5. Shedding the Past
There’s no hiding it this time.
He’s hard. Very hard. So much so that I’m certain that if he were to rid himself of his pants, he could thrust right into me without further encouragement.
And judging by the new pool forming between my legs, I wouldn’t need any prepping either.
My vagina is definitely in working order again.
My mouth dries as I let my eyes settle on the bulge in his pants. There’s no use denying it or trying to be bashful. I’m drawn to him as if he is a magnet. He’s only a few feet away from me, and I’m sure I can get to him in three strides.
Every cell in my body is telling me to close that gap. So strongly that I don’t even feel shame at my momentary loss of sanity that caused me to strip in front of an absolute stranger.
“Put it back on.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your dress.” Even if his lower body is beckoning to me, his face is a mask of sheer resolve. “Put it back on. Now.”
I lift my chin to him. Following orders has always been my thing. If you want to be a superstar without being branded as a diva, you have to learn how to follow instructions with a smile on your face, to glide through the world without ruffling feathers.
I’m still crashing inwardly from everything my dad said and what it might mean for my career. It’s in my best interest to obey Blake now, because getting into an argument on top of everything else I’m going through has the potential to rip me in two.
But I’m just about sick of following men’s orders. Blake is far from being Ben or my dad, but he has the same arrogant self-assuredness that causes him to believe he can boss me around all day. Like the way he tried to stop me from using the TV.
In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t the worst of ideas, though.
“I’m not putting this dress back on,” I say, crossing my arms around my chest defiantly. I regret that a second later because the additional pressure causes my breasts to slip further out of my corset.
Blake seems to take note. His gaze slips from my face like lazy molasses, settling heavily on my exposed bosom. I find it difficult to breathe as he takes me in. His gaze doesn’t look impressed, but I can tell I’m affecting him. Strongly.
I wait for revulsion or embarrassment to envelop me, as it usually does when I notice some reporter staring at me brazenly during an interview or a fan’s lustful gaze.
But I don’t feel either of those things.
To my utmost surprise, I feel . . . great. Maybe I have never let myself acknowledge it, but I like this. To be desired so obviously. To know that there is a man out there who wants me, and not in the soft-puppy way I sing about. But in the way that lights a fire in the pit of my stomach and makes me think of Earth-shattering orgasms.
And not just any man, either. But one of the most swoon-worthy guys I have ever seen in my life. He’s a bit of a dick, yeah, but he still looks like Hercules.
Feeling the heat from his gaze is slowly draining the tension from my body. So much that within a few seconds, I realize I have another reason for not wanting to wear my wedding dress.
The fact that he gets to see me.
“You can’t decide to go naked in front of me,” he says. “Especially on your wedding night.”
“It’s no longer my wedding night.” It also feels good to finally stand up for myself, even if it’s to the person that has arguably been the nicest to me today. I think of my dad’s false proclamations, and a sudden wave of recklessness overtakes me. Without thinking, I let my gaze linger on his obvious bulge. “And you don’t seem to mind this situation all that much.”
Fuck, I think a second later, as fury turns his face a blotchy red.
“Is that what you’d like to hear?” he says, taking a step closer. “For me to tell you that I’m hard for you?”
I force myself to stay rooted to the same spot. Something about his reaction is brutish, a little harsh. Surprisingly, though, I don’t feel the slightest bit of fear.
In fact, what I feel is closer to anticipation than anything.
I don’t know what it is about Blake that makes me trust him, but I know with a cool sureness that he’s never going to hurt me. What he could do to me are things that I’d naively convinced myself were beyond the realm of possibility.
And even if I want to draw closer to him, I’m a tiny bit scared of exploring the unknown. Of crossing over from my safe understanding of pleasure to something far greater.
“Alright, here goes.”
I look up at him, startled. He takes another step, closing the gap between us. My heart slams in my chest as I feel his palm against one of my ass cheeks, pulling me to him.
“I’m hard for you.” His breath is hot on my face. “Do you feel it?” I nod, disoriented at his reaction. “Trust me, it’s as confusing for me as it is for you. Didn’t think girls like you were my type. But when you prance around wearing nothing but this, all I want to do is turn you around and screw you till we both forget every second of this miserable day.”
Oh, I think I’d like that.
Sweat beads on my forehead. My arms are riddled with goosebumps. No one has ever spoken to me like this.
No one has ever had an effect this profound on me, either. My inner thighs are so slick with fluid that my panties are nothing but a wedgie between the folds of my lips. I look up at him, barely able to breathe, aware of the fact that I want the picture he described more than he could imagine.
He gives my ass a small squeeze. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he repeats, this time in a low, sensual voice that sets all my nerve endings on fire.
“Yes,” I hear myself breathe. I’m not answering his question. I’m giving him the go-ahead to do whatever he wants with me, and I sure as hell hope he realizes that.
But then he draws back, letting his hand fall from my body. Turning around, he flops down on the couch. He looks up at me, his face drawn back into an annoyed mask.
“There. I admitted to it,” he says. “Now put some clothes back on.”
I stare at him, humiliation stinging the deepest parts of my insides. What just happened?
He’s waiting for a response, but I’m too struck by his sudden shift in gears to even do anything. Finally, he lets out a conceding sigh and adds, “If you’re not going to do that, then at least you can explain to me why your dad just started a smear campaign against you.”
My dad. His words push away my attraction for him, along with the humiliation I feel. I’m reminded strongly of everything else, the mess I’m in and how I have no idea how to fix it.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. I’m newly disoriented again, thinking over my dad’s words. Even while fleeing from the wedding, I was certain that my father would do everything to protect my career, such as constructing a good lie that would convince the press to back off me.
He had lied, all right. Only he did it in a way that basically guaranteed my ruin.
Feeling suddenly exhausted, I cross over to the couch too, perching on the edge as far away from Blake as I can. I cross my legs, trying to ignore his intense gaze on my thighs.
He looks up at me again, suspicion in his eyes. “You said your dad knew Ben cheated.”
I swallow as the repulsive memory hits me. “Yeah.”
“And now, he’s going in front of cameras, lying to the world that the only reason you put a stop to the wedding is because you didn’t get the flowers you wanted.”
He doesn’t even look suspicious anymore. He looks . . . pitying.
I feel more goosebumps rise on my thighs. Everything about this makes me look like a pathetic little brat. I’m twenty-five years old. I shouldn’t be stumbling to explain myself like an overgrown toddler.
“I can barely understand you,” he says now.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re different from what I thought.”
“What did you think?” This conversation is distracting me from what I’m going through, and that’s more than enough reason to pursue it.
“Well . . . I don’t like you.”
His words hit me like a bullet in the center of my chest. “What?”
His gaze is unrepentant. “Everything about your public image is a nauseous fucking mess. You’re supposedly the sweetest little girl in America, the one who was lucky enough to be launched into a wonderful relationship as a teen and whose life now revolves around it. You?—”
I rise up, trying to resist the urge to throw a punch at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Apparently.” He stands up too. “Because now you’re here with a whole different story. You’re no longer the sweet girl America loves. You’re the battered young woman who has been lying through her teeth to the world, who knows that the idea of finding a perfect romance is as laughable as . . .”
“I never said I don’t believe in romance.”
A mean smirk forms on his lips. “You’re spending your wedding night stashed in a cabin with a stranger while your dad goes on a press rampage against you, and you still believe in the idea of perfect love?”
When he says it like that, he makes me sound like the biggest fool on planet Earth.
But the one thing my father did get right about me is the fact that I believe in love. And it’s going to remain true no matter what Blake says.
“Yes,” I say, meeting his gaze straight on.
He lets out a strangled laugh. “Guess it explains why you stuck with your dad while he treated you like a toy.”
His words feel like a slap to my face. Sudden tears of hurt start in my eyes.
Because Blake is right. My insistence on forcing myself into a make-believe perfect love had made me stick with my dad long enough for this situation to unravel. No doubt he is going from station to station contorting lies as a way to punish me for not obeying him for the first time in my life.
No more, I decide now, blinking back tears. I’m taking full control of my life. I’m not going to let anyone boss me around or make me feel like shit for not obeying them.
Starting now.
“Believing that there’s love out there isn’t the reason why I let my dad manage my career.” I might have no idea how to stop my father, but I do know how to make this asshole stop making me feel stupid for believing in romance.
His brows knot. “I’m sure they’re connected, somehow. Maybe you stuck around him for the same reason you stuck around your loser fiancé. Believing that they’ll finally see your worth if you could just hold on long enough.”
“So, tell me, Blake, who hurt you?”
His gaze darkens. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t even know me, and you worked yourself into believing that you hated me. But you don’t hate me, not really. You hate love and everything about it. My failed wedding probably makes you think you’re right. But you’re not.”
“Oh yeah?” He crosses his arms across his broad chest. “Have you got any personal experience in the romance field that would prove me wrong? Some ex who died before you got to the altar, maybe?”
Touché.
I press my palm against my forehead as a needling pain runs through my skull. Only twelve hours ago, my life was perfect. I was hours from walking down the aisle to a man I thought was the one. I was already working on a wedding album. The whole country loved me.
Now I’m stashed away from the whole world, at the mercy of an angry, detached hockey player who despises me. A hockey player whose gaze burns me to my very soul. Who, if he touched me right now, could cause me to cave and give everything away.
This isn’t my worst nightmare. It’s something even more wicked.
“Right,” Blake says, when he realizes I have no reply to this question. “Now that we’ve settled that, we’ve got to discuss ground rules.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from antagonizing him again. Even if he’s about the most annoying man on the planet, he’s risking his reputation to house me. I have to listen to him.
“First, we have no idea how long you’re actually going to stay here.” His tone makes it clear that he doesn’t see himself accommodating me for longer than a couple of days. “Seeing as you’ve got a dad that’s probably going to turn the whole world upside down to find you.”
“I’m going to fire him as my manager.” I hate myself the moment I say those words, even though it’s the truth. But it sounds too much like I’m trying to curry favor from Blake.
Judging by the expression of disbelief on Blake’s face, he thinks the same. A ball of humiliation swells in my throat as I wait for his next words.
“So, while you’re here, you shouldn’t watch TV. At all.”
I raise my brows. “That’s not going to be easy.” Seeing negative press about me won’t make it any easier to determine what my next move is going to be. But being stuck in this cabin with only Blake to speak to is like a death sentence on its own. Luckily, he has a shelf of books lining the living room wall.
“And because this cabin means a whole freaking lot to me and I’d hate it if the press started showing up, you can’t go to town all willy-nilly. Someone might recognize you. So I’ll be the one getting supplies and all that.”
This is getting worse and worse.
“You’re not suggesting I spend all my time in this cabin by myself?”
His blue eyes grow dark with warning. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. You claimed you needed to get away. I’m offering you the best option you can hope to get. Until you get sick of it and leave, which will inevitably be soon.”
My fingers fold into fists. There’s no mistaking his scorn or the fact that he most likely thinks the reason I’m going to leave is because I’m too shallow to be deprived of entertainment for a long time.
I’m suddenly filled with a burning desire to prove him wrong. Even if it means hiding here for the rest of the summer.
He’s silent, probably waiting for me to disagree with him. When I say nothing, he heaves a deep breath and his lips part.
“Finally, you’ve got to know something.”
There’s a trace of an emotion close to uncertainty in his tone. And that bothers me far more than his superior manner.
“What?”
His eyes find mine and he holds them. Unabashedly, he lets his gaze dip lower. My throat closes as he slowly peruses my bare cleavage for the second time. I force myself to breathe normally as he looks up at me.
“There’s only one bed,” he announces. “So, we’ll be stuck sleeping together for a while.”