“I don’t want to talk,” he growled, surprised by the way his throat burned. Unable to sit still, he surged to his feet and grabbed a pair of boxers from his dresser, yanking them on. Then he turned around and crossed his arms over his chest, pinning her with an irritated glare. “I just want you to fucking accept what I’m saying and stay with me.”
She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “You want it all your way.”
“And what is it you want to talk about?” he snarled. “Our feelings?”
“Yes.”
He worked his jaw while his heart thundered, so frustrated he wanted to roar. “Jesus, Brit. We’ve been together for the fucking blink of an eye. Why are you pushing this?”
* * *
BRIT STARED BACK AT HIM, FIGHTING HARD TO CHOKE BACK HER SOBS. Licking her lips, she clutched the sheet tighter against her chest, and said, “I’m not pushing anything. I need to go home, Alex. I need to regroup. And we might not have been together long, but we’ve known each other for a long time. I know more about you than I ever realized. So just give me some space, because my emotions . . . they’re apparently a lot more involved in this than yours are.”
The rhythmic tick in his taut cheek told her he was beyond furious. “This isn’t a contest. You don’t get to measure it in degrees.”
Very softly, she said, “I do when I’m the one whose emotions are on the line.”
“Fuck,” he bit out, scraping his hands back through his hair as he started to pace across the floor at the foot of the bed. Locking his fingers behind his neck, he kept his raw gaze focused on his pacing steps, his words punching from his lips like a hammer. “I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling. I can’t even think straight right now.”
He looked stricken, almost ill, his breaths leaving his lungs in sharp, angry bursts, and she wondered if he was having a panic attack. Or was he simply so used to shutting down his emotions that he didn’t know how to react when he no longer had them under control? Either way, Brit knew this was the right move. Nothing would be accomplished or solved by her staying.
She started to swing her legs over the side of the bed, intending to get dressed, but he was suddenly right there, looming over her, and she had to crane her head back to see his face. His chest was rising and falling like a bellows, the look in his beautiful eyes almost too heartbreaking to endure. “Christ, Brit. Why do you have to make everything so goddamn complicated?”
She forced herself to hold that pain-filled gaze, took a deep breath for courage, and gave him the truth. “Because I love you.”
His eyes shot wide as he paled. “What?”
Her throat shook, melting, while her mouth trembled. But she somehow found the strength to keep her voice steady. “I love you, Alex. So much. And I need more from you.”
For a moment, he only stared, looking down at her as if he didn’t even know her. Then he shuddered, pulling his hand over his mouth, and quietly muttered, “I didn’t expect this kind of crap from you. From other women, yeah. But not from you.”
Confusion creased her brow. “Why?”
“Because you know what I’m like! You know I don’t . . . that I don’t do this shit.”
“Is that why you took me to Miami?” she demanded, needing him to give her something that was honest and real and from his heart, even if it wasn’t his love. Needing him to at least try to open up to her. “Was it to give us a moment before it ended, because you knew it was going to come to this? Because you were different there, Alex. You were. So is that why? You could show me yourself there because you knew it wasn’t going to last when we came back?”
His gaze darted over her face, revealing his nerves, and he licked his lips. “Yes. Maybe. I . . . I don’t know.”
Holding the sheet with one hand, she pressed the other over the rapid beating of his heart. His muscles tightened beneath her touch, and she could feel the telling tremor of emotion rushing through him, shaking him from the inside out. “Talk to me. Please,” she begged, sniffing as hot, salty tears spilled over her cheeks. “Give me something, Alex. Anything.”
“I didn’t think at all, okay? I just knew that I wanted you!”
“And now you don’t?”
Desperation filled his expression, carved into the rugged, hard-edged lines of his beloved face. “I’m not asking you to leave, Brit. I’m telling you that I want you here. Badly. Isn’t that enough?”
Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she choked out a heartfelt, “No. Not anymore. Not after . . . everything. I need more than that. More than sex.”
“I don’t have any more than that to give you,” he said thickly. “Not now.”
“You’re wrong. You just don’t want to risk it.”
He looked so angry and broken right then, so lost, that Brit knew she wasn’t ever going to reach him. That his shields were too strong, too entrenched into the fabric of his soul, for her to smash her way through.
“You’re being such a manipulative bitch,” he rasped, the soft tone so at odds with the painful words. “I didn’t expect that from you, either.”
“There’s probably a lot you didn’t expect. And I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m not trying to make you do something you don’t want to do. But I can’t pretend that I’m not in love with you.”
“Stop!” he growled, the harsh command sharp with anguish. “Just shut up and stop saying that!”
Ignoring his outburst, she kept going. “I love you, Alex. I’m not just saying it. They’re not just words. I mean it, with every part of me. I love you. I am in love with you. It might not be easy for you to hear, but it isn’t any easier for me to say. It’s . . . terrifying. But I won’t lie to you. Not now. Not ever. I just . . . I love you.”
He roared as he stepped back from her, his hands on his head, the awful sound ripping up from his chest as guttural and stark as a wounded animal, and she flinched.
“Goddamn it,” he choked out, the instant he caught the look on her face. Slowly lowering his arms, he relaxed his shoulders, exhaling a shallow breath. “Jesus, Brit. Don’t look like that. No matter how angry I am, I would never hurt you.”
“I know that,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you, Alex. I just hate to see you like this because you mean so much to me.”
He tensed all over again at her words. Stepping to the edge of the bed, he grabbed her by the arms and yanked her up against him, then lowered his hard face over hers. “I don’t want to hear how you feel,” he ground out, the look in his eyes full of pain and devastating longing. “Who the fuck cares about feelings that come and go at the drop of a hat?”
“Mine don’t,” she argued. “Don’t compare me to the other women you’ve known. I’m not them!”
Shaking, he bellowed, “Why can’t it be enough for you, damn it? What we have, physically, isn’t something you just walk away from, Brit. Why the fuck can’t that be enough for you?”
His mouth was on hers before she could respond, and it was clear that he’d decided to convince her another way. That he’d abandoned his argument with her mind, and had now begun his siege against her senses.
Before she even realized what had happened, he had her pressed into the middle of the bed with the heavy weight of his body, the sheet gone, as well as his boxers. They were wound together, skin against skin, their mouths locked in a hungry battle for dominance when he shoved her legs apart and she grabbed his ass, his cock slamming inside her so hard he had to swallow her scream.
The moment he was packed in deep and tight, grinding his hips until she’d taken every inch of his hot, burgeoning flesh, he lifted his head and locked his gaze with hers. His eyes were wild and damp, the pale green burning with raw emotion. She could see the love shimmering there as if it were a neon sign blazing at her. Sense it with every part of her body. In every cell. In every spasm of pleasure that he made her feel.
Bu
t she knew he wasn’t going to admit it. The beautiful jackass. He was going to use every ounce, every element, of his sexual skill—and God did he have it in spades—to get her to keep saying it. To keep telling him she loved him. Even though he hated them, she could feel his feral desperation for the words in the hard, primal movements of his body. But she wasn’t going to give in. She’d put herself out there, and he’d answered with this. With sex.
He would fuck her, and happily. But he would never allow himself to be vulnerable enough to give her his heart. Even if she already owned it.
I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you, she cried silently, wrapping him tight in her arms and legs, while he begged her with his powerful, magnificent body.
But she refused to say the words out loud again.
* * *
ALEX KNEW SHE WAS GONE BEFORE HE EVEN OPENED HIS EYES. HIS internal clock told him it was midafternoon, which meant he’d slept for several hours. Rolling to his side, he cracked his eyelids a fraction, staring at the indent in the pillow where her head had lain. There was a vibrant red hair curled across the white cotton, and he reached out for it, winding it slowly around the blunt tip of his finger. Round . . . and round . . . and round.
He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to find a way to turn off his thoughts, but the only way he knew how to do that was with a bottle, and he grimaced, unwilling to slip into that particular hell again.
Her warm, womanly scent filled his head as he pulled in a deep breath, the shuddering exhale full of a thousand memories he didn’t know how to deal with. The morning had been . . . decadent, to say the least. Raw. Greedy. He’d made her come so many times, over and over, until her cries were hoarse and she was limp with pleasure. But it hadn’t been enough. She’d still gotten up and walked away from him.
He rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling, and realized he stank of sweat and self-loathing. But it wasn’t like there was anyone here to care. No, he could just lie in bed and wallow in misery for as long as he wanted, and no one would be the wiser. Which was why he needed to force his ass up and into the shower. This was the way pathetic sons of bitches were made, and he refused to give in to that shitty outcome too easily. He might not have any reason for getting up, but by God, he could at least fucking fake it.
Climbing out of bed, he headed into his bathroom and set the shower to scalding. He managed to turn off everything in his head while he stood under the roar of the water, but the instant he stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom, the silence started pressing in on him. Heavy, weighted, like a physical thing waiting to pounce.
“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, heading into his bedroom and grabbing a pair of shorts to pull on. He leaned over and braced his hands on the edge of his dresser, breathing hard as he struggled to pull his shit together, but he fucking hated this sterile, empty quiet. This vacant, hollow nothingness. He felt like all the goddamn air had been sucked out of his lungs, of the room, his muscles bulging across his shoulders as he gnashed his teeth. He heard a low, serrated sound tearing from his chest, and the next thing he knew he’d turned and picked up the chair sitting in the corner and flung it clear across the room. It slammed into the far wall, making a huge-ass hole in the plaster, scattering dust and Sheetrock all over the place in a white, diaphanous cloud.
He blinked, and thought, Well, fuck. That was going to be a bitch to fix.
“Dumbass,” he grunted, feeling like an idiot. What the hell was he doing? Throwing a tantrum like a child? Jesus. He could be such a stupid prick sometimes!
He sank onto the foot of the bed and dropped his head in his hands, squeezing against the pain in his skull. Every part of him hurt, like he’d been put through twenty rounds in a cage fighting ring. He could hear the fucking knocking of his brain inside his skull, over and over, until he finally realized the jarring noise wasn’t in his head, but coming from his front door.
“Fuck,” he snarled, knowing it wasn’t going to be Brit. And she was the only person he wanted to see. The only one he wanted to be around.
“You look like shit.” That was Ben’s opening comment after he’d opened the door, and Alex knew damn well that the conversation was only going to go downhill from there. He was tempted to just shut the door in his brother’s face, but knew he wouldn’t be able to get rid of the jackass that easily. Ben was stubborn that way.
He snorted, thinking the character trait was one that definitely ran in the family. “It’s funny, but I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he muttered, as Ben came inside.
His brother cast him a curious look. “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning? I thought you’d be celebrating. Taking the day off to spend with Brit. Instead, you look someone who’s just been through hell.”
“Yeah, well, waiting for you to catch that bastard wasn’t exactly a walk in the park,” he snapped, rubbing his jaw as he walked past Ben, heading toward the kitchen. He needed coffee if he was expected to deal with the good sheriff today. A fucking gallon of it.
Ben followed behind him, bracing his shoulder against the side of the archway into the kitchen, thumbs hooked in his front pockets, as he watched Alex put on a fresh pot. When Alex leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed and looked at him, Ben said, “Shepherd’s been booked and we’re working on getting bail denied.”
When he didn’t respond, just stood there glaring, Ben raised his brows. “Brit at least has to be relieved that it’s over.”
“Yeah,” he grunted, the knot in his stomach getting tighter.
“Speaking of your little roommate, where is she?”
Voice flat, he said, “She’s gone.”
Ben frowned. “What do you mean gone?”
“I mean she ran out on me.” He didn’t shout the words, though he wanted to. Instead, they came out quiet and tightly controlled.
“Shit.” His brother pulled a hand over his mouth, and muttered, “That’s bad news, man.”
Alex made a thick, bitter sound in the back of his throat that was meant to be a laugh, but didn’t come anywhere close. “You fucking think?”
Green eyes burning with concern, Ben asked, “Do you know where she went?”
Lifting his arms, he locked his hands behind his neck. “Home. She went home.”
Ben shook his head, his dark brows drawn together. “Fuck, that sucks. I thought, hell . . . I thought you guys were onto something together. Even though you were pissed off last night, I hadn’t seen you look at a woman that way in years. Truth be told, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look the way you did when you were with her.”
Lowering his arms, Alex pushed away from the counter and turned to pull down a mug. For a second, he thought about getting one down for Ben as well, then changed his mind. This wasn’t a let’s sit down and share a cup of coffee kind of moment. Not even close. And all he wanted was to get this over with so he could be alone.
Filling his mug, he said, “I might be angry, but it was going to end eventually anyway. Might as well be now, before she got hurt.”
When he turned back around, holding his mug by the handle, Ben was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “Did you honestly just say those fucking words to me?” he growled.
“You don’t like what you’re hearing, you can leave. No one asked you to come here.”
The seconds stretched out, a silent, raging argument taking place between them, conveyed with nothing more than their speaking, telling stares. “I can’t believe you’re not even going to fight for her,” Ben finally muttered, his deep voice thick with disappointment. “Mike’s right. You really are a chickenshit.”
Lifting his eyebrow, Alex gave him a mocking smirk. “And you weren’t?”
“At least I pulled my head out of my ass and owned up to my feelings.” With a challenging look, his brother asked, “Do I need to remind you of how that happened?”
> He knew Ben was referring to the way Alex had prompted him into finding the courage to tell Reese that he was in love with her—but this was different. Damn it, he was different. “I can’t admit something I don’t know, Ben. You want me to lie to her?”
With a frustrated snarl, Ben pushed away from the archway, the look in his eyes almost pleading as he said, “Just . . . take some time to think about what you really want, Alex. Don’t do anything stupid that you can’t take back.”
Ben turned and left then, leaving him alone, which was what he’d wanted. But it sure as fuck didn’t make him feel any better. He dumped the coffee into the sink, no longer wanting it. What he wanted was something a hell of a lot stronger, but then, he didn’t think there was enough alcohol in the world to handle this shit situation.
Shoving both hands through his hair, he stalked from the kitchen into the dining room, and stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d smacked right into an invisible wall, his narrow gaze locked in hard and tight on the table. The goddamn fucking table. Christ, she was everywhere. Imprinted on his life and in his mind. Tattooed into his fucking veins.
It was a mark Alex was beginning to realize he wouldn’t ever get rid of. No matter what he did, or how hard he tried.
Walking to the sliding glass doors, he braced his hands against the glass as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool surface, and closed his eyes, one single burning thought churning its way through his mind again . . . and again:
So what the hell am I meant to do now?
17
THERE WEREN’T A LOT OF PROBLEMS THAT A MARGARITA COULDN’T FIX. Unfortunately, a broken heart was one of them.
Seriously, what was this? How in God’s name had she gotten to this point?
Well, all right, she knew the answer to that one. Brit just couldn’t believe she’d let herself be so stupid.
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