Page 116 of Merciless Desires

“I’ll be fine.” I straighten my back, faking strength.

“I know I look like Cormac, but I’m not him.” He gives me a once over that sets me off balance. “Change your clothes and let’s go. I’ll buy you better fitting ones.”

I have no idea where to go from here, but clearly, I need to gulp down my life in five-minute increments. Right now, I need to get out of this jumpsuit. When I have real clothes on again, maybe Darragh will see me as a human. Be more reasonable with me.

“I’ll… I’ll go in the bathroom and change.”

His cheek ticks in irritation.

“The window is too small for me to squeeze through.” I hold my stomach.

The way his eyes settle on my body unnerves me. “Five minutes.”

After slamming the door in frustration, I lean on the back of it. I want a shower so badly, but not with that sliver of dirty soap. I strip out of the jumpsuit and shove it into the trashcan. I’m naked underneath and catch my hideous reflection. Boney arms and legs from not eating very much and a basketball for a tummy make me look inhuman.

I think of that girl on the plane two and a half years ago, flying to Vegas, in my white cashmere coat, five-hundred-dollar jeans, and expensive high heel shoes.

I brush my teeth, squeezing the very last bead of toothpaste from the tube. A drop of mouthwash at the bottom of a trial size bottle is my salvation. I suck it into my mouth, desperate to taste something else other than bile and regret.

Using a washcloth, I scrub my face with hot water, digging with the scratchy surface to strip my skin of any lingering remembrance of that jail cell.

With shaking hands, I reach for my makeup bag sitting lazily on the counter. The pressed powder and blush are probably stale since I hadn’t put anything on my face in more than a year. A splash of toner wakes up my skin, and I manage one coat of foundation, amazed at how different I look in a matter of seconds.

The door flies open, and I jump back. My brain doesn’t even tell my hands to cover my nakedness. My body doesn’t feel like mine. Then something snaps, and with an ounce of my old self, emboldened by a layer of makeup, the fight in me returns.

“What the hell?” I don’t cover myself, though.

His gaze cuts me, and a hint of a grin tugs at his full upper lip. “Five minutes is up.”

“Clearly, I’m not ready. Back off.” I reach for the dress, but when I step into it, I miss and nearly tumble over.

Darragh catches me, his warm fingers closing around my naked hip. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” I choke out. “Please, just give me some money to get me through to my next court date. You heard the lawyer. I can stay in a woman’s shelter.”

Darragh doesn’t answer me, just pulls the dress up past my legs and over my stomach. “Arms.” He holds out the sleeves, and his ability to put me together launches butterflies in my chest.

It’s like he’s dressed plenty of women before. Men like him undress women and don’t give a damn how to put clothes on. “That’s…”

“Ugly, I know.” It’s a cheap, linen maxi dress with wide, white and beige stripes. I push past him and kick off the jail-issued flip flops. From the closet, I grab a pair of tennis shoes that Cormac saw no value in selling.

I sit on the bed and gasp when Darragh gets down on one knee to put them on me. Tears well up when I realize my feet are swollen from retaining water. He pulls the laces out, giving my feet room to breathe.

“Thank you.” I stand up with his help but spin around the room, dazed. It’s striking to be leaving here again. Twenty-four hours ago, I ran from here and didn’t look back, hoping I’d never see it again. The memories haunt me. God, I hate it here.

“You’re welcome.” Darragh’s cologne reminds me of his maleness and his sophistication while I’m falling apart. “It’s going to be all right.”

“I can’t imagine how.”

Darragh nods. “It will be. I promise. I’ll see to it.” He has my clothes jammed into Cormac’s duffle bag. When he leaves, I follow him like a puppy.

The door slamming behind me knocks reality into me. I’m homeless. Well, I guess I was already homeless. Living here, I had a roof over my head, but it was never a home.

I get back in Darragh’s limo, and with non-jail issued clothes on, my face cleaned, and teeth brushed, I consider the next few minutes.

“Where are we going?” I ask when Darragh doesn’t instruct the driver where to go. The guy just pulls out of the motel parking lot and takes off down the street.

“The airport,” Darragh mumbles, typing into this phone.

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