Page 36 of Taming Achilles

“Pippa …” he shook his head, pulling the towel into my hair to dry it. “Jesus, Pippa. I don’t know what to say to that. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not.” His brown eyes were rich, and shiny. “You’re not.” He held me close to him again, putting my cheek against his . “Have I done this to you? Is this my fault?”

There was a crack in his voice.

“Let me get you to bed …”

I recoiled, knowing exactly what that bed was for. More humiliation that I couldn’t handle right now.

“No, Pip. God!” He touched his forehead to mine. “I’ll let you sleep. I swear. Just let me …”

“No.”

“Pippa, please…”

I pulled away from him with shaky legs, landing on my arse on the cold tile. My fingers were cold. My skin felt tough, like leather as my hand shook like leaves on the wind. I felt the biting pin pricks of my nerves reigniting again.

I pushed myself to a stand, awkwardly regaining my dignity. Because I was Pippa Fox, and I did not show weakness.

“Pippa,” he said, looking up at me. “I’m … Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this.”

“Don’t beg, Mr. Campbell,” I said, coldly. “It’s unbecoming.”

He came to his feet, his hand reaching out, the towel in the other. I stepped away from him.

“Nothing has changed. That’s the only truth you need from me.” I walked away from him.

He said my name again. He had the audacity to call me with that tone. The tone that he had used five years ago. The one where he had whispered words of sweet love, and endearments. He wanted to pull me back to him, but it was all a lie.

Remember Simona. Remember what just happened. Remember what he really thinks of you.

Nothing had changed.

I gave him a polite smile, and he flinched from me as if I had struck him.

Remember why you left him. Why you broke your own heart. And his.

“The sun hasn’t risen,” I reminded him. “I’ll be in your bed when you need my services again.”

I walked out of the bathroom, my wet footsteps lightly sounding on the tile. I crawled into bed, under the black sheet, assuming the foetal position, bringing my knees to my chest.

The cold was comfort. Cold reminded me that I was alone.

Most of all, it reminded me that he would never, ever, love me again.

Chapter 17

Geordie

She went to sleep under nothing but a single sheet. She was in a tight ball, her lithe limbs tucked to her chest. I had waited before emerging from the bathroom, hoping not to disturb her.

Now, I sat on a little chair, a glass of whiskey in hand. I just watched her breath. The moonlight streamed in from the outside. I had opened the window, because she always preferred to sleep in fresh air, even if it was muggy with heat or freezing with snow.

There was a glass on the nightstand. I didn’t need to smell it to know she had poured herself a glass of gin. She’d probably downed it in one gulp before falling asleep.

She was a fitful sleeper. Always had been. Even as a teenager, when she had slept in my arms in the St. Michael’s dormitories. I barely slept at all. We were a match made in insomniac hell.

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