I study her, trying to figure out why I want to believe her, when I have no reason to give her that trust at the point. “Then what’s it about?” I demand.
“It’s complicated,” she says, another tremble to her voice.
I resist an insane urge to close the space between us, grab her, kiss her, and fucking tell her everything is going to be okay. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
Rare, uncontained frustration rolls through me. “Damn it, Emily,” I growl, scrubbing fingers through my dark hair, which will no doubt soon be gray. I then rest my hands back on the counter to face her head-on. “What the hell is your real name?”
“Emily,” she repeats. “And this is going nowhere.” She pushes off the island. “I’m sorry. I should have never gotten involved with you. I’m leaving and you won’t see me again.”
She walks in my direction because she has no choice. It’s the only straight line to the door, and while I get that she is a caged animal trying to escape right now, that’s not going to happen. “You aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers,” I say, shackling her arm before she passes, turning her to face me, letting her see the distrust burning in my eyes. “This isn’t just about the two of us. This is about a company I pledged to protect.”
“Check the hotel security footage,” she says. “I was carrying a folder when I came here last night. Not that I can prove it had this information in it, but it did.” She pulls against my hold, which I tighten. “Please let me go,” she says, the plea laced with what almost sounds like regret, but then, what is real with her? What was ever real?
Seconds tick by, heavy like stone, and I stare at her, taking my time to reply, containing my simmering anger, but I let her see it. I let her feel the steel wire whipping here and there, and I don’t give her a path to dodge it or even soften its blow. Finally, I release her, but before she can move, I’ve gripped the waist of her blouse again, dragging her to me, the impact of her soft curves against mine a little too right to be so damn wrong.
“Tell me,” I demand, my tone roughened by the emotions I don’t want to name or feel for that matter, nor do I want to be staring into her eyes, looking for whatever the hell I’m looking for that I won’t find. Or maybe I will, and that’s the problem. She doesn’t want me to see it either, cutting her gaze to stare at my damn buttons again. “Look at me,” I demand of her.
She inhales, a soft sound that I don’t want to be sexy, but holy fuck, everything about this woman is sexy to me and that only pisses me off again. She lifts her chin, looking at me with those too blue eyes, and whispers, “I am sorry.”
“Is that a confession?”
“It’s an apology.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
I don’t like that answer. In fact, I hate that fucking answer, and I don’t hate any more easily than I love. Worse, I’m pretty damn sure I’m headed to one or the other with this woman; maybe I’ve already reached both. My gaze lowers to her mouth, lingering there, mine ready to claim hers, to punish her. “I wonder,” I say, my gaze finding hers, heat simmering low in my limbs, one part lust, another part fury, “how it is that I didn’t taste your lies. I wonder if they’ll taste differently now that I know they exist.”
I lower my head, leaning into her to find out when she shoves my chest, and says, “No!” before twisting away from me, leaving me no option but to risk hurting her if I don’t release her. I let her go; my idea of “punishment” is defined in many ways, and that includes her willing submission.
Emily wastes no time with her freedom, darting away from me and charging for the foyer. I stand there a moment, inhaling a calming breath and contemplating my next move and her potential departure. If I let her go, I find out where her panic leads her and to whom. But if that happens, will I ever find out how those lies really taste and why I’ve missed them? That’s not an option, and I start walking, my long stride eating up the space she has put between us. I exit the kitchen to the foyer, just in time to see her slip her purse across her chest.
She glances up at me and dashes for the door, and I let her reach it, entrapping her from behind. Still, she reaches for the knob and I shove my hand on the wooden surface and hold it shut. She turns to find me almost on top of her, so close I could taste those lies right now, right in this moment. I could fuck her right here and now, the way she’s been fucking me over and over for days.
“You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, surprising me with her attack. “Why can’t you see that I’m protecting you?”
“Protecting me how?” I demand, all kinds of possibilities stirring in my mind. The Feds. The Martina cartel. My brother. “And from whom?” I add.
“Since protecting you meant not telling you what I have going on, I wouldn’t be protecting you now if I told you. And what exactly is the difference in you pretending to fuck that woman to protect me and me keeping secrets to protect you?”
“You aren’t who the hell you told me you are. That’s the damn difference.”
“Fucking someone else or me hiding my identity to protect you. Which is worse?”
“Since I didn’t fuck another woman, but you did hide your identity, that answer is pretty damn clear.”
“I could say about ten things to that, but then you’d just make some scathing remark I don’t deserve. You didn’t even ask me why I hid who I am. You just attacked me.”
“This isn’t a little thing.”
“No,” she says. “It’s not. Not at all, but not for the reasons you assume.”
“You’re still trying to turn this one on me and it won’t work. All you had to do was just say ‘I can explain’ and then do it. If you had, we’d be having a different conversation.”
“Right,” she says, “and starting the conversation with ‘no more lies’ is certainly the way to invite me to share my deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I gave you every reason to trust me. Every reason to tell me what you chose not to tell me. You want delicate little questions? That’s not me and it’s sure as hell not me after I find out from someone else you’ve been lying to me and I have to question every moment I ever spent with you.”
“We’re done,” she rasps out, delicately clearing her voice before adding, “We both know that, so let’s not drag this out. Let me out of here.”
I study her for several beats, reading uncertainty in her face that I want to understand, to taste on my tongue, a little too much. “Yes,” I say tightly. “Let’s get out of here before I strip you naked and fuck you, which I have no doubt we’ll both enjoy, but I won’t be sure who’s seducing who. And I won’t be that damn naked with you ever again.”
“I told you why I did this, Shane,” she murmurs, defeat in her voice.
“To protect me. Funny. My father loves to use that as an excuse.”
“That was your excuse for being with that woman,” she fires back, that fiery side of her I like too damn much returning.
“I wasn’t fucking that woman and you know it.”