Lark’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What did…” His brow lowers. “How did you know about that?”
“Because I saw you there, okay?” I blink hard, embarrassed to realize there are tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. I fight with all my might to hold them in, because the last thing I want to do is break down in front of this liar right now. “I was going for a consultation with my new therapist, and I got lost on the wrong floor, and I saw the two of you coming out of a counselor’s office. It said couples’ counseling right there on the door.”
“When was this?” Lark asks, with long slow spaces between the words, as if he’s piecing something together in his head.
“Right before I told you I had to call things off,” I say. “Because I don’t do that. I don’t do the whole being the other woman thing. I don’t want to be some homewrecker.”
“That home had been wrecked long before I even met you,” Lark replies, his voice hardening. “So that’s why you broke things off with me out of the blue? God, Cassidy, I thought I’d done something horrible, hurt you somehow, or—”
“Lying to me did hurt me,” I snap.
“So your plan was just to never even speak to me about it?” He crosses his arms, his eyebrows lifting. “Why didn’t you ask me about what you saw? You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”
My stomach knots. It sounds far too similar to what Becky asked me at the spa earlier today for comfort. “Because that’s not the sort of thing you can explain,” I reply, trying to hold onto my own fury. I’m the one being done wrong here. “Maybe, maybe if you had been upfront about your situation with Sheryl in the first place, I could have trusted you—”
“That’s the problem,” Lark interrupts me. “That’s always been the problem, Cassidy. You don’t trust me. You never have. And I doubt it’s just me.” He takes a step closer, the air between us heating. Or maybe that’s just me, my whole body flushing at his proximity. “When was the last time you really let anybody in, huh? When was the last time you had a real conversation with someone you were with?”
“I…” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. It’s just because I’m mad right now, I tell myself. That’s the only reason I can’t think of anybody.
But the only face coming to mind right now is Norman’s. And he was the last person on this planet I could ever have an honest conversation with, let alone trust.
“This isn’t about me,” I reply, hardening my expression. Tightening my fists where they’re wrapped around my own elbows.
“Look, should I have been more upfront with you about Sheryl? Yes, I see that now.” He uncrosses his arms. Spreads them at his sides, like an act of surrender. Like he’s opening himself up to let me strike him if I want. “I didn’t tell you more details because frankly, I was afraid it would scare you away. We’d only just started seeing each other, but I…” His voice hitches. Lowers. “I already knew I really liked you, Cassidy. I was developing feelings for you, and… it was selfish, but I didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardize that.”
“So you lied.” I tighten my jaw.
He nods slowly, gaze fixed on mine. “So I lied, yes. But…” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated groan. “The thing with Sheryl. Our marriage. It’s been over for so long, that to me, I just thought… does it really matter what some legal piece of paper says? She and I both know where things stand.”
“Are you sure about that?” I can’t help but think about her expression whenever she talks about Lark. Not to mention the way she went at him in Marcel’s office the other day. Slapping him, to boot. That’s not the behavior of a woman who’s over things with her ex.
“Yes,” he replies, firmly. “Trust me.”
But I can’t. Not after all of this. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from spilling over, and then I reach out one more time, the tie in my fist. This time, I have to force it into his hand. “I’m sorry, Lark.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment. I can see his jaw working, the muscles of his face tense as he fights with his own emotions. I watch his throat bob with a tight swallow. And then, finally, he nods. “Goodbye, Cassidy,” he says, and there’s a finality to it this time. A hollow ring that kills me, even as I watch him let himself out my front door.
I wait until I hear his car start on the street outside before I shut myself into my bedroom, plant myself face down on the bed, and finally let myself cry.
20
Cassidy
“This is a vicious cycle, Cassidy. You see that, don’t you?” My therapist keeps her voice carefully neutral.
I stare up at her ceiling, blinking hard through the tears. “I guess.”
“You’re doing the same thing with Lark that you did after your breakup with Norman. You’re letting him set all the rules, letting him dictate your boundaries. You owe it to both of you—yes, both you and him,” she clarifies when I look over at her, startled, “to let this go.”
I inhale sharply. It comes out a long, pathetic sniffle. “I know,” I say. My voice comes out quieter now. Still heartbroken.
My therapist smiles kindly. “It will take time,” she tells me. “But the nice thing about time is that it comes whether we want it to or not. This feeling will pass, Cassidy. I promise you that.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not the one who woke up drenched in sweat again this morning—the same way I have every morning this week—with Lark’s name on her lips. During the day, I’ve gotten decent about fending off the emotions. But at night, when my subconscious takes over, they return with a vengeance.
Like last night. In my dream, I was back at Lark’s apartment. Only we weren’t in his bed. He had walked me over to the huge floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around his living room, with a stunning, mesmerizing view out over the city. It looked like we had the whole world spread out beneath our feet.
“You’re the one I want,” Lark whispered against the nape of my neck, his breath so hot I swear I could feel it. He kissed me right there, tongue trailing along the upper vertebrae of my spine. “Trust me, Cassidy.”
In the dream, at least, I could. I tilted my face to the side, looked for him, and he caught my mouth in a slow, searing kiss that felt so real I tasted him. Then his hands slid down to my hips, my thighs. He nudged my feet apart with his, until I was standing spread out against the glass, the city below us, close enough to give me vertigo almost, except the adrenaline only added to the moment, made my heart beat faster with desire for him.
I can’t remember what I was wearing. Some sort of skimpy lingerie thing. It didn’t matter. Lark had soon torn it off anyway, tossed it aside like so much refuse. Then his hands were back on me, searing, strong and in control. He reached over the arch of my hips and trailed his fingertips over the smooth plain of my belly, holding me pressed tight against him so I could feel the hard press of his cock against the small of my back, already rock hard, wanting me.
His fingers slid over my mound, cupped my pussy and gently wrapped around it, the heel of his hand pressed lightly against my clit, his fingertips spreading my lips stroking slowly along the length of my slit. The glass pressed against my front was cold, but Lark’s warm, naked body crushed against my back was searing hot, and oh God, he felt so good I almost lost control right there.
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, my lips parted as I gasped with pleasure, as he pressed a finger inside me, gently swirling it around, testing me.
“God I love feeling you shudder against me,” he murmurs, his breath hot again, tickling the back of the shell of my ear. He licked along the very edge of that shell, making me shiver from head to toe, and chuckled faintly, as though he were enjoying himself.
He liked it whenever I lost control. I knew that much by now.
And even in my damn dream, he certainly made me do that. He spread my legs wider, pressed the thick shaft of his cock between my thighs, and then—
“Cassidy.” My therapist’s usual cal
m manner can’t hide a faint tinge of concern now.
I wonder how many times she had to say my name before she got my attention. I flush and straighten in the chair. “Sorry, I…my mind wandered off.”
Her eyes soften. “I want you to try to get some sleep tonight, all right?” she says. “Decent sleep. If you’re still struggling to in a few days, let’s talk and see what we can figure out, okay?”
I nod, trying to focus on her, on the bright office. On anything but the damn dream that woke me this morning, hours before my alarm went off. A dream that made me afraid to fall back asleep, worried I’d only start to dwell in the past even more profoundly than I already am.
She asks me about schedules for next week, and I pencil in my new time, then rise on unsteady legs to shake hands and show myself out of the office.
It’s not until I step out into the hallway that I turn my phone back on. It’s one of her policies. No phones in the room, because they might ring or buzz with a text and interrupt the flow of our conversation.
When my cell reboots, it chirps with a new text. I tap it open, frowning at the sender. It’s a local area code, but otherwise the number is unfamiliar, and not attached to anybody in my contacts. When I read it, my lips part, my stomach sinking.
All it says is, There’s something you need to know about Lark.
21
Lark
I stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. The bedroom I had custom-designed to my order, because I was finally, finally going to start doing things my way. I was going to pursue what I wanted, live the life I wanted.
Instead, it’s all been stolen from me. Again. In the exact same way that it is always stolen, because I failed, yet again, to anticipate the consequences of my own actions. I have no one to blame for the way I feel right now. No one but myself.
I shut my eyes, my hands clenched in tight fists. But that’s no respite. Because behind my eyelids, waiting for me, the same way she always is, every time I close my eyes and lay my head down on this pillow at night, is Cassidy Marks.
I can still picture the last glimpse I caught of her, before she shut her apartment door in my face. The pained expression on her face. The hollow look in her pretty brown eyes. I did that. I put that there. And no matter what excuses I gave her, no matter how I tried to talk my way around the full story, she’s right.
I never told her the full truth. And because of that, her trust in me is broken. Because of that, I lost my first real chance at happiness in I can’t remember how long. Maybe ever.
Behind my eyelids, the Cassidy in my head shifts. Her smile turns sly, inviting. It reminds me of the first time I brought her here, to this apartment. The first time I pinned her against the door before it had even fully shut behind us, and kissed her full lips, her long, lean neck. The way her muscles shifted against my lips when she swallowed, barely able to contain herself. And the expression in her eyes, when I’d drawn back just far enough to take her in…
Fuck. A look like that could drive a man to insanity.
Which is exactly what she’s done over the course of the intervening weeks. Driven me mad. It’s the only explanation for why I can’t get her out of my head, my veins, my cock.
Jesus. I’m already hard again and I haven’t even pictured her naked yet. I grit out a tight groan, and then I roll over to check the clock at my bedside table. Three in the morning. But it’s useless. I’m not going to get any more sleep until I relieve at least some of the pressure building inside me.
I shove the covers off. My cock is already hardening, getting stiffer with each breath I take, each memory that swims to the surface.
Cassidy in this very bedroom, naked and spread eagled. The taste of her navel when I dipped my tongue into it, running my hands along her soft, luscious curves. Digging my fingertips in just tightly enough to feel her wriggle beneath me, those glorious hips of hers rising off the bed to meet me, so soft it made me want to bite her.
The feeling of my teeth nipping at the ridge of her hipbone, when I gave into that urge and did bite her.
I wrap a fist around the hard length of my shaft, my eyes shut tight, so that I can remain more fully in that memory. Fantasy. Whatever you want to call it. I picture the way Cassidy’s chest heaves when she catches her breath. The way her nipple hardens when I roll my tongue across it, then suck it between my lips, teasing at her breast, toying with her.
I remember the deep, animal instinct that rose up in her when I kissed her, hard, her body pinned beneath mine on this bed. She kissed back every bit as hard as I gave her. And she rose up off the bed to meet me, hands fisted in my hair, when I pressed her down against the satin.
And, God, the sensation when she spread those soft, smooth thighs to let me slide between them…
If I concentrate, I can taste the soft folds of her pussy as she moaned and twisted against my sheets. I can feel the wet smoothness of her on my fingertips, when I slid them inside her, one at a time, until I had three knuckle deep in her tight, hot pussy. I curled them, stroked along her walls to draw those sounds I love out of her. The throaty, breathy sounds she makes when she’s utterly lost to the world.
And the feeling when I finally positioned my cock at her entrance, pushed into her an inch at a time, savoring the way she folded around me, her pussy tight and clenching with want, but so wet I glided in easily anyway. Being inside her had felt like coming back to a home I hadn’t even known existed.
Like finding peace again, after going through the hellish war my life has become these days.
I grit my teeth, move my fist harder, tighten my fingers in a cheap imitation of her pussy clenching around my cock. It’s not the same, of course. Nowhere near it. But for a brief instant, spread out on my bed, slicked with sweat despite the cool air and my naked body… It’s enough to drive the rest of it out of my head. The stress and the worry. The uncertainty of what comes next, where we go from here. How the fuck I’m going to fix this.
Because I have to. I have to fix this somehow, have to get her back. Win back her trust, if it’s the last thing I do. Even if she wants nothing to do with me again romantically—and she might not, I warn myself, you fucking idiot, you might have ruined it for good—I need to show her the truth. She deserves that much, at the very least.
She deserved it from the start, but I was too broken and blind to notice it. I was so focused on what I wanted, I didn’t stop to consider what she needed from me.
The orgasm, when it hits me, isn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped. A groan, a tightening behind my solar plexus, and a soft, wet fall across my fist. I reach for tissues on my bedside table, clean myself up. Then I give up and pad all the way to the shower. If I thought this would help me sleep, I was wrong. I’m more awake than ever now.
More focused on exactly what I’ve lost.
But standing under the pouring water of the shower—set on the coldest temperature I can possibly stand at this hour in the morning—I make my mind up. One way or another, I’m telling Cassidy the truth. There will be consequences, I know. But it’s nothing I haven’t already been through before. If telling her pushes me right back into the hell I only just managed to climb out of, well then…
I gaze around the bathroom, with its simple, minimalist design. A design Sheryl would have hated. The exact style she always seethed about. Even though I had this apartment designed with one goal in mind: starting over fresh, starting over as my own person—there are still vestiges of her in it. Touches I added only because I knew they’d piss her off.
That’s not healthy. That’s not a complete break, not truly.
But what I have with Cassidy? That can be. So I owe it to Cass to walk back into that furnace one more time and claim my freedom once and for all. Even if it means losing this apartment, my livelihood. Everything I’ve worked for. She’s worth the risk.
Where we go after that will be her decision. Our future, if we have one, is up to her. But this? This is the step that’s up to me. And for once, I’m g
oing to rise to the occasion.
22
Cassidy
I take a deep breath. Then another. It doesn’t completely clear the lump in my throat or chase the tears from my eyes, but it definitely helps.
Beside me, perched on her plush chair set next to the couch where I’m currently folded over my knees, my therapist watches me with a half-smile. “It’s normal to feel like this, Cassidy. Even though you’ve made your decision and are on the path to change, it’s completely normal to still have emotions about what you’ve chosen. To mourn the direction you decided not to take.”
I nod, because my throat feels too tight to speak again. I just got through talking about Lark. The breakup, the way I can’t stop checking my phone for messages from him, even though I told him I didn’t want him to contact me, so he’s only respecting my wishes. Some twisted part of me still wishes he’d ignore my rules. Push through the boundaries I set to chase me anyway, even though it’s exactly what I need to not be encouraging right now.
Beside me, my therapist shifts in her seat. “I’d like to talk about something a little different today, if that’s all right with you?”
I take a deep breath and nod again. Different would be good. A distraction from Lark would be good.
“Last time you were here, we talked about recurring patterns in your life. For example, your difficulties in setting boundaries with Lark, and before him with Norman. Sometimes—not all the time, mind you—but sometimes these sorts of difficulties stem from childhood relationships. From the relationships you saw modeled between your parents growing up, or the way that your parents treated you. Does that sound like it might relate to you?”
My stomach sinks. Of course she’s hit directly on the only possible subject that could be worse to discuss than my tragedy of a love life. My parents.
Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance Page 31
