Page 26 of Wes

“Thanks.” I smile despite the piercing ache stabbing my chest. With a pained sigh, I continue, “I only mention all this about my mom and my wild days because I forged a very bad reputation for myself back then. I’m pretty sure the man in that bar knew me as a teen and spoke the truth, or his version of it. If that’s the case, Wes overreacted.”

My friend hangs her head. “And now he’ll have to pay for his mistake.”

“Which reminds me. I still don’t understand why his arrest will expose me to the paparazzi.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” She snaps her face up to look at me. “It’s his sentencing that will bring you more attention because he’ll serve it as mandatory community service.”

I groan, interrupting her. “Please don’t tell me he’ll do that at Welcoming Hills.”

She purses her lips, but their corners quiver as her eyes glint with suppressed laughter. “Okay, I won’t, then.”

“Argh.” I hide my face in my hands, speaking through my fingers as heat creeps up my neck and spreads over my cheeks. “I can’t deal with Wes on top of all my other problems. I can’t let my guard down around this man.”

“Wait, what? You told me you two had a great night, but that neither wanted a committed relationship. So, you went separate ways without hard feelings.” As she repeats my words back to me, my stomach sinks further. When I don’t reply, Moira pries my hands away from my face and eyeballs me. “There’s more you aren’t telling me.”

I hold her gaze as concern and compassion beam back at me.

I lace our fingers and take the proverbial leap. “Wes makes me feel things I haven’t felt since Ken.”

“That’s a good thing!” Moira cheers. When I droop my shoulders, she asks, “That’s not a good thing?”

I offer her a sad smile. “Not exactly. It took me years of therapy to come to terms with my childhood traumatic experiences.” And others I’m not willing to discuss now. “My party days are over. Still, that night I spent with Wes made me wonder if I’m missing out on some things. He tempted me with his domineering attitude in and out of the bedroom. He’s sexy as fuck. He likes it a little rough and I found out I don’t mind it.”

She nods with a dreamy expression on her face. “I can relate. Bad boys do it so much better.”

I slice the air with a hand. “No, I don’t want any of that. I want my life as it was before I met Wes. I feel like I tread a fine line when I’m with him. I fear that if I give in to my darker fantasies, I might devolve into my former self again.”

“You enjoyed your night with him, right?”

“I did, but –”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “No buts. You’re under a lot of stress dealing with a shady Big Corporation. Things will likely get worse and that’s why I came up here. However, one Mr. Wes Baron would help you blow off much more steam, in more pleasant ways, than me helping organize demonstrations.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it. You won’t be able to avoid the man. You should at least draw some pleasure out of his mandatory stint in your institution.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

I guffaw at her silliness and play along. “Nah. He told me he wants a big family and I can’t have kids.”

“Who’s talking about starting a family? Just have fun with a gorgeous man, that’s all. Take it from me. I thought I was done with love until Aidan proved me wrong. The only regret I have is that I resisted him for so long.”

Moira’s words reverberate in my mind throughout the rest of the day. Having sex with Wes again is a tempting idea, which I must do my best to reject.

Like a mantra, I utter under my breath, “Nothing good will come of me messing around with him.”

Every time images of our sweaty bodies pop up in my head, I repeat the words. Every time the echoes of our moans from that night ring in my ear, I repeat my mantra.

I convince myself I’m better off without Wes Baron. Until the next morning when he shows up at Welcoming Hills and hurls my good intentions through the window.

“Hi, Maria.” His raspy whisper jolts me upright and I grip the arms of my leather executive chair, snapping my head up from the documents I’m scanning.

Standing at my door in black jeans and a gray button-down, he fidgets with a manila envelope. When my eyes focus on his face, I muffle a gasp. Purple bruises, with brown smudges around their edges, cover his cheeks, chin, and jaw. As my throat catches, I scold myself. His violent outburst brought him that pain.

Anyone who behaves like a caveman should deal with the consequences. Right? So why does my heart break at the sight of his battered face? Maybe because he’s sustained those injuries when another caveman insulted me? I steel my spine against that pesky inner voice insinuating the thought. As a survivor of a heinous crime, I abhor violence under any guise. I won’t start making excuses for a foolish rock star. Not even one hot as sin like the drummer of Muse of Darkness.

10

WES

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