Chapter 6 #2
Hearing that word both rattles me and calms my rapidly beating heart.
It’s out there . . . “I don’t know that I ever loved him.
” Shame still coats a part of my psyche, trying to convince me to be the bad guy and take the fall for the failure of the relationship.
In the past, I might have . . . I did. I don’t have the energy to fight for something that never was.
“We were a match made in Hollywood. We auditioned together for a movie and were cast as a couple. I guess I was naive enough to believe it was real in the beginning, but I think we’ve been method acting ever since.”
I take a breath, and my heart is already lighter after exposing the truth, even if it is in the middle of the night. “I remember looking at him when he told me my career would be over if I broke us up. You know what?”
With Cash’s gaze traveling from my eyes to my mouth, he asks, “What?”
“I didn’t care.” I shake my head as my resolve from that day returns.
“I couldn’t force myself to care about a career that would tie me to Corbin Darian forever.
” I release a breath like I’ve released my guilt for not trying harder to make that relationship work.
It feels good to finally get this off my chest. I’ve been living in a state of what-if for days, and I’m so much closer to the answers.
But Cash’s continued silence after my final confession makes me anxious, like I’m waiting for a judgment to be laid upon me.
Somehow, from the paddock to now, I care what he thinks of me. I care what he thinks, period. I don’t struggle to hold his gaze as my sudden connection with him runs deeper than the green of his eyes.
He finally shifts, licking the inside corner of his lips. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
Shock . . . offense . . . annoyance forces me to my feet.
“That’s it? That’s all you got from everything I said?
” I walk toward the balcony, needing fresh air.
“I haven’t told a soul any of this, not even my best friend, and that is your burning question?
The only thing you care about is my sex life? ”
My wrist is caught when I pass, and he pulls me back just enough for our gazes to lock. “Don’t get all haughty on me, babe. I’ve already proven myself as trustworthy tonight. Is that not enough?”
“You don’t owe me your trust. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Except a phone, right?” he replies so quickly, though his expression remains neutral under the strain of the circumstances.
Both of us are stubborn enough not to look away from the other but smart enough to let down our guards when it’s a lost cause.
I angle toward him, not comprehending this deep-seated need I have for him to give me understanding in return.
To open up to me and share a secret? His own sad story?
To say something that makes me feel less vulnerable right now?
But he doesn’t, so I say, “I exposed myself and—”
“Your secrets are safe with me. I won’t share them, and I won’t use them against you. But I also need you to do me a favor.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stand in disbelief. “You completely disregard everything I told you to focus on your own interests, and now you have the nerve to ask me for a favor?”
“Stop overthinking everything you say and do. You’ll never be happy if you’re always living for someone else’s approval or worried about what they’ll think of you,” he says so easily sitting atop a pedestal looking down on me like I’m nothing more than a fan in the audience.
“I’m just picking up the vibe you’re dropping down.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Marina.” It’s not a question. By his tone, it’s definitely a demand.
My arms tighten over my chest, holding tight to my newly formed defenses. “No.”
“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.” Reaching forward, he grabs me by the hips and pulls me to him.
A squeal instead of a protest escapes as I land in his lap. Any other guy, I’d be clawing his eyes out. Cash’s eyes are simply too nice to ruin. But otherwise, they’d be toast. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting you to listen.”
I’m not about to tell him I’ve been called stubborn a time or two, but he has a point.
I sometimes get caught in my thoughts instead of seeing what’s right in front of me.
So to spite the alcohol that wants to muddy my mind, I try to think clearly and be levelheaded about this.
“Fine. Tell me what you want to say so badly.”
“Stop wasting time trying to figure out what went wrong because the answer is always going to be that your ex is just an asshole. So don’t second-guess what you did or didn’t do.
And don’t hold it against every other guy out there because he doesn’t speak or act on our behalf.
He’s an idiot for letting you go. A million other men are smarter than that. ”
Trying not to fall apart in his arms from the sweetness, I melt instead—my heart, my defenses, and my willpower not to kiss this man. Why does he have to be so good to me? If he keeps this up, I won’t fight against this wave of emotions and give in to his tide instead.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Forty-two.”
My head jerks. “Whoa. Forty-two inches?”
He chuckles, rubbing my hip like he has no intention of giving me up anytime soon. I love it. Damn him. He says, “The meaning of life, but thanks for the compliment.”
“Is that a compliment or a threat?”
“Hmm. Guess we’ll just have to find out.” My laughter releases like bubbles in champagne, making me feel lighter in his arms. “What were you really going to ask?”
It’s not in the words he said, although they hit close to home. They were a home run, in fact. But it’s the way he sounds; he knows what I’m going through, and he’s been there before from personal experience.
Is that why I trust him?
Is that why I remain on his lap?
Savoring every second and every word he shares?
Yes.
I tap the end of his nose. “What do you suggest I do?” I ask, booping the tip. “And it better not involve sex with you.”
Clicking his tongue, he grins. “There goes that plan.” He reaches up to tuck my hair back from my face. His smile disappears as his fingers linger on the shell of my ear. A rise in his chest spurs other body parts to rise along with it. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Eight months.” I suck in a breath and release it easily around him. “I think it’s been eight months since I had sex or anything else that would . . . would—”
“Would?”
“Release some tension.”
I almost expected him to laugh out loud at me, but that’s not what he does. His fingertips slide around my ear, then lower to my collarbone. He traces an imaginary design across my chest, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind, and whispers, “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, it’s a tragedy.” I wriggle on top of him because we’ve come this far already anyway.
The right side of his mouth lifts. And though that just adds to his appeal, that part of him hasn’t captured my attention.
He’s hard and large, and I move again to feel more of him.
My lids threaten to close, my body willing to take the chance that pleasure could be found through rubbing against him.
With the heat of our connection spreading into my chest, I do what I don’t want to, touching his cheek with the tips of my fingers and whispering, “I should go. Nothing good happens after two a.m.”
Leaning in, the scruff of his cheek scrapes against my face, and when he reaches my ear with his mouth, he whispers, “All the more reason to stay.”
Stay.
One word that has me throwing caution to the wind. I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to satisfy a craving I’ve kept at bay since I met him.
Why does he have to be so nice?
Why does he have to care?
Why does he have to be so ridiculously sexy?
Damn him.