Page 37 of Edge of Desire

“I believe if I’d been some petty criminal, it wouldn’t have been that bad. But you should know I was raped, and not just once.”

I’d already figured that out. I mean it was prison. Wasn’t that sort of the standard operating procedure there? “Preston, I figured as much.”

“It left me with a major case of PTSD.”

“It would’ve been a miracle if it hadn’t.” How can anyone go through that and come out unscathed?

“And then there’s what came after.”

“After?” Why did I feel like the other shoe was about to drop?

Twelve

Preston

When she opened the door and plowed into me, we scared each other half to death. She was dripping wet and gloriously naked, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d keep from pulling her close. I wanted nothing more in this world than her. She ran her tongue across her lips and that was all I could stand. My mouth crashed onto hers before I could stop myself, and she tasted like heaven. What this woman did to me was not normal. My whole body sparked to life as she pressed herself against me. I wanted to fuck her more than anything. Scratch that. I wanted to make love to her. All of her. Crazy as it sounds, that’s how I viewed it. If we ever got that far, I would worship her body with everything I had.

Her wet hair was a mess but looked so damn sexy. There was one thing that baffled me about her, and it was the crazy notion she had about her body. She thought she was fat when she was nothing short of perfect.

Before this went any further, she had to know the ugly truth. All of it. And not just the bit about prison.

When she met me downstairs, it was time to tell it all, but she stopped me before I even began. Things went in a different direction than I’d planned. She mentioned a truce and how she was attracted to me. But before we could go any further, she had to know all about me. And I told her.

I started with the DEA and my undercover role and how I served time. “After prison, there wasn’t much left of me that was worth a damn.”

“Why do you say that? Every human has worth, whether they accept it or not.”

Why did her heart have to be so large? “Because it’s true. I’ve seen too many things that people do to others without regard for human life. I’ve been the recipient of some of that and I’m not proud of what it’s turned me into.”

She cocked her head and asked, “I’m not following.”

“You will. Anyway, I was released from prison but still had to work with the cartel, doing things I’m not proud of. All for the job. I played the drug addict, lived on the streets in filthy conditions, all the time pretending I was the loyal guy who killed his sister and mother all in the name of keeping my cover valid.”

“Wait. You killed your mother and sister?”

“No, but the cartel had to think I did it for them to put their stamp of approval on me.” I pushed to my feet and paced. I’d stop, but then start again because I didn’t exactly know how to say this to cushion the blow.

“But it was your job. You did it for that, so how can you think so little of yourself?”

“Avery, understand this. I came out of prison scarred, emotionally and physically. That’s never going away, and I have to live with it for the rest of my life. Will it get better with time? I hope so but there are no assurances of that.” I’d been pacing, trying to formulate my thoughts. She sat there silent, watching. I spun, dropped to my knees in front of her and reached out with my hands. My intention was to take hers in mine, but I moved too fast.

Her hands flew up in front of her face as she cowered. I immediately pulled my arms back, regretting that move. Hell, we were both a fucking mess. “Avery, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You have to know I would never hurt you. Not in a million years.”

She offered me a shaky smile and said, “I do know that. It’s just a stupid reaction. I’m sorry.” She tried to brush it off, but I knew it for what it was.

“It’s not stupid and you don’t have to be sorry. I think you have a mild form of PTSD from when you were attacked by that son of a bitch.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I do. I recognize it, because, as you know, I have it too, but mine is much more severe.” I scrubbed my face. “It’s from being in prison and getting the shit beaten out of me constantly, among other things.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. Don’t ever say that. No one deserves what you went through.”

I took that opening to tell her everything. I didn’t hold back because I wanted her to know it all. She had bared her body to me and I’d better be willing to bare myself to her. The most difficult part to witness was the pain reflected in her not blue/not green eyes. At times, tears pooled and slid down her cheeks. I reached out and brushed my thumbs beneath her eyes.

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