abby,” Russell said, tight-lipped.
Roxy gave a decisive headshake. “You can’t friend-zone the friend zoner.”
“I’m in love with you.” Louis laid his head on Roxy’s shoulder. “Have I told you that in the last hour?”
Ben and Russell traded a Jesus Christ glance.
“Roxy is right, but it doesn’t explain what’s wrong with Abby.” Honey pinned Russell with a look. “Unless there was illegal contact in the friend zone.”
Russell banged his forehead against the table—and with that damning reaction—chaos erupted around him. “Did you know about this?” Roxy asked Louis, jerking her shoulder away, while Honey turned an accusing look on Ben at the exact same time.
Ben removed his glasses. “Fix it, Russell. Fix it now.”
“She didn’t even tell us.” Honey traded a worried look with Roxy. “You two are always stuck together. There was nothing weird about that . . . but we should have tried harder to get it out of her.”
Russell lifted his head to find Roxy glaring at him. “Do you know why she didn’t tell us, Russell? Her best friends?”
“Why?” he croaked.
“She was probably ashamed.” Roxy’s words were a hot poker impaling his middle. They were enough on their own to drop him, but she wasn’t finished. And he wanted to sit there and take it. Deserved every painful word. “And she wasn’t ashamed because of whatever complex you have about . . . money or your company. Work that shit out, by the way. I certainly did.” Roxy stabbed at the table with her finger. “She was ashamed because you cheapened something that could have been really beautiful. You made her a friend with benefits. Abby.”
Russell forced himself to swallow the anguish trying to capsize him because that final bullet would have done it. If he let himself perish from a wound now, he had no chance of seeing her again. And his sanity relied on that.
“Abby could care less about money, Russell,” Honey pointed out.
“That’s easy to say when you have it.” Russell ignored Ben’s and Louis’s frantic slashing motions in front of their necks. “And it’s different for a man—”
Roxy and Honey threw up their hands, tossing curses on the ceiling. “He didn’t,” Honey groaned. “He didn’t just say that.”
“Your grave is so fucking deep, man, you can see China,” Louis muttered, shaking his head. “Stop digging. You’re dragging us in with you.”
Russell sat up straight and laid his hands flat on the table. “I need to see her. I—might be able to fix this now.” He swallowed with difficulty. “At the very least, I need to make sure she doesn’t feel . . .” He couldn’t say the rest.
“Ashamed,” Honey supplied. “Used. Cast aside.”
“Please.” He felt gutted. “I only ever wanted her to be happy.”
Roxy and Honey deflated a little. “She’s her happiest with you, Russell. That’s always been the case. Even we can’t compete,” Roxy said, unhooking the apartment key from her key ring and sliding it across the table. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Russell’s chair was still wobbling when he vanished through the exit.
ABBY PULLED THE white sundress over her head as steam filled the bathroom. For once, the silence in the apartment was welcome. It matched the peace and quiet finally permeating her head after weeks of whizzing numbers and fear of failure. The corkscrew twisting into her temples from either side was gone . . . and she’d been the one to untwist it. She felt . . . proud of herself. Like right at that moment, she could fight a war and emerge victorious.
If her new, extra headspace allowed her other troubles to loom larger, that would change. Wouldn’t it? Russell’s abandonment and five-day silence had been sharing brain capacity with finding a way free of the company, all while maintaining the status quo at the office so
as not to alert anyone of upcoming changes. Now the stark reminders of his absence rushed in to claim all the free real estate in her consciousness.
Determined to ride the high of what she’d accomplished that morning, Abby lifted her chin and went to work unclasping her bra, letting it fall at her feet. The heat from the shower steam attempting to ease the soreness in her neck and back, wrought from weeks over the computer. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, breathing deeply—
Abby’s spine snapped straight when she heard a creak outside the bathroom door. The steam went from comforting to a sight deterrent in a split second, her heart hammering as she whipped her attention toward the partially open door. Had she locked the front door? Dammit. She couldn’t remember. And her roommates weren’t due home until much later. Not to mention, they would call out to inform her of their presence, to save her the heart attack.
She started to reach for a towel. “Hello?”
Had the door moved?
“Abby. Can we talk?”
Her breath hitched, several emotions flooding her at once. Surprise. Awareness. Russell was right outside the bathroom, where she stood naked. She hated that a handful of gruff words from his mouth made her nipples tighten. What was he doing here? Frustration surged . . . and it surged hard. The anger at Russell she’d only just begun to process joined forces with the sexual energy his presence created. Whatever the reason, he was here? She didn’t want to know. Just like she’d done this morning, she wanted to control this. To win the war. He couldn’t come here and set her back like this. She wouldn’t let him.
I’m sorry.
Abby saw the note he’d left in her mind’s eye. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted him to know how being left behind hurt. So she’d show him.
A frisson of alarm uncoiled in her belly when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. There was determination, sadness, lust. She could push open the door and walk into Russell’s arms, as her instincts dictated. Might have followed through, too, if he hadn’t hurt her so badly. But no. She refused to open herself up that way again.
With a deep breath, Abby pulled open the door, feeling the steam curl around her as Russell came into view. He fell back a step, the key in his hand dropping to the floor. “Oh God, angel.” His gaze moved down her body, growing hungrier with every inch of flesh he covered. “Please. Go back in the bathroom. I-I’ll wait until you’re done.”
His reaction made her a seductress for the first time in her life . . . and that power was an immediate addiction. It blew out the twin flames of dread and doubt, replacing them with a roaring blaze of want. Want she could assuage on her own terms. “Come with me,” she murmured, the invitation twining with the steam. “Otherwise, you’ll be waiting a while.” Thrilled by her own boldness, Abby trailed a hand down her belly. “I’m going to be very thorough.”
Russell’s entire body visibly trembled. “You have every right to punish me, but I’m too weak right now to handle this.” His tone reminded her of torn-up concrete. “Five days is a long fucking time without you. I needed to see how you are . . . if you’re still tired. Still working too much. I came here to hear your voice.”
God, she loved this man. Odd that her heart would pick this moment of asserting her independence to remind her. Odd and unacceptable. There it was, though. This bone-deep knowledge that if she could be this furious with him while still aching to hold him close and soothe his sadness . . . it was real, bone-deep love. The kind that would never go away unless she did something about it. Her heart told her to step back and examine the situation from all angles before trying to exorcise Russell’s hold on her, but the newfound stubbornness that had served her so well of late smothered the inclination.
Abby tossed her hair and sailed toward Russell, who backed away with an expression that said he knew resistance was futile. When she slid a hand into the front waistband of his jeans and walked them backwards, toward the bathroom, he came as if in a trance. “We need to talk, Abby.”
They entered the bathroom, both of them immediately enveloped in steam. She used her free hand to close the door, then pushed Russell’s big frame up against it. “Let’s get the fun part out of the way first.” She slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt and scratched his abs with her fingernails before dragging them lower, lower, and unfastening his belt. His erection was prominent beneath her hands, and she reveled in knowing the attraction ran deep, even if it was where their relationship ended. “Five days is a long time.” She inwardly cursed at the quaver in her voice. “How are you going to make up for it?”
“Any way you want. As soon as you let me explain everything.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She went up on her toes and got in his face. “No—”
Russell seized her wrists and pulled them behind her back, wrenching a gasp free from her mouth. The fight went out of her instantly. She sagged against him, as if her bones had liquefied, her body held up between his grip and muscular body. It shocked even her how swiftly every nuance of her being responded to the show of authority. Blood whizzed through her veins, rejoicing, anticipating an outlet for pent-up energy and tension she hadn’t been aware of holding hostage.
Russell’s breath was labored, gaze unfocused. “I’m trying to control this thing, angel. You have to help me.” Tortured eyes fell to her parted mouth. “Show me where I hurt you, so I’ll stop.”
Her fingers twitched behind her back with the need to indicate the center of her chest. “What do you mean?”
“The bruises.” He released Abby’s hands, stacking his own atop his head, falling back against the door. “Show me how bad I am for you, as if I didn’t already know. As if I don’t think about it every hour of the day.”
“Bruises,” she whispered, a dull pain forming in her side. “How . . . who told you—” Her mouth snapped shut at the memory of Mitchell’s shrewd, seemingly innocuous glance at her wrists the morning after they’d spent the night at the beach.
“The lawyer said you were upset. He asked me if I bruise up girls. I’ve been sick for days, Abby. So fucking sick.”
Her knees almost buckled under the weight of relief. It all made sense now. Why he’d left without saying good-bye. Why he’d stayed away. Her big protector thought he’d hurt her. He’d been put through five days of torture for no reason. They both had.
“Russell.” She smoothed her hands up the sides of his face. “You didn’t hurt me. Or, when you did, it changed into something that felt good.” Steam drifted between them, obscuring his face, so she moved closer. “I was coming back down to the beach so we could do it all again.”
His long exhale of breath shifted the steam. “Is that true? You weren’t upset?” He dropped his hands to his sides, and she could feel the effort he put into not reaching for her. “I was so rough for your first time . . . there are nail marks all over my back. I don’t even remember your leaving them.”
It turned her on hearing that. Made her feel possessive in a new, momentous way. “We left marks on each other, then.” She swiped her rapidly dampening hair back from her face. “Is it wrong that I like that?”
“I don’t know,” he grated. “But I’m making a promise to you, Abby. If you give me a chance, we’ll find out together. Find out everything about these things I feel and make sure they aren’t bad for you.”
“For us. Bad for us.” She licked the condensation from her lips. “And I feel them, too, in a different way. In . . . reverse.” Her voice sounded fainter in the drumming of her pulse. It was coming. They were going to be together again, and she could barely breathe around the eagerness. Praying he wouldn’t protest or insist they talk more, Abby went up on her toes and lifted Russell’s shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. Oh boy. Had he gotten bigger, more cut? The heat inside the bathroom had caused him to perspire, making his rising and falling chest glow with masculine sweat. “Will you take a shower with me?”
His Adam’s apple rose and dropped. “There
’s more to talk about.”
No. She wasn’t having that. Anticipation pumped too brightly, consuming her from the middle and radiating out. Keeping her gaze locked with Russell’s fevered one, she unzipped his jeans and shoved them down, leaving him in a pair of white boxer briefs. She couldn’t help perusing the body she’d revealed. The sweat dripping down his stomach, absorbing into the hem of his underwear, made her tongue jealous. “I have this fantasy where you . . .”
“What?” he prompted in a harsh voice.
“You wash me in the shower.”
Chapter 18
UNTIL NOW, HE’D been attempting to keep his attention glued above Abby’s neck, but with the uttering of those words, Russell broke. He groaned and swayed toward her, preying on her breasts with eyes starved for the sight of her flesh. She’d known—known – he’d have the corresponding desire. It was there in her knowing expression, the way she lowered her chin and regarded him through long eyelashes. Yeah, she’d known the act of caring for her would be the ultimate temptation. Caring for his Abby. Doing for her.
His cock stretched longer inside the damp boxer briefs, feeling strangled. He bent down and ripped a condom from his pants pocket, impatience spurring him toward Abby and fuck, somehow the way she backed away with that . . . obedient expression made him feel like a king. Her king. And her king was feeling thick below the waist and ready to blow.
“The way you’re looking at me is a fucking hazard, Abby.”
“Should I stop?”
Christ, with every word, every movement¸ she handed him more and more control. After a week of solitary confinement, he was sprinting past the prison walls. Not going back. I can’t go back. “I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
Her back hit the glass shower door, shaking it. “Okay.”
She turned and started to climb into the running shower, but a vision of her slipping had Russell lunging forward to help. After that, touching her dewy, bare skin, he was totally fucked. With Abby’s back to his front, he walked them under the spray, groaning louder with each step. Couldn’t help it with the way her ass cheeks lifted and fell against his dick. “Getting ready to touch yourself, were you?” He tugged her head to the side and nipped hard at her ear. “Were you going to stroke where my fingers stroked? Push your fingers into that tight little space where my cock goes?” Her nod was jerky. “Turn around and see what you’re getting instead.”
