Page 20 of Under the Influence
Hurt doesn't even begin to touch what I'm feeling. No wonder she fucking hates me with such a vengeance. A fucking jackass, I wasn’t there when she needed me the most. All I wanted to do was protect her. And I ended up destroying her. And ourchild.
“I just thought you shouldknow.”
An ache I can't tolerate floods my body. The loss of the woman I love was fucking unbearable. But now, to be unaware of losing someone I didn't even know about but instantly love, almost fucking drives me to the point of insanity. I'm not good at this. Not good at emotions. Not good at accepting what I cannot fucking control. The ache flares to anger. "You were pregnant with my baby, miscarried, and didn't tell me until now? And you 'just thought I shouldknow'?"
My stupid, selfish accusations push her too far. Finally making her head whip up. A fury I've never seen before burns in her eyes, blazing across her cheeks. "No! You don't get to ask me that. You don't get to judge my decisions after what you did. You made your choice. I'm not goingto–"
The words muffle when I yank her against my chest. I clutch her trembling body, leaning us back against the headboard. Jabbing my skin with the teal metal rods while her quiet whimpers dampen my skin. Nothing compared to the self-hatred pounding in my own heart. I'm a fucking dumb ass. "You're right. This is all me. All myfault."
Long hair rustles under my chin. “No. It would have happened either way. Just dumbluck.”
Surprisingly, no bitterness or blame sounds in her whisper. Only a dejection that I fucking hate. Six months to absorb the loss and accept the disappointment, if that’s even possible. While I’m raw and ravaged from the fresh news of more shit I fucked up. “I’m sosorry.”
“Me too.” Her body finally softens, falling limp in my arms. Battered by the overwhelming emotions spinning through her from our confrontation. A cyclone of sex, tears, and alcohol winning the fight between us. A huge yawn blows on my throat. “But, I still want you gone bymorning.”
Before I can protest her demand, she’s out. Damn, that’s fucking harsh. And, of course, more than deserved. I’ve done nothing tonight to erase any of the damage I caused. To prove I love her. To earn back hertrust.
Shit, I need to kick my own ass for missing the clues that night. Her request to relax just the two of us rather than dance. Ginger ale instead of her usual champagne. The plea to talk so she could tell me somethingimportant.
Too agitated to sleep, I hold her all night. Watching her since it’s been too damn long since I’ve seen her gorgeous face. Plotting my new plan to put a genuine smile back on those soft, pink lips. Although I’ve completely jacked up this unexpected reunion, tomorrow and each day after that I will expend every ounce of energy into winning her back. No matter how long it takes or what I have to do or how much she resists, Chryseis is mineagain.
He’s still here.
I know it. Not from the tantalizing smell of rich coffee wafting out of the kitchen. Or, from the warmth filling the apartment from him fixing the thermostat again. But I swear to goodness I can simply sense his dominant presence. Always confident. Forever certain. Constantlyassured.
Until lastnight.
For the first time ever, uncertainty clouded his expression. Baffling me how a man as rich and powerful and demanding as him could be insecure about me. A woman like me, to use his words. How a notorious mobster could be afraid of a naïve librarian. Well, at least I used to be. He taught me well how quickly pleasure turns to pain. Now I’m more jaded than I like toadmit.
Regardless, I’m all too aware of the power he holds over me as I climb out of bed. My naked body proof of his control. My racing heart deliriously happy he didn’t leave. My wary mind cautioning me against letting myself fall for him again. Too late for that advice. I’ve already tumbled too far, easily ensnared by his possession ofme.
My head doesn’t hurt as much as it should with all I drank when I wrap my robe around my tender body and shuffle to the bathroom. I guess he’s a good cure for a hangover. Leaving only slight bruises on my arms and thighs from our attempts at reconciliation. Contrasting with the gentleness he conveyed while bathingme.
The first time ever he’s done anything like that. Or this. In the kitchen, exhilaration takes flight in my chest from his intense focus on buttering toast. Usually I was the one to cook. To take care of him. Not because he’s a chauvinist but because no one ever had. With his non-existent father and early passing of his mother, he’s never known the touch of a gentle hand or been surprised with his favorite dinner or given rapt attention to his answer after asked how his day was. All the things so completely foreign to him and so common to me, I wanted to givehim.
He soaked up my affection like a wilted flower finally watered. Blooming from attention and patience and love. Traits I knew were deep inside him too that just needed to be coaxed out. That he always returned to me. Until thatnight.
All of my fondness drifts away. The tenderness and generosity of last night and this morning do nothing to erase what he did. We had sex. I messed up making love to him. I know giving in to him was wrong. I accept the punishment of my actions, regardless of how much I ache inside, and now it’s time we both move on. “I don’t want you here Gio. Pleaseleave.”
His muscular shoulders droop from my voice behind him, and he tosses the knife back on the plate. The rattling clank of metal bashing against glass cuts the silence as punitive as my request. Which I hate, but I have to be direct. Especially after I caved so easily last night. Shame burns my cheeks from being so wanton in seducing him. I can’t leave any room for discussion. Can’t weaken again. Neither my heart nor my pride can withstand thehumiliation.
I know I was intoxicated. But I can't blame my lapse in judgment on alcohol. I would have slept with Gio even if I was sober. Which seems even more sad and pathetic. After what he did, I should be able to resist him. Detest his touch. But I can't. Idon't.
Turning around, he drives his hand through his dark hair. Already tousled from my fingers tangled in the strands earlier. Shame burns my cheeks. That I wish I could strokeagain.
"Can we at least eatbreakfast?"
The defeated tone sounds so weary. So drained. I'm sure from lack of sleep. And strenuous sex. Not genuine remorse. I tug my robe tighter, only making my hardened nipples even more prominent. Straining against the navy and red silk. A gift from him, back when he used to spoil me. Back when I thought he actually lovedme.
God, I hate how my body responds to him. Unable to ignore his chiseled physique with only loose boxer briefs covering his thick body. My favorite gray pair I never could bring myself to throw away along with the rest of his belongings. Which I guess he realizes from the comforting scent of his woodsy soap clinging to hisskin.
Even just thinking about his touch heats me to my core. Surprisingly, he keeps his eyes locked with mine. Almost as if he genuinely wants a connection between us beyond the physical. "Iguess..."
One meal – that's all I'll give him. Besides, from the slices of burned toast in the trash can, I would feel guilty wasting morefood.
I wish my dinette was bigger. Sitting across from each other, we're less than two feet apart. Separated only by a pitcher of orange juice and a platter of eggs, dotted with tiny bits of green andblue.
The bleu cheeseolives.
