Promiscuous (14 page)

“Do I seem like the kind of girl who is easily scared away?”

“No, but you do seem lost. I don’t know what’s gone on in your past, but I feel like you’re running from something.”

Oh, God.
Here we go again
. He wanted to save me. Fuck, I knew how to pick them.

Sighing, I gathered my things and stood up. He gaped in surprise.

 “I told you, Roman: I don’t need a babysitter. When you can accept that, then give me a call.”

Chapter Sixteen

Roman

Groaning, I buried my head under the pile of cushions taking up the end of the sofa I was lying on. Fuck.
If you mess with her, he is going to kill you.
All I’d had to do was keep an eye on her and report back that she was okay. That was it. And in return, I’d have enough to pay off the debt for the club. It was fucking easy money, and I was screwing it all up because my heart was being a fuckwit.

“Fuck!” I yelled. I picked up the lamp on my desk and threw it at the wall, and then brought my fists down on the desk so hard I broke through the top layer of glass.

Shit. I watched as blood trickled from the gash on the edge of my palm, tiny little droplets falling onto the cream-colored rug under me.

“Are you okay?” Scarlett came bursting through the door. She glanced from the shattered lamp to my hand.

“Yep. Fine,” I said curtly. Her face dropped, and I sighed. Right now I couldn’t handle another emotional woman. “I’m sorry. This job is getting to me, that’s all.”

“Here,” she said, walking over to me. Taking my hand in hers, she sighed. “Let me clean this up for you. Come down to the kitchen.”

I nodded, ripping my shirt off and tying it around my hand like a makeshift bandage.

"What are you doing? Throwing lamps at the wall?" She asked, as she sat me down at the table and went to retrieve a bandage.

I scowled at Scarlett. "And this is your business because . . .?"

"Because believe it or not, I consider you a friend. I don't want to see you like this. Messed up over some girl."

"Leave her out of this."

"Because you are? Listen, Roman, have you even thought about how she is going to react when she finds out you have been deceiving her? Because that's what this is, and that's exactly how she's going to see it."

"No offense, Scarlett, but when I want your advice, I'll ask for it," I snapped.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hands dropping to her hips. She pouted, her mouth falling into a frown. She was hurt and I didn't blame her; I was being an asshole.

"I'm sorry. I'm just stressed." I glanced down at my bandaged hand. "Thanks for this." I gave her a smile, then left her in the kitchen.

***

 “I’m sorry.”

It had taken me all afternoon to call her, to work up the courage to say those two little words. I sat in my office, waiting for her to say something. Anything. All I knew was that whatever this was, I didn’t want to ruin it.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Look, I get it. I do. But I need you to stop trying to fix me, okay?”

“Okay.” I wasn’t convinced I could keep that promise, but I was willing to try. “Come meet me? I’ll send a cab. Let me cook for you.”

“You cook?” I could hear the laughter in her voice.

“Well, no. Not well, anyway. Okay, it might be safer if I order us some takeout, but don’t let that keep you away.”

“Okay. I’ll come over.”

***

She was right on time. Dead-on six o'clock, the doorbell rang.

I'd convinced Scarlett to go out for the night. I knew she wouldn't be home until early morning, because she was scheduled at the club.

I checked my reflection in the mirror on my way to answering the door. I scrubbed up pretty well. I wore loose-fitting jeans, which I paired with a long-sleeved black shirt. I was in pretty good shape, considering my age. Not that thirty-two was old, but I certainly felt older than I imagined most people my age felt. I opened the door.

"Hi." Beth smiled at me. Holy shit. She was fucking gorgeous. This was as casually dressed as I'd seen her, yet she took my breath away. Her tight jeans hugged her curves, displaying her beautiful figure. She wore an emerald-green wrap-around top, and her blonde hair, slightly curled, hung in waves around her face.

"Hey. Come in," I said, realizing I was just standing there like an idiot.

She smiled and squeezed past me, her sweet musky perfume engulfing me.

"You’re fucking gorgeous," I muttered, sweeping her into my arms. I kissed her passionately, my lips pressing against hers.

Smiling, she pulled away and surveyed me. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Reaching out for her hand, I pulled her towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I tilted my head and kissed her again. Her lips glided over mine. I kept hold of her hand and led her inside.

"Wow, your house is beautiful," she murmured, her head tilted towards the ceiling.

"Thanks. It's been in the family for years. I spent a fortune fixing it up after my parents died."

She hesitated, her eyes clouding over.

"What is it?"

"Why?" she asked. "I mean, you told me you didn't have the best childhood. Why would you keep the house, and spend so much money restoring it?"

"Just because my childhood wasn't perfect doesn't mean I didn't love them." It was hard to explain. Sometimes it feels like bad love is better than no love, and the same can be said for family: no matter how often I felt unwanted, no matter how many times my best wasn't good enough, having a family was still better than not having a family.

"I wish I shared your sentiment." Her eyes lowered. Placing my hand around her shoulders, I lifted her chin up until her eyes met mine.

"Your situation was worse than mine. What you went through with your mother and then your sister, and then having to support yourself… I don't blame you for thinking you'd be better off alone."

"I just find it hard to trust people. I've been taken advantage of so many times…"

"As hard as it is, you need to let people in."

"I'm trying," she whispered.

"So what's for dinner? Did you cook?"

I chuckled. "Trust me, you don't want to taste my cooking. Scarlett prepared this."

"Scarlett?" Beth said, taken aback.

Right: we hadn't got to the conversation just yet about Scarlett living with me. I moved around the counter until I stood behind Beth. Sweeping her hair over to one side, I began to kiss her neck. "Yes. Scarlett is my assistant. She lives with me."

"She lives with you?" She spun the barstool until she was facing me.

“Didn’t I mention that?” I said casually. I could tell by the way she was narrowing her eyes at me that I wasn’t going to get out of this one that easily. “Look, Scarlett is just a friend. Not even a friend, more of an associate. She works for me, that’s it.”

“Have you slept with her?”

I chuckled. “Beth, you’ve done more with her than I have.”

She blushed. My cock began to throb as I remembered that night: Beth, spread out on the sofa, crying out as Scarlett fingered her.

“You’re thinking about that night, aren’t you?” she accused, rubbing over my erection.

For as long as you keep doing that, I will be.
Leaning down, I kissed her roughly, my mouth massaging hers. Pushing her head to one side, I ran my tongue along the curve of her neck, kissing the soft skin up to her ear lobe. I took it in my mouth and began to suck. She let out a cry before turning so our lips met.

“Dinner is going to get cold,” I mumbled, my tongue wrestling against hers.

“Then I guess we better eat.”

The only thing I wanted to eat was her. Pushing apart her legs, I thrust my fingers inside her panties. She stiffened, pressing her legs together as she forced my hand out. “I’m, uh, kind of really hungry.”

Wow. Shot down. Maybe I was losing my touch.

“Then I guess we’d better eat,” I replied with a little too much enthusiasm. Just like that, the mood completely changed; things between us felt awkward and strange.

“Can I help?” she asked, eyeing me.

“There is a bottle of wine in the fridge you can open,” I said. I took the tray of lasagna from the oven and sat it on the stove.

"Shit!"

I looked over at Beth. Blood dripped from her hand onto the white tiles. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I pressed them onto the palm of her hand and closed her fingers into a fist around it.

"What have you done?" I said, stroking her cheek.

She shook her head. "I was trying to get the damn top off the wine."

I looked over at the bottle of unopened wine. The top looked as though it'd been hacked with a box cutter. I swallowed a laugh. She was in a foul mood as it was, and me finding this funny wasn’t going to help things.

I lifted the paper towel carefully to survey the damage. The tiny cut looked worse than it actually was, considering the amount of blood that had come out of it. I grabbed a handful of fresh paper towels and ran it under the water. I gently washed away the blood.

"I don't think I have any Band-Aids," I said apologetically.

She smiled. "In my bag, there is a pocket inside. You'll find some in there."

I was impressed. "You're prepared."

"No," she laughed. "Just clumsy. And wearing heels, trust me, Band-Aids are a necessity."

I walked over to her bag and found the Band-Aids in the pocket, just as she’d described.

Something caught my eye. Though I couldn't see much of it, I could clearly make out the title of the pamphlet shoved inside of her bag.

Sexual Assault.

Oh, God, no. Fuck.
My heart raced as random moments popped into my head. The signs, they'd all been there. The changes in her behavior, her issues with intimacy. Even her drinking and all night partying should've alerted me that something was seriously wrong.

How could I have missed this?

"No luck?"

Shit—the Band-Aids. I closed her bag and walked back over, holding up what looked to be
Dora the Explorer
Band-Aids.

"They were the only ones I could find," she said defensively.

"Sure," I teased. What was I supposed to do now? Did I mention what I'd seen? Did I wait for her to bring it up? If I was waiting for her, I could be waiting forever. But the last thing I wanted to do was push her away.

I carefully positioned the Band-Aid over the cut.

"There. All fixed."

"Thanks." She grinned, throwing the paper towels into the trash. "Dinner smells nice."

"Why don't you sit down while I finish this?" I took the wine and opened it, pouring it into two glasses. Sliding hers across the kitchen counter, I caught her eye. A surge of anger rushed through me. What had happened to her? Had it been recent? I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything would be fine, but she'd made it clear she didn’t need fixing. I had no idea what to do here.

Serving up the lasagna, I carried both dishes over to the table. Beth joined me with our drinks. She sat down and began eating. My appetite had disappeared the moment I saw that pamphlet.

"Not hungry?" Beth asked, covering her mouth.

"Not really," I muttered. I couldn't do this. I needed to know. She was going to be pissed eventually when she realized I knew. "Beth, I saw the brochure on sexual assault in your bag."
Good one, Roman. Just blurt it out.

She froze, her expression one I could only describe as terror. Immediately, I regretted bringing it up. I should have waited until she told me. It was her choice whether or not she wanted me to know, and I'd just taken that from her.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't," she cut in. "Don't do that. Don't feel sorry for me. I can't handle your pity." She dropped her fork and stood up, the legs of the chair dragging over the tiled floor. "I have to go."

"Beth, wait!" I took off after her, cutting her off at the front door. Pulling her into my arms, I held her as she fought me. "Let me help you. Please just don't push me away." Slowly, her movements became less and less, until she leaned against me, defeated.

She was crying. I walked her over to the sofa and sat her down next to me, cradling her in my arms. I didn’t press her to talk to me; I’d already pushed her too hard, too soon.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but don’t shut me out,” I murmured.

She didn’t say anything as she sat slumped over, staring off into nothing. Stroking her hair, I kissed her forehead. As strong as my desire was to help her, so help me God, if I found out who hurt her, his life would not be worth living. I’d make sure he paid for this.

“I was raped.”

My heart skipped. Turning to her, I waited for her to continue. It had taken her over an hour to utter those three little words.

She reached for my hand and held it tightly. “It happened a while ago. About a year. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t see his face. I thought I was over it…or at least dealing with it. But apparently I’m not.”

“Did you report it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

She shook her head. “No. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Beth…” I stopped, unsure of what to say.
I’m sorry you were raped?
Nothing sounded like enough. There weren’t words to describe how I was feeling. I didn’t want to pity her, but I did. And the idea that some gutless asshole had gotten away with this made my blood boil.

I wanted to hunt him down and skin him alive.

“I’m sorry, Roman. There’s not much else to say. I don’t remember much of it. It happened, and I can’t change that.” She shrugged. This girl amazed me. What strength she had, dealing with an assault on her own, with little to no support.  She hesitated, then turned to me. “Roman, I’m going to go. I think I just want to go home and sleep.”

I shook my head.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight. Sleep here. I’ll stay on the sofa. You can have my bed.”

“No—”

“This isn’t negotiable, Beth. Come with me.”

She took my hand.

I led her down the hall to my room. “If you want anything, please let me know.”