Guilty Needs

by Shiloh Walker

  “Interesting read.” He finally spoke but he sounded nothing like himself. Too harsh. Too cold. Too brittle. “The last entry is a real eye-opener.”

  Bree tore her gaze from his face and opened the journal. Her fingers felt thick, awkward as she turned the pages, seeking out that last entry. It was dated the day before Alyssa had died.

  The pit of her belly dropped as she read the first few lines.

  I got Colby to leave for a little while. Bree’s on her way over and I need some privacy for this. Can’t exactly have him lurking around while I ask this, right? I don’t think he’d understand me telling her that I want her to hook up with him.

  “Colby…”

  He stood up, stalked around the desk. Instinctively, she backed away, her hand falling to her side, the journal hanging from her fingers.

  “So I guess me coming back made it a little easier for you to keep that promise.”

  Bree took a breath and said, “Colby, listen.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing really to listen to, is there? It’s the truth, right? At first, I had to hear you admit it, but I can tell just by looking at you. So what have I been? Was it all for Alyssa? Did you ever feel a damn thing for me? Did I even rate a pity fuck or was it all for her?”

  Colby stood close now, too close. The heat of his fury all but scalded her, yet she was still cold—cold to the core.

  “She’s dead, you know. She wouldn’t have known if you kept the promise or not. I’ve gotta admire the loyalty, Bree, but don’t you think you’re taking friendship a little too far?”

  Words—damn it, they were lodged in her throat. She could explain this. Hell, she understood why he was so pissed. She would be too. But he had it wrong—damn it, did he have it wrong. She swallowed the knot, tried to speak, even though her vocal cords felt frozen. “Loyalty doesn’t have anything to do with this, Colby.”

  “Doesn’t it? Your best friend is worried about her husband, pathetic shy bastard that he is, and she doesn’t want him to be alone. So she just decides you’d make a good match, a nice little sacrificial lamb.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she snapped, “I’m not a lamb, pal. Sacrificial or otherwise. And you’re not pathetic. You need to just chill out and listen to me—”

  He reached out and hauled her against him, muffling her startled yelp with a hard, cruel kiss. Against her mouth, he rasped, “No, I just need to go ahead and just take whatever in the fuck you’re giving me.”

  His hand fisted in her long skirt, jerked it up until he could palm the naked flesh of her ass. His thigh forced its way between hers and despite herself, despite her growing outrage, her body reacted. Heat boiled through her as he rubbed his jeans-clad leg against the mound of her sex.

  If he hadn’t said anything—but he did. And probably it was a good thing. His voice was a hard slap, jerking her back to reality, even as he reached between her thighs and cupped her, pushing two fingers into her wet pussy. “You really do commit yourself, don’t you? You don’t just hook up with me, you get wet when I touch you. You come and scream and beg for more. Way to get into it, sugar.”

  Recoiling, she tried to pull away from him. He spun them around, trapping her up against his desk. The wood felt cold under her bottom as he lifted her up onto it and stepped between her thighs. Bree shoved her hands against his chest. “Let me go, Colby.”

  “Why? Isn’t this what you’re supposed to be doing? Making me feel better? Comforting me? Taking care of me? Whatever in the fuck it was you agreed to?” he snarled, lifting his head just enough to glare down at her.

  But when he would have crushed his mouth back to hers, she averted her head. He fisted a hand in the short strands of her hair, forced her mouth back to his. The taste of him, the feel of his body moving against hers—it was almost enough to drown out the voice screeching in the back of her head. Almost. He reached between them, the backs of his fingers brushing against her pussy as he unbuttoned his jeans and dragged the zipper down.

  The rasping sound of it was unbelievably harsh—too harsh, too loud. Time slowed to a crawl, each second dragging out and lasting what seemed like forever. The temperature in the room dropped and even with the furnace-like heat his body threw off, Bree was freezing. Something whispered in her ear.

  A voice. But it was indistinct, muffled—more like listening to somebody speaking in another room. It was surreal, surreal enough to drag her more completely back to herself and she jerked away as Colby shifted, pushing her thighs wider.

  No.

  She swallowed, reached up, unsure whether she was going to shove him away and pull him close. But he already owned so much of her. He had her heart, though she knew she couldn’t ever tell him, not after this. He had her soul. But he’d never believe her.

  She’d be damned if she let him claim her self-respect too.

  Reaching deep, she found the strength of will to push against his chest as he pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her body. He slid inside—just the first few inches—and as she locked her arms and shoved, he went still. His eyes glittered at her from under his lashes and somehow, behind the fury, she saw the pain. But she couldn’t give in. If this happened—fuck, she was already destroyed—but if this happened, it was going to destroy him. She could forgive him. He’d never hurt her physically and she loved him enough to let him take whatever he needed from her and she’d give it freely.

  But when his fury cooled, even if he still thought she was just acting out Alyssa’s wishes, he’d look back at what had happened and he’d never forgive himself.

  “Don’t do this, Colby.”

  He reached up, caught one hand, dragged her wrist behind her back and stepped closer, forcing another inch of his rigid penis inside her vagina. Bree lowered her head and closed her eyes as he caught the other wrist. Before he could, she drew her hand down, stiffened it and struck, driving into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. He stumbled back, his face going red as he choked for air. Bree slid off the desk, keeping a wide berth as she circled him.

  “Goodbye, Colby.”

  On legs that shook, she walked away from him. With hands that shook, she just barely managed to open the door to the house, the car. Climbing inside, she sat there, trembling all over. Tears burned her eyes, blinded her. Harsh sobs escaped her and the rush of blood pounding in her ears left her deaf to anything and everything else.

  What had just happened?

  What had just happened?

  Maybe it was the temporary lack of oxygen flowing to his brain, he didn’t know. But he sat there on the floor, confused and sick inside. He rubbed his throat, swallowed against the pain there and sat on the floor with his back to his desk, mired in a pit of self-disgust.

  What the hell had he almost done?

  How could he have done that? Thought it? Anger, hurt, betrayal, none of it mattered, none of it was any excuse. Regardless of what had set him off, he’d just tried to force himself on Bree—a woman he’d fallen in love with.

  He’d come this close to raping her—this close to crossing a line he hadn’t thought he was capable of crossing. That he wouldn’t have hurt her didn’t matter because she’d told him to stop.

  He hadn’t been able to make himself do it. For a few minutes, he’d been incapable of it.

  Even in the still-sane part of his brain, where he had watched what he was doing in disgust, completely appalled, he hadn’t been able to find the strength to stop what he was doing.

  She had done it.

  He heard the deep rumble of the engine as she started the truck just outside his window. Clarity struck and he managed, just barely, to shove himself to his feet, out into the hall. His legs were stiff, not wanting to work for him. He knew she wouldn’t want to see him, knew she wouldn’t want to talk him. But he couldn’t just let her drive off. He needed to tell her he was sorry—fuck, what a lousy word. Needed to make sure she was okay.

  But before he even managed to get to the door, she had pulled off.

  He w
atched through the glass pane as she drove away. What little strength he had drained out of him and he sank to the floor.

  What the hell had he done?

  Chapter Nine

  She wouldn’t return his phone calls.

  She wouldn’t talk to him.

  She wouldn’t answer the door the one time he made himself go over there.

  Colby couldn’t blame her, but even knowing she didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t let himself take the coward’s way out. He needed to face her and apologize—regardless of why she had been with him, he had no excuse, no reason for what he’d almost done.

  The weight of the guilt returned in full force, but this time it had nothing to do with dreaming about a woman while his wife lay dead under six feet of earth. It had to do with the fact that he’d attacked the woman he loved and almost done something that would have scarred them both. Hell, he was scarred from it.

  Never in his life had he ever lost control like that—never felt the threads of his temper unravel and drive him to do something unthinkable. Whatever mental punishment he could heap on himself, he deserved it.

  That and so much worse.

  But Bree… She didn’t deserve what he’d almost done and he couldn’t get her to look at him long enough for him to make some sort of apology. He’d even tried tracking her down at work but it was as though the guys who made up her crew had some kind of radar because they drew around her and the only way he was going to get to her to apologize would be if he fought his way through.

  He was even tempted to do it. A couple of her crew were big-ass bastards who could probably lay him flat on the concrete, and getting his ass kicked was the least he deserved. But what he needed to say to her needed to be done in private. He just wished he could catch her alone for five minutes so he could crawl to her and tell her how fucking sorry he was.

  “You have no idea how damn sorry you should be.”

  Colby closed his eyes. After four nights of sleeplessness, four days of hell on earth as he worried about Bree and relived every last moment of that night, the last thing he needed was a self-induced hallucination.

  “I’m not a hallucination, you bastard. Look at me.”

  He opened his eyes and stared at his wife’s face. She was livid. She was also a lot more transparent than normal. “It’s because I’m livid, sugar. It takes concentration to make myself be seen and I’m so damn pissed off at you, it’s taken this long just be able to focus enough to tell you how fucking pissed off I am.”

  “I don’t need this,” he rasped, shoving out of the chair in his office and lurching past her.

  She had no intention of letting him escape so quickly, though.

  “No, you either need to get your head examined or your eyes checked. Colby, are you blind? Do you really think Bree did a damn thing she didn’t want?”

  She appeared before him, just flat, outright appeared—no walking past him, circling around—just blink and there she was, hovering in front of him and looking a lot less substantial than she had before. Her eyes narrowed and she snapped, “Would you stop thinking like a fricking writer and just pay attention to me? Yeah, I’m less substantial because I’m not supposed to be here anymore. All I wanted, the only thing that kept me here, was needing to see you happy. Happy with her because you’re the only damn person who will make her happy. I thought I’d done it, thought I was done here but then you had to go read that damn journal.”

  Glaring at her, he snapped, “That damn journal is the whole fucking problem. No, fuck that, that isn’t the problem. The problem is that you couldn’t just let things be. You had to go after Bree and ask her for something you had no right to ask.”

  “I asked her to go after the one person she’s always wanted,” Alyssa said, her voice thin, reedy, getting ever more distant. “You!”

  Gruffly, he told her, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about my best friend, and trust me, I damn well know what I’m talking about.” Her voice wavered, thinned out, disappeared altogether and for a second, so did she, her misty form winking out.

  A cold breeze shuddered through the room, followed by something that sounded like a sigh. Alyssa shimmered back into view, a pained look on her face. “I’m running out of time, Colby. If I don’t cross over soon, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I’ll end up trapped and I don’t want that. Will you shut up and listen to me?” Her head cocked, long curls spiraling over her shoulders. “You didn’t read the last entry, did you?”

  His mouth twisted. “That’s the whole fucking problem, Lys. I did read it.”

  She cocked a brow and said, “Apparently not, not if you think Bree was with you for any reason other than the fact that she wanted to be.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Take another look, Colby. And stop being so blind.”

  Then she was gone.

  And somehow, deep inside, he knew this time, it was for good.

  “Goodbye, Lys,” he whispered. Exhausted, depressed, he started toward his room.

  But then he stopped and looked back at his office. The journal was still sitting on his desk, exactly where he had placed it the night Bree had walked away from him.

  A muscle jerked in his jaw as he took it. Something vile and ugly pumped inside him but he made himself open it, made himself flip through to the last entry. Made himself face how damn foolish he’d been.

  Take another look, Colby.

  Alyssa’s words echoed in his ears and he turned the next page, but it was blank. As was the next and the next…and the next. Disgusted, he started to flip back. Then, for some reason, instead of flipping back, he flipped forward, toward the end of the book.

  And there it was. On the third to last page.

  She told me. I could tell she didn’t want to, but I guess Bree just couldn’t lie to me. Part of me always knew that she loved him, but I never let myself think about it. How could I? My best friend in love with my husband. She acts so guilty, keeps apologizing like she’s done something wrong, like she thought I suspected her of putting the moves on him.

  I don’t know. Maybe I’d feel the same. It can’t be easy falling for the guy who marries your best friend. She kept telling me she couldn’t do it, that Colby didn’t want her like that. Not now, he doesn’t, but I think he will. Maybe I should have just kept out of it, let whatever will happen just happen. I just hate to think about Colby being alone and I hate to think about her loving him like she always has but never doing anything about it.

  She’ll do what she can to help him but I don’t know if she’ll do what I asked her to. She just kept telling me ‘no’. Man, I hope I didn’t screw this up. I just want them to be happy.

  That was it. Dated the day she died. Each word was successively fainter than the previous and by the time he read the last word, the print was so light and shaky, he had to squint just to make it out.

  Carefully, he closed the journal. Just as carefully, he laid it aside and then he braced his hands on the desk, shoulders bowed forward. His head slumped and he stared downward but he wasn’t seeing the journal, wasn’t seeing the desk, wasn’t seeing anything but Bree’s face.

  One memory after another flashed through his mind.

  It was like a movie reel. The day of the funeral. The day Alyssa had sent him out for lime sherbet she could barely eat. The look on Bree’s face when she crashed into him just outside the bedroom. How she looked when she saw him after he finally came back home. The careful, guarded way she held herself around him, as though she was hiding something.

  Was she?

  Shit.

  Had Alyssa been right?

  Is that what Bree kept hidden from him?

  There was only one way to find out, but considering she didn’t want to speak to him, didn’t want to see him, probably wanted nothing to do with him, getting that answer wasn’t going to be easy.

  He didn’t bother calling.

  Didn’t bother knocking.

 
In fact, he didn’t even drive his car over to her house. He called a cab and paid the ridiculous fare just so he could use his key and let himself into her house while she was still working. If she saw his car, he wouldn’t be surprised if she just drove right on past. So he just headed that possibility off.

  This way, at least if she still didn’t want to talk to him, she’d have to deal with him long enough to get him out of her house. Give him long enough to apologize…and hopefully get an answer to his question.

  He settled in her library, sitting in an overstuffed armchair that smelled of flowers and Bree, with a full view of the driveway. He’d see when she drove up and hopefully, he’d have the time to prepare some sort of apology, some way to ask her what he needed to know.

  Time was one thing he ended up having plenty of. He waited in her house for four hours. The hour hand on the clock kept ticking away and by the time she finally turned into the driveway, it was after eight. Belatedly, he remembered that she’d been contracted to the landscaping on the upscale subdivision up on the hill and the job had started this week.

  The house was so quiet that he heard the garage door open, shoved out of the chair and moved to stand in the door to wait for her. With his hands jammed deep into his pockets, he rested his shoulder against the doorjamb. And waited.

  When she came through the door, Colby’s heart leapt into his throat, lodged there for a brief moment and then sank down somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. Knees that went just a little bit weak at the sight of her.

  She looked exhausted, hauntingly fragile, with circles under her eyes that were so dark, they looked like bruises. Bree didn’t notice him at first as she nudged the door shut behind her and dropped her keys and cell phone onto the counter just inside the door. She crossed the gleaming wooden floor, shambling to a halt in front of the refrigerator. Listless, she opened the door and just stood there, staring inside with absolutely no interest.

  “I don’t know about you but I haven’t had much of an appetite all week,” he said quietly.