Authors: Maisey Yates
She had absolutely nothing to compare it to, but orgasms she knew. She had plenty of those on her own. She was a capable, red-blooded woman, after all. But those were... They were all under her control. She had them when she wanted them and never when she didn't. There was predictability to them. To achieving it all on your own.
She had no control with Gage. And he had done things to her that... She knew things. She knew plenty about sex. But theoretical sex is not actual sex. Actually having those things done to you made them wicked and almost beyond belief rather than uncomfortable and slightly giggle-worthy.
She had definitely not been giggling during the sex.
She was overheating thinking about it, and she needed to get her mind on something else.
It didn't matter, because just then, he turned into the parking lot at Ace's. “Thank you,” she said, practically leaping out of the truck before it had fully stopped. She said a prayer of thanks that she had actually remembered her purse, and that her keys were inside of it. She needed to get some distance between herself and Gage.
He got out of the truck, the driver side door closing hard, the sound echoing across the empty lot. Ace's had clearly emptied out promptly tonight. Probably because other people had left in a hurry to hook up. Just like they'd done earlier. She tried to shove that thought, that memory out of her mind.
And when she looked at him walking toward her, she tried to think of him as that monstrous villain she'd imagined him to be. But it was hard. Hard when she had been intimate with the man. When she had seen the way he had responded to the news of his sister giving birth.
Harder still when he had confided in her about some of those things. That Sierra had been six when he left. That it clearly hurt him, the passage of the years, how much he had missed.
That he wasn't some callous monster who had left town and never thought of them again. He had thought of his family. He had thought of her. It was easy to be offended about that. That he had somehow co-opted her pain and made it his own. But maybe he just had his own pain.
That thought made her feel like her chest had been cracked open for some reason. It was uncomfortable, invasive, and it seemed to demand something of her. She didn't know what.
She went to the driver side of her truck, unlocked the door and opened it, then she turned to look at Gage one last time. There was something tortured in his expression, something drawn and tired. He looked older than he had at the start of the evening, reinforcing that feeling that today had actually contained years.
Each and every one seemed to be written on that gorgeous face. She couldn't stop staring at him then. Looking at him like it was the first time she'd seen him as he stood there illuminated by the security lights, the sharp, blue glow highlighting his cheekbones, casting the planes of his face into sharp relief.
She looked down at his forearm, exposed because the idiot wasn't wearing a jacket. At that tattoo. She had touched his body. Had touched it naked. He was muscular, hard and rough, hairy in all the right places, just like a man should be.
She wished that he were just a man. Just a man she had decided to sleep with for the first time. And it made her angry that he wasn't. That this couldn't be simple. That it couldn't just be fun. That it couldn't just feel good. That it had to be just tonight, and never again.
As if he read her mind, he let out a harsh, low sound, and crossed the space between them, taking her into his arms and pulling her up against him, claiming her mouth with his. He kissed her deep and long, sliding his fingertips down between her shoulder blades, along the line of her spine and down to cup her ass.
She whimpered, arching against him, pressing herself hard against his erection. She just wanted to hold on to him, to hold on to this. Maybe it was better that it was him. That it wasn't someone she should want, wasn't someone she would want again when she was thinking clearly. It wouldn't be awkward later, because they were never going to hang out. And when they saw each other, the feelings had never been easy anyway. So, it could hardly be worse.
She justified. She justified all those things as he pushed her back, laying her down across the bench seat of her truck. He pressed his hand between her thighs, sliding his fingertips beneath her dress, beneath the elastic of her panties.
He stroked her, where she was wet and aching for him, his thumb making tight circles over her clit.
She reached out, grabbing hold of his forearms. “Gage,” she gasped, “I want... I want...”
“No,” he said. “You'll be way too sore. Just take this.” She hated that he had read her mind. That he knew she had been about to beg to have him again. And she hated even more that he had refused.
But not half as much as she hated that he had taken her from slightly muddled confusion to so aroused she couldn't think straight in under thirty seconds. White lightning streaked from where he touched her down deep to her core, her internal muscles pulsing. She was hungry for him, for his penetration. And she begged. Made incoherent moaning sounds as he continued to torment her, as he ratcheted her desire up hotter, higher.
And then, it completely shattered over her, like a pane of glass, glittering and sharp all around her, cutting into her. She couldn't catch her breath, didn't want to, as glittering shards of sensation worked their way beneath her skin, invading every part of her. She couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything. She could only feel.
And when it passed, she became very aware of his hard body above her, of the tight band of his arm, wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. Of those blue, endless eyes. Eyes as sharp as any blade cutting deeper than the pleasure. Leaving more profound scars than any that could be seen written across her skin.
She gasped, extricating herself from his hold, scooting backward, putting her hand over her face. “I... Not again,” she said.
“Rebecca,” he began.
“Just. Tonight.”
“I didn't hurt you, did I?”
She shook her head, even though she was lying. He had hurt her seventeen years ago, and on so many other occasions since, without even being present. But she had a horrible feeling that tonight he had hurt her worse, with repercussions that would show up when she least expected it.
“It's fine. Of course you didn't... It isn't that... I wanted it,” she said, because she couldn't have him believing anything else.
“You're upset.”
“I'm tired. I just need to go home. I need to be alone.”
She needed solitude desperately. Because the only other option was breaking open in front of him, and pouring out all of these emotions onto him. And a very large part of her felt like she would rather die. She didn't share these things with people. Not with anyone.
She certainly wasn't going to share her emotions with him, with the man who was basically the reason she was such an emotionally stunted nutcase. Much to her relief, he didn't press. Instead, he turned and got back into his truck.
She let out a sigh of relief. There was a very large part of her that wished Gage West would just drive off into the sunset, or the sunriseâwhich was more accurate to the momentâand disappear for another seventeen years.
She started the engine, and let out a sharp sob the moment the roar filled the cab, blotting out the sound her tears made as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. She would fall apart here, where no one would see, and then by tomorrow everything would be fine. The next time she saw Gage, she would have everything together.
Tonight had been all about letting go of baggage and liberating herself. It stood to reason that it would feel strange at first. But everything would normalize. And now, maybe so would she.
She was desperate to believe it. Because otherwise, she might just be falling apart for no good reason. She had survived too damn much to crumble now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
B
Y
THE
TIME
Rebecca walked into Lane's Mercantile at lunchtime she had more or less convinced herself that she was in control of her emotions, her body and her feelings. Sure, she had alternately spent the night weeping and tossing and turning because she was aroused and wanted nothing more than to be touched by Gage again. Which was never going to happen, so her body needed to get over it.
She felt refreshed, and much less dire in the light of day, which was helpful.
She didn't know why everything had felt so crazy last night. Probably all of the emotions, and the climaxes. But today she felt renewed. She felt like maybe she had finally put a demon to rest.
She felt...oh crap. Clearly she had been celebrating a little bit too soon.
Because there was Finn up on a ladder looking at light fixtures in the mercantile. Being very right there, when she would rather he weren't at all.
“Hi, Rebecca,” Lane said, her eyes fixed on Finn.
“I came for lunch, since you said you were sampling that new cheese that you got.”
“It's from France,” Lane said.
“We make cheese,” Finn said, his tone hard.
“And the Laughing Irish cheese is great,” Lane said, “but while local cheese is certainly a draw, I need to carry European cheeses too. So get over yourself. Your cheese is not the only cheese, Donnelly.”
Clearly, Lane was ignorant about what had transpired between herself and Finn the night before, and Finn wasn't paying any attention to her, which was more typical than the interaction they'd had last night.
Still, seeing Finn reminded her of last night, which reminded her of everything that had happened after the two of them had parted.
All of the Gage things. The things that she was trying to be not completely psycho about.
“My cheese is the only cheese anyone would ever need, if they would just try it,” he said, descending the ladder.
“Was that some kind of weird, cheese-based euphemism?” Lane asked.
He cocked his head to the side, his expression long-suffering. “I wouldn't waste my euphemisms on you, Lane.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever, man.”
Rebecca's eyes clashed with Finn's, and an electric current of awkwardness arced between them. She had a feeling that was all on her end, since Finn was infinitely more experienced with bar hookups and the like.
“Was everything okay last night?”
Finn was looking at her with far too perceptive and searching eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, looking down and walking a few steps for no particular reason except that it gave her something to do.
“Why?” Lane asked. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing,” Rebecca said.
“Some guy came and dragged her out of a bar,” Finn said at the same time.
“What?” Lane asked, sadly keying into what Finn had said.
“It wasn't a big deal. And,” she continued, directing her words at Finn, “I'm here, so clearly I'm okay. Also, if you were so concerned maybe you shouldn't have let him drag me out of the bar.”
“You said that everything was fine. You insisted. But, I did regret letting you leave.”
She wasn't entirely sure what the context of that was. It made her stomach do weird things. Tighten. Turn over.
“Start at the beginning,” Lane said, her voice sharp. “What happened?”
“I was dancing with Rebecca, and some dude took issue with it.”
“That's not the beginning,” Lane said, the color in her cheeks darkening. “You were dancing with Rebecca?”
Finn's expression hardened. “Yeah,” he said, “I was.”
“How did that come about?” Lane asked, her tone a little bit too casual.
Oh great, now Rebecca had the feeling she had stepped in the middle of something. But, Lane was always the first person to insist that there was nothing going on between herself and Finn. Still, she was a little bit too interested now for Rebecca to believe that was entirely the case.
“I knew him,” Rebecca said. “And I wanted to dance.”
Finn arched a brow. “Yeah,” he said, not doing his part at all to sound convincing. Whatever he was doing right now, he really had to stop because she needed to preserve her own self and he didn't seem remotely interested in that.
“Okay,” Lane said, her expression dark.
“I'm fine,” Rebecca said pointedly. “Everything is fine.” She began looking for something to busy herself. “I was promised cheese.”
“You can't have cheese. Not until you provide me with a sufficient explanation.”
Rebecca stamped, feeling more frustrated than the situation warranted because everything felt too big and too strange inside of her right now to deal with a Lane Jensen inquisition. “You cannot hold French cheese hostage, Lane. It's cruel and unusual.”
“You were dragged out of a bar by a man after dancing with Finn. I think if anyone is owed an explanation, it's me.”
“I'm sorry, I forgot that time you bought front-row season passes to my entire life.”
“You're being impossible. Most people would just tell their friends what was going on. Actually, the biggest reason I think there's something going on is that you won't tell me. Because, if nothing had happened with the guy from the bar, why wouldn't you tell me what happened?”
Rebecca gritted her teeth. “Fine. Nothing happened with the guy from the bar.”
“Who was it?” Lane pressed.
Her face heated and she knew that she was the color of a ripened raspberry. Finn was standing there, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and Rebecca was ready to kill him for bringing any of this up in the first place. The problem was, he knew exactly what had happened, because he knew why she had been at the bar in the first place.
She was pretty inexperienced when it came to men, but she knew that the two of them had been on the same page. Not that they had wanted each other extravagantly, but that they had at least been willing to take each other on as consolation prizes.
Or, if not specifically a consolation prize on his end then a little bit of casual entertainment. Either way, he knew too much. And she suddenly felt embarrassed, exposed and more than a little humiliated.
“Who was the guy?” Lane repeated.
“I just needed to have a little talk with Gage,” she conceded finally.
“Gage. Gage West? The guy who is offering to sell me this building.” Rebecca could see everything slowly coming together in Lane's mind, watched as the dots connected and formed to make a picture of horror on her friend's face. “Who is the guy that caused your accident. And is the guy you're working for,” she said, her words coming faster and faster as she began to put all the pieces together.
“Yes. That's him. We just needed to talk about... You know, the details surrounding our agreement.”
“Which is why he grabbed you like a jealous boyfriend?” Finn asked.
“Rebecca,” Lane said, frowning. “Is everything okay? He owns your business, and he's completely invaded your life, and now I hear that he has dragged you out of a bar like he has some kind of claim on you.”
“Nobody has a
claim
on me but me. So, you can just stop with that dramatic nonsense right now. There's nothing... This is nothing...” Suddenly, horrifically, she felt her eyes fill with tears.
She felt like all of the invisible seams from where she had once been stitched back together were beginning to tear open. And that all of her insides, all of her secrets, her fears, her
everything
, was going to spill out right here in the mercantile, in front of Lane and Finn.
If that happened...she just couldn't have them knowing. What a mess she was. What a damn freak show beneath all the
I'm fine
s.
“Excuse me,” she said, rushing past Lane and heading into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and locking it. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was building inside of her. She was unsuccessful.
She wanted to tell Lane what was happening. And, she never wanted her to know. She never wanted
anyone
to know. She was ashamed and embarrassed and upset that Lane might have been hurt because Rebecca had been trying to avoid dealing with her own stuff and had brought Finn into the mix.
Finn, who Rebecca should have known was off-limits, regardless of what Lane said. Even if he wasn't a boyfriend, even if he never would be, it wasn't right for Rebecca to step in the middle of that relationship. It was too complicated to do something like that. Sure, Finn wasn't her friend, but it was still idiotic of her.
She plunked down on the closed toilet seat, resting her elbows on her legs, burying her face in her hands. She was just going to go ahead and internally berate herself for everything, even things that weren't her fault. Even the things that weren't her responsibility, like Finn and Lane's whatever-the-hell friendship. Because she felt crappy, and for some reason that compelled her to try and make herself feel crappy all the way down.
She was an idiot to have ever let Gage touch her. No, she was more than an idiot. There was something wrong with her. As if the scars he had given her ran so deep, and were so pervasive that they had screwed up everything. Even her ability to be attracted to a normal, good man who hadn't...hurt her.
It all involved him. Somehow, he was tangled up in all of it.
She couldn't even tell Lane. Because she was too ashamed. Because she didn't like telling people anything. That was his fault too. All of it, every last bit.
She wanted to cry and wail and scream a little bit too, but instead she kept it all bottled up. Kept her hand planted firmly over her mouth, and dashed each and every tear away as it fell.
Gage had messed up her life pretty bad seventeen years ago, but this part of it, all of this, was on her. She was the one who had gone after him. Well, then he had gone after her. After she had kissed him. She was the one who had made it like this. She had really, royally messed up her own life, and there was no one to cast aspersions on but herself.
She straightened, brushing her hands over the front of her clothes, then turning and looking in the mirror. Yeah, she looked like she had escaped into the bathroom to cry. There was no recovering from this. She might as well just go and brazen it out. Then there was a knock on the door.
“Rebecca?” She heard Lane's voice through the door.
“I'm fine,” she said.
“I think when you storm into a bathroom and lock yourself in, you probably aren't fine. Basing that hypothesis on most of the episodes that occurred during my teenage years.”
Rebecca let out a shuddering breath, then reached out and unlocked the door, turning the knob and pulling it open. “See?” she asked. “Fine.”
“You aren't usually emotional,” Lane said, her voice muted.
The accurate and painfully honest assessment hung between them. Rebecca didn't like it. She didn't want it. Why did Lane have to be such a good friend? Why had she let her get this close? Surface stuff was so easy. A worse friend would have just said okay after Rebecca said fine.
Lane was not a worse friend, sadly.
“I'm a little bit messed up right now,” Rebecca admitted, her throat closing up.
Lane laughed, a leaden sound that did nothing to buoy the mood. “Who isn't?”
“Nothing happened with Finn,” Rebecca offered.
Rebecca watched as Lane's expression went through four seasons. From hot to cold and everywhere in between. “It wouldn't matter if it had,” she said finally.
It was Rebecca's turn to try and be a decent friend. To press instead of letting lies sit.
“It wouldn't? Really? You can honestly say that you are completely okay with all of that?”
Lane let out a slow, unsteady breath. “Look, I would rather if you didn't sleep with him, just because it would be weird.” She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I don't... I don't really think of him as a man.”
Privately, Rebecca had to call bullshit on that, but she wasn't going to say it out loud. She had a feeling she'd reached the end of where she could push. And anyway, she was too committed to hanging on to her own bullshit, hoping that Lane wouldn't say anything to call her out directly.
But that didn't mean she couldn't push a little.
“Right,” Rebecca said. “So, it would be weird if someone that you were close to thought of him as one.”
A crease appeared between Lane's eyebrows. “Do you? I mean, do you think of him as a man?”
“Yes,” Lane said, honestly. “He's...he's really good-looking.”
“But nothing happened,” Lane said again.
“Nothing. And, nothing is going to.”
“But...it was,” Lane insisted, her tone strangely flat. “It was going to happen, wasn't it?”
“No,” Rebecca said, and the minute that she spoke the word, she knew it was true. She would never have been able to do with Finn what she had done with Gage. She would have gotten to his house and freaked out completely. Because for whatever reason a good portion of her issues seemed to need to be worked out on Gage. She had genuinely hoped that it wouldn't have to be, that she could just forget he existed, but that didn't seem to be happening so all she could really do was follow that particularly fucked-up arrow where it was pointing.
“I did dance with him,” Rebecca said. “And I...thought about maybe doing something more. But it wouldn't have happened. Even if Gage hadn't shown up.”
“What...what happened with Gage?”
Rebecca's face felt like it was on fire. She squeezed out of the bathroom door and into the little antechamber that separated the small room from the rest of the store. She could lie. She wanted to lie. Her friend was going to think she was a complete psychopath.
But of course she was also acting like an absolute crazy person so a lie was only going to look like a lie. That wouldn't be good. She could feel it. In the way the air between Lane and herself felt brittle.