Wrong for Me

by Jackie Ashenden

  What he had written was terse and to the point. Reading it made her feel cheap and mean all of a sudden, that she was willing to trade her most personal secret in return for a piece of real estate, rather than just trusting him and telling him.

  But that was the way the world worked, wasn’t it?

  Nothing came for free.

  Forcing the emotion away, Rachel folded up the paper and stuck it in the back pocket of her miniskirt. “You have a deal then.”

  Levi stared at her, his gaze completely uncompromising. He was sitting back in the chair, his shirt spread open, the little stylized sun—a black center with curling black rays projecting out—dark against the golden skin of his chest. And the sight of him made her breath catch and that pulse of desire between her thighs grow stronger, more demanding.

  God, she hated it. Hated wanting him so badly.

  He lifted a hand. “Come closer.”

  Time’s up. You have to tell him now.

  Fuck.

  She moved nearer, everything in her rebelling at the thought of sharing her secret. Of meeting his unnerving stare and having to give him the darkest part of herself.

  He’s going to be so angry with you.

  His gaze narrowed all of a sudden. “You’re scared.”

  She felt as if he’d peeled her open. “No, of course I’m not—”

  But before she could finish, he leaned forward all of a sudden and grabbed her by the hips, lifting her and dragging her sideways into his lap. There was no time to struggle. One minute she was looking down at him; the next the hard length of his body was beneath her, and she was being held against the muscular heat of his bare chest, one arm tight around her waist, holding her there.

  She struggled, even though she knew there wasn’t any point, trying to push him away, to at least get some space. But he only tightened his grip.

  “Don’t be scared.” His voice was soft and rough in her ear. “Please don’t.”

  It was the please that did it, that and the soft note in the words. The one she sometimes heard at night, in his arms, when he gave her all that pleasure.

  The pleasure you don’t deserve.

  She shivered, trying to hold herself away from him. “I can’t tell you like this.”

  “Yes, you can.” He settled himself in the chair, urging her back with him, and it felt almost tender, like he was cradling her.

  Her heart was tight with that dull, yearning ache, the one she didn’t think was ever going to go away, and she wanted nothing more than to put her head on his shoulder and rest against him, let him make it all better.

  But she couldn’t. She was all out of trust.

  “You know what I told you about the ring in my eyebrow?” he said after a moment’s long silence.

  She blinked. Because that was not what she’d expected him to say. “It was a reminder, wasn’t it? Of what happens when people fuck with you?”

  There was another silence.

  “Sounded good, didn’t it? It’s really a reminder of how sticking a smuggled needle through your eyebrow in an attempt to look more badass can hurt like a motherfucker.”

  Rachel blinked again. Because, yeah, this was so not what she’d been expecting. Why the hell had he told her that? Wasn’t he supposed to be pressuring her to tell him all her secrets?

  “Now you’re supposed to tell me what a dumb shit I am,” he prompted.

  “You’re a dumb shit,” she said inanely.

  “Yeah, I know.” His palm was on her hip, his fingers spread, and he began to move his thumb over her in an absent, stroking movement. “And I’m still a dumb shit.”

  She looked down at her hands clenched tightly in her lap, tried not to feel the heat of his body all around her or smell that familiar, sexy, dark, earthy scent. She had no idea where he was going with this, but as long as she didn’t have to talk, she was okay with it.

  “I’m still trying to stick that fucking needle through my eyebrow to prove what a badass I am,” he went on. “Because it’s fucking hard to act like a normal person after eight years inside.”

  She tensed, unable to help herself, preparing for some kind of barb about all those years again. That was the only reason he’d bring it up, right?

  “I can’t remember.” His voice had gotten quieter and a little rougher. “I’ve forgotten how. So I need you. I need you to help me remember what it’s like to be a friend.”

  Her aching heart had gone quite still, and all her muscles tensed up even further in shock. “I didn’t think you wanted to be anyone’s friend,” she said hoarsely.

  “I didn’t think I did either. But . . . you need one, Sunny. And so do I.”

  Sunny. As if she was still that to him. As if she was all bright and warm, making people happy. She had no idea why he called her that when she was the opposite.

  “You know how I told you that my mom left me some money?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wished she hadn’t spoken. But it was too late.

  “Yeah. You were going to use that for art school.”

  Her jaw felt tight, her throat aching. “My mom didn’t leave me any money, Levi. I got it from someone else.”

  “Where did you get it then?” His tone was utterly neutral. She kept her gaze on her hands, on her white knuckles. “Do you remember Evan Saunders? He used to be the building superintendent.”

  “I remember. He was a prick.” Levi’s thumb kept stroking along her hip, back and forth. “What about him?”

  She gripped her hands together tighter, her heartbeat getting faster. This was ridiculous. She just needed to throw it out there, stop making this into more of an issue than it was. Christ, it had been over years ago after all. “I got the money from him.”

  Levi’s big body tensed beneath her. “What do you mean you got it from him?”

  “I mean, he gave me the money.”

  “Why?”

  She looked up then, into Levi’s strong, handsome face. Because she was being a fucking coward staring at her hands. “I slept with him, and he paid me.”

  Shock rippled over Levi’s features. “You fucking what?”

  “He wanted me, and at first I said no. But then he offered me money and . . . I couldn’t refuse. I needed it. If I wanted those dreams we talked about to be a reality, I had to get the money from somewhere.”

  Levi had gone rigid, every muscle beneath her gone rock hard, the arm around her waist like an iron band. The look on his face was frightening, and he wasn’t stroking her anymore.

  You shouldn’t have told him.

  No, but she couldn’t take it back now.

  Rage glittered in his eyes, and this time both had gone dark, the silver blue of his iris completely swallowed by black. “So, are you telling me you were fucking this guy?”

  Pain caught at her. “I wasn’t fucking him, Levi. I needed money, and he was offering it. How the hell else was I supposed to fund art school? There was no way I could get a job that would pay enough, not when I had to look after Gran and pay for her medications as well.”

  He stared at her as if she were a complete stranger. “So you decided that earning money on your back was a good idea?” His arm around her had tightened, squeezing her, making her feel as if something fragile inside her was imploding. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  His face, set in tight lines of fury, began to blur, stupid tears threatening. This was worse that she’d imagined, so much worse. She knew this had been a bad idea. “I wanted to go to art school. You kept telling me over and over how we had to fight for our dreams, how we had to work for it. How it wasn’t going to be easy and we’d have to make hard choices, but we’d do it if we only tried!”

  There was a hidden well of anger inside her, one she’d never guessed was there, and now it was rising up, erupting in a thick, hot wave. Anger at him and his optimism, at his insistence on the importance of dreams, of the future they’d talked of together. Anger that he’d made her want those things and want them enough to mak
e the stupidest decision of her life.

  She’d told herself she couldn’t regret it, that if she did, it would have made what she’d done mean nothing. And she couldn’t have it mean nothing.

  All that shame you felt. All that humiliation would have been in vain.

  His expression was molten with rage. “I didn’t mean that you should start whoring yourself out!”

  “How else was I supposed to do it?” she shouted, suddenly shaking with the force of all those suppressed emotions. “How else was I supposed to get the fucking money for those stupid goddamn dreams? Evan offered me more money than I’d ever seen in my life, so I took it. Every opportunity, right, Levi?”

  He went very, very still, fury stamped all over his features. Then abruptly he shoved her hard off his lap, getting out of the chair and walking without a word to the couch where he’d left his jacket.

  It was a rejection, pure and simple, and after that quiet moment of being held in his arms, it felt as if he’d stabbed a knife right through the center of her chest and left the blade in.

  She turned sharply away, unable to watch him leave, covering her face with her hands. Wanting blackness, wanting silence. Wanting her armor back any way she could get it.

  And yet there was no sound of the door slamming. No hard footsteps retreating.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice, full of hot rage. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

  She dropped her hands, keeping her back to him. “Why do you think? I felt cheap and disgusting every time I did it, every time he left, and I couldn’t bear for you to know. I couldn’t bear for you to be disappointed in me, to find me cheap and disgusting too.”

  There was a silence behind her.

  “You should have come to me, Rachel.” All the anger had bled out of his voice. “I could have done something. I could have helped—”

  “How? You had no money either. And you had your plate full with looking after your dad. I didn’t want to make any more demands on you.”

  Another deafening silence.

  “And that night with the drug dealer? Is that what you were doing with him too?”

  “No,” she said hoarsely. “I’d ended things with Evan. But Gran’s medication bills were mounting up, and I didn’t want to start using my savings. So I thought I’d run a couple of packets of coke. Just a couple. But the dealer had heard about me and Evan, and he wanted to . . .” She stopped, remembering the feeling of cold that had seeped through her. All the despair and anguish. And then Levi, rescuing her. Saving her. Ending up killing someone because of her.

  As if she’d ever been worth that kind of sacrifice.

  “You want to know the real reason I didn’t come and see you in prison, Levi?” She might as well say it, might as well admit the whole sorry state of her life. “It was because I was ashamed. Because you’re right, all of this is my fault. If I’d never slept with Evan, that dealer wouldn’t have touched me, and then you wouldn’t have gone to jail. And I couldn’t bear to see you, couldn’t bear to tell you about all my stupid fucking mistakes.” Her throat was sore, but she forced the rest of the words out. “And I was angry with you too. Angry with you for making me want what was always out of my reach. And for making me believe I could have it.”

  There was only more silence behind her.

  “I’ve told you everything,” she said thickly. “Now, if you want to be a real friend, you should leave me the fuck alone.”

  * * *

  She looked so small, standing near her workstation, her shoulders hunched, her head bent. Small and fragile.

  He wanted to go to her and wrap her up in his arms, hold her the way he knew he should, the way he’d done in the chair, but he couldn’t. Not while he was so fucking angry. At himself.

  He’d fed her all that stuff about dreams. He’d told her she could do whatever she wanted if she wanted it badly enough.

  And clearly she’d wanted it badly.

  Christ, whoring herself out to the building superintendent, who’d no doubt pressured her into it, because he’d been a creepy prick and someone Levi would have quite happily punched in the face.

  Maybe, knowing Rachel, she’d told herself it was no big deal. That it was what she’d have to do to get what she wanted.

  I couldn’t bear for you to be disappointed in me, find me cheap and disgusting too....

  He felt like someone had taken his heart in a giant fist and was slowly crushing it. How the hell could she have thought that? How the hell could she have thought he would even consider something like that?

  She’d been his sunshine, and nothing could have changed that. Sure, he’d probably have come close to killing Evan if he’d found out, but then he’d also have tried to help her. He certainly would never have judged her.

  But she’d kept it a secret. She hadn’t let him in because she hadn’t wanted to make any demands on him.

  And now she was doing the same thing, standing there with her back to him. Protecting herself from him. Because of course she felt she had to protect herself. He’d come to hurt her. Made her live with him, sleep with him, give him everything, while she got nothing in return.

  You’re as bad as Evan.

  Oh Christ.

  Self-loathing curled inside him, thick and bitter and hot. No wonder she was holding him at bay. All those times she’d had sex with him . . . Her body had been ready, wet, and open for him, but her mind had closed around itself.

  Fuck, he couldn’t bear the thought. He literally couldn’t stand it.

  Rachel’s head bowed, and he saw it then, the slight shake of her shoulders, and he was moving before he was even conscious of doing so, no thought in his head but the need to show her that he was here, give her comfort the way he used to. Crossing the space between them and putting his hands on her shoulders, turning her around.

  She tried to fight him, tried to knock his hands away, but he simply ignored her, one arm going around her waist to bring her close, the other rising to grip the back of her head, turning her face into his shoulder.

  She went stiff, but he kept his hold on her, and gradually all the tension bled out of her muscles. She made a soft, hiccupping sound, then another. And then the soft sounds became sobs, her face pressed hard to his chest, her hands coming up to grip the edges of his shirt as she cried.

  He’d seen her unsure and afraid. He’d seen her worried. He’d seen her sad. But he’d never seen her cry, not once. She’d always kept that part of herself hidden, staying strong and keeping herself protected. Yet she wasn’t now. Now she was a woman in pain, and the only thing he could do was hold her, bend himself around her as if he could put himself between her and the thing that was hurting her.

  That’s all he’d ever wanted to do. Keep her safe. Keep her from harm.

  “I don’t think you’re cheap. I don’t think you’re disgusting,” he murmured in her ear as he held her. “You’re my sunny girl, and I would never, ever, not in a million years think that about you. And you shouldn’t be ashamed either. You were taken advantage of by that fucking asshole, and if he were here now I’d kill him.”

  “But it was my decision,” she muttered thickly against Levi’s chest. “I didn’t have to do it. I could have told him no. I just thought it was nothing. That I’d be able to handle it because it was just sex. And I wanted the money.”

  His arms tightened, fury burning inside him. For her and the decision she’d made. A decision she shouldn’t ever have been faced with. “And what would he have done if you’d said no? He would have taken it anyway.”

  She gave another sob. “I thought I was taking control of my life. I thought I was being strong. But afterward . . . every time . . . I felt so . . . dirty. Disgusting.” She took a heaving breath. “I used to go away in my head. I used to imagine myself on a beach. But sometimes . . . it didn’t work.”

  Ah, Christ, was that why she’d always held herself back when he’d touched her? Because she didn’t want to feel anything?

/>   The thought made him want to smash something, take apart the bastard who’d done this to her like he’d taken apart that dealer with his hands all over her. Levi had lost it then too, punching the guy so hard he’d fallen and hit his head on the curb. A fatal injury.

  Levi regretted so much about that night. That he hadn’t controlled his temper. That a man had died. But he’d never regretted saving her.

  “That wasn’t you,” he said fiercely. “He never touched you. Not the real you.”

  She shivered against him. “I only wanted the money. But I couldn’t even bring myself to use it. After what happened with you . . . it felt wrong to go to school, and that money was already tainted. So I used it for Gran’s funeral instead.”

  Something inside him ached. She’d slept with that fucker for a chance at her dreams, and in the end it had all been for nothing.

  He tightened his fist in her hair, the silky strands sliding over his fingers, easing her head back so he could look down into her face.

  Her cheeks were wet with tears, her dark eyes fathomless and black. There was no guardedness there anymore, no walls.

  “You’re going to art school,” he said. “I’ll get you there.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Why not? You think you don’t deserve it?”

  Her long, thick lashes descended, the light sparkling off the tears caught there. Hiding herself.

  “Look at me.”

  She began to shake her head. “I can’t . . .”

  “I’m not asking.”

  Slowly, her dark eyes came back to his. Fear lurked in them, and grief, and he wanted to take both those things away, make sure she never felt them again.

  “You deserve it, Sunny,” he said softly. “You deserve everything.”

  “How? I made so many mistakes, Levi.” The words were blunt and raw. “My whole fucking life has just been one mistake after another. And what happened with you . . .”

  He put his hand against her throat, feeling the beat of her pulse beneath his thumb and the warmth of her body against him. Knowing the words he had to say, the words he’d been trying to avoid ever since he’d gotten out of jail, full of righteous rage and bitterness. To acknowledge what she’d flung at him the night she’d demanded her building from him.