Page 40 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

“I’ve been,” she looked away for a second. The sun had started to set, a sudden flash of yellow-gold light painting her face so that her blue eyes turned the color of ice—or maybe that was just a glimpse of her damaged soul. “Good,” she finished, meeting his gaze again, her jaw set in something he’d describe as determination.

He decided to take the plunge. “What happened?” he asked. “How’d you find yourself with a man who,” raped you, he silently finished. “Did that to you?”

She shrugged, looked away again. “He was nice in the beginning,” she said, giving him a self-deprecating smile. “But I’ve learned that’s what most victims say. A guy steps in, sweeps you off your feet. Everything’s wonderful, except . . . except there are little niggling signs that something’s off. A sudden flare of temper here, a fit of rage there. The first time he pushes you, you think it’s just an aberration, and you’re so into the whole ‘I’m in love’ thing that you find yourself forgiving it. The second time you’re a little more upset, but then he gets mad at you because you’re scared and before you know it that little shove turns into a fist. I tried to find a way out right after the first time it happened. He didn’t like that.”

She dropped into silence, her face in profile as she stared out the window, and as she sat there, she didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t seem to do anything other than get lost in her thoughts.

Goddam sick bastard.

“Did you ever come close to marrying?” she asked.

He felt his brow wrinkle at the unexpected question, but then recognized it for what it was—a ploy to change the subject. And as he put his mind to the question, it was strange, because he remembered back when they were teenagers all they’d talked about was marrying each other. Now here they were, years later, and in so many ways they were perfect strangers.

“No. Not really,” he admitted. “At first I was too busy trying to make something of myself.” But now that my business has taken off, I don’t have time.”

He saw her nose wrinkle. Funny, he’d forgotten she used to do that when perplexed. He remembered teasing her about it right before a math test.

“Wait a minute,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me you’re the owner of Horizon Construction?”

“I am.”

Her brows lifted. “Wow, Trent. I’d heard what you did for a living, but I thought you worked for someone else.” And then she smiled, and it was like sunlight breaking the plane of the horizon—a beautiful flash of yellow gold.

“And here I thought you might have rented this car.”

The approval he saw in her eyes did things to him. Strange things. Like make him feel proud. Maybe even want to gloat a little. Instead he said, “I was lucky,” a part of him wondering what would have happened if she’d never left town. “I hit the Bay Area construction boom just right. Made a lot of money, invested some, put away even more. I work when I want to work now.”

“And so here you are,” she said. “Mr. Successful.”

“Somebody told me you haven’t done too badly yourself.”

She shrugged. “I have a degree in law.” And then clouds rolled over her smile. “Obviously, it didn’t do me a lot of good.”

“One day, the guy will pay,” Trent found himself saying. “I promise you that.”

She nodded, still not looking at him.

Trent almost asked her for a name right then, but he decided to let the matter drop. He’d find out on his own—even if he had to hire someone. He started his car instead. And since he was staring at her right as he turned the key, he had a perfect view of the way her eyes glistened with tears.

He drove to the dinner party in a fit of rage.

He’d turned quiet, but that was okay with Bree. She needed time to think, time to reassure herself that she was doing the right thing by involving Trent.

He didn’t seem to mind being involved last night.

Yes, that was true. But it wasn’t really him she was worried about—it was herself.

She felt guilty. From the moment she’d looked into his eyes tonight, she’d begun to suspect he still had feelings for her.

So?

He’s a big boy, Bree. He knows you’re messed up. Don’t let guilt stop you from letting him help you. Damn it, you need the help.

“What are you thinking about?” Trent broke the silence by asking.

“Us,” she admitted, tempted to flat-out ask him if he still cared for her. She didn’t have the guts to do that.

“You know—about us in high school,” she improvised.

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