Page 12 of Passion and Revenge

I can’t believe I’m still dealing with this. Why the hell had I ever gone out with this guy in the first place? I should have put my foot down when Dad was playing his matchmaking games.

“Can I take you to lunch today? Or dinner?”

I groan.

Sal is a good-looking guy—tall, well-built, and a cop with that boy-next-door charm that many women find attractive. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. At least, not anymore. I used to think I was.

But that was a while ago, back when I believed having a guy who was madly in love with me was enough reason to stay with him. I had this naive idea that I would eventually feel the same way.

Boy, was I wrong.

Our brief relationship felt like a chore, and I had to give myself a pep talk the two times we were intimate. Both times turned out to be very lackluster.

Not to say that my ex isn’t good in bed, though. I’m sure there are women out there whose worlds he’s capable of rocking.

Sal made love to me while I craved to be…devoured.

Right from the start, I’ve always known I don’t want the sweet, slow, respectful kind of sex—the vanilla kind described in some romance books. Even though I have no experience with it to speak of, I know I want something darker, more urgent, and all-consuming. The kind that is raw, wild, and animalistic. The kind I think about for days and leaves my body thoroughly sated and wrecked.

My throat tightens as the thought that has haunted me since my first time with Sal passes through my head.

What if I’m just broken? What if the monster from my past has ruined me? The monster who I let destroy any form of pleasure I could get from the normal kind of love everyone is so into these days.

I forcefully push the rest of the thought back into the box at the back of my mind, where dark thoughts are buried, and then continue pretending like that part of my past never happened.

“I’m busy today,” I lie.

I’m going to spend my day daydreaming about Vincent like I’ve done every moment since that night, wishing it had ended differently between us.

I was now rich, thanks to him, and didn’t need to start another painting right away. Not that I could even if I wanted to. Every time I put my brush to the canvas, thoughts of the blue-eyed man will assault me, and I’ll find myself sketching his hard jawline, his firm lips, or his strong hands.

“Busy?” His voice sharpens when he asks, “Doing what? With who?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I hiss.

“Cool your jets, Si,” he says in an annoyingly placating voice. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

I lean against the railing lining the bridge and snort. “I don’t need you looking out for me. I can look out for myself.”

The only person I need to look out for is you.

I don’t add that part, though.

“I know you’re capable and all, but I care, okay?” he says. “I love you, and that’s not going to change just because we broke up.”

Oh God, here we go again.

“Sal—”

“I know what you need is time and space to just think things through, and I’m trying to give you both.”

My spine stiffens. “I don’t need to think anything through. I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions and stick to them. Do you think I’m doing this to torture you or something? I didn’t break up with you because I was having double thoughts about our relationship and needed a break. I’m not on a break from you. Our relationship is over. And it’s because I came to the realization that I don’t love you, and I doubt I ever will.”

“You don’t know that.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re young and?—”

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