No.
But it was the truth, and right now it was too damn hard to hide from, naked as they were, both of them raw and open.
He’d always managed to keep certain parts of himself locked away from the women he played with, slept with. But this was Allie.
“Mick?”
“It’s okay, baby. Let me get you out now.”
He knelt up and untied the doubled rope that held her body down on the bed, swept his palm across her stomach, heard her breath catch as he brushed over the already-bruising bite marks at the curve of her waist. The ropes had left a pattern of shallow indents in her skin, and he smoothed his fingertips over the grooves for a moment before turning to untie her ankles. He did the same there, stroking the rope marks, massaging her feet for a minute or two to ensure the circulation returned, then he massaged her slender ankles, loving the delicacy of the bones there. Finally he moved up, kneeling over her to untie her wrists.
Her arms immediately reached for him, wrapping around his neck as she whispered, “Mick, I need you to hold me. Please.”
He pulled her into his lap and she curled against him, her head on his shoulder. She was all soft, fragrant skin, lean curves and pure yielding girl. He’d never felt any woman’s submission in the way he did with her—giving herself over was so acute because it was something she struggled with. And there was something about her submitting to him. He didn’t think he could fight against it.
He didn’t even know what that meant.
Christ.
His stomach knotted. He wanted to get away. He wanted to never let her go.
He couldn’t let her go yet. He owed her aftercare.
Fuck. He was being an asshole.
What else is new?
Fuck.
She leaned her head back to look up at him. Her eyes had cleared a bit. He shifted her, settling her against the pillows, and sat next to her.
Do what you’re supposed to, damn it.
He reached out and tucked a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. That was . . . amazing.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said truthfully.
Too amazing. Too good.
Panic was a hard flutter in his veins. He tried to swallow it down.
“But now you need to talk to me,” she said, softly but insistently.
“We can talk any time, baby. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink? I’m getting some Gatorade.”
He got up before she could answer him, and went to the kitchen, where he paced the length of the dark slate floors, his heart slamming into his ribs.
He couldn’t fucking talk to her—not the way she wanted him to.
It was Allie, for God’s sake. He owed her.
No.
Not that. Not anything he wasn’t able to give. And to really be himself? To let go of the reins he’d used for years to hold himself in check, to contain the beast? He just wasn’t capable. He’d always known it. That was why they hadn’t been together all these years. She deserved more.
He needed to calm the fuck down.
He yanked open the brushed-steel refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, cracked it open and took a few swigs.
He couldn’t leave her alone in there for too long—she was going to wonder.
He pulled in a breath, closed his eyes as he blew it out. What he really needed right now was to go for a long run, to lose himself in the New Orleans heat, in the pumping of his legs and his lungs. Even in the pain from his damn leg—the pain that was always there when he went running. But she was waiting for him, and he had to handle this somehow.
“Okay,” he muttered, scrubbing at his goatee. “Okay.”
He grabbed another Gatorade and went back to the bedroom. Allie was right where he’d left her, her hair a tumble of dark silk around her shoulders, her breasts bare above the sheet she’d pulled up around her waist.
He handed her the Gatorade, pulled his sweatpants back on and sat next to her on the bed.
“Drink some,” he told her. “I want to be sure you’re not dehydrated.”
She opened the bottle and took a few sips.
“Is everything okay, Mick?” she asked.
“What? Sure. Everything’s great. You were perfect.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it before letting it go.
“You seem kind of . . . disconnected.”
“I’m right here, baby.”
“Are you?”
He smiled. “Yeah, of course. Hey, I’m going to have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to catch my plane. I don’t know if you want to stay. You’ll have to be up early with me.”
She looked at him warily. “I’m . . . not sure if you’re asking me to stay or to go.”
“You’re welcome to stay if you want.”
“That wasn’t exactly an answer.”
“Sure it was.”
He was such a liar. And a bad one, at that.
Asshole.
“Jesus, Mick. What’s going on here?” she demanded.
“What do you mean? I’m just saying I still have to finish packing, and I have to be up early. And I thought you were coming over to talk for a while. But now that you’re here and naked in my bed, you can stay if you want to.”
He had to be up early? Fuck, he was a Grade A piece of shit. But the panic inside him had to be quelled.
“Do you want me to?”
“Sure.”
“Wow, that is really not an answer.” She pulled the sheet up to cover her chest. “Tell me what’s going on with you, Mick. Tell me why you’re shutting down on me.”
He shrugged. “Everything’s fine, babe. But I have to get ready for this trip. It’s business. And as much fun as I have with you, I still have stuff to take care of.”
Fun? He felt like such a bastard as the words came out of his mouth. Part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. But the other part—the part that felt the urgent need to escape—couldn’t help it. He didn’t even want to think about the control he’d schooled himself in for years, or the fact that he’d obviously lost it completely.
She threw back the sheet and stood up, rummaging on the floor for her clothes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Doing what?” he defended himself, knowing full well it was bullshit.
“I opened my pain up to you, and now you refuse to give me anything back. Is that what we’re doing here, Mick? Is it all about ‘fun’? Because I thought it was something more than that. I thought it was us getting to know each other again.” She paused while she slipped back into her underwear. “How the hell am I supposed to do that when all you do is hide your real self from me? Your truth?”
“I didn’t ask you to open to me like that.”
She straightened up and pulled her tank top over her head. “Didn’t you?”
She was glaring at him. He didn’t blame her.
“Maybe this is my truth, Allie. Maybe this is all I can do. Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years.”
She shook her head. “That is such a cop-out. Poor Mick, so fucked up he hasn’t learned a damn thing about himself in eleven years.”
“I’ve learned to accept who I am,” he said, hating that he sounded so churlish.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Then why don’t you share it with the class? Who do you think you are?”
“I think I’m fine.”
“Fine?” she challenged. “It must have taken a lot of soul searching to come up with ‘fine.’”
“Christ, Allie. Why does this have to be some psychological examination of me? Why do you have to fucking force it?”
She stood looking at him, a flush coming over her face, her eyes glittering. It was several moments before he realized it wasn’t anger but tears that gleamed there. “That was a horrible thing to say, Mick. Take it back.”
“Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s not true.” He got up off the bed, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes, knowing he was the cause. He reached for her hand and leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Come on. Let’s not argue anymore. Not tonight. Stay with me. Please.”