“I pictured this night going differently,” he murmurs, a twinge of disappointment present in his voice.
I hate that he’s feeling this way. Rebel is always so sure about everything. To see that he isn’t makes me want to offer him comfort. Finding his hand on the covers between us, I lace our fingers together. It’s a level of intimacy we don’t normally share. The closest we’ve come is sleeping in the same bed together, but I want this. I need it. And I think, deep down inside, Rebel does, too.
Rebel doesn’t react, other than to allow the connection. It’s that small piece of acceptance that spurs me on. Turning onto my side, I curl my arm beneath my head and study his profile. He’s stern, his gaze focused above, his jaw tight, but he’s calm as ever.
“How did you see tonight going?”
He sucks in a breath and releases it slowly. “You, me, a couple of drinks, and no clothes between us.”
“You’re so romantic,” I tease.
“If you’re looking for romance,” Rebel says, his gaze cutting to mine, “it’s out that door and down the hall.”
Just like that, he’s back to being angry. I prefer neutral Rebel over angry Rebel any day. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Do I? Because you looked pretty damn horrified when Ransom caught you sucking my cock.”
My eyes widen in shock. “That’s because of the situation! I know you think I’m a whore because of what I do to pay my bills—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence. In one swift move, Rebel rolls over me, gathering my hands over my head and pinning me to the bed. His face is in mine, the look in his eyes fiercer than I’ve ever seen them.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you do for cash,” he growls, his hands biting into my wrists. “If I considered you a whore, I wouldn’t have claimed you for my own. The only reason I kept you a secret was because I wanted to keep my personal and professional lives separate for as long as possible...and to keep Ransom from finding out about you.” His gaze bores into mine, making sure I understand him.
I do.
He couldn’t possibly be any clearer, and the note of fear thrumming through my veins tells me to keep my mouth shut.
With a sharp jerk that presses my wrists deeper into the pillows, Rebel releases me and leaps from the bed. Storming toward the door, he reaches for the handle and pauses.
His heavy shoulders rise and fall dramatically as he attempts to reign in his emotions. Carefully, I push myself up, wanting to go to him, to apologize for upsetting him, even as my instincts cause me to shrink away.
“Rebel…”
His hand slices through the air, cutting me off. “Don’t ever put words in my mouth again, Josephine,” he says, his voice low. “I won’t stand for it.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I tell him earnestly. Feeling the moment beginning to spin out of control, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, intending to go after him.
“Stay the fuck away from me.” His words cut straight to the marrow and I freeze, doing exactly what he says.
Hugging myself, I whisper, “I thought we were spending the night together.”
He shakes his head, releasing a choked laugh. “Right, well, that’s the beauty of making plans,” he says caustically. “They change.”
Unable to form words, I watch him walk out the door. Sliding back on the bed, I draw the blankets over me and wait for him to return.
He doesn’t.
Rebel has walked out on me, and as the hours pass, I kick myself harder for not having listened to my instincts when I had the chance. This whole night is fucked, and all I want to do is go home.
Instead, I fall asleep sitting up, watching that damn door for any sign of Rebel’s return, telling myself that when I wake up, everything will be better.
But it only gets worse.
TEN
It’s still dark when I wake up. Turning my head, I look to the spot next to me. Empty.
Bothered that Rebel was so affected by my comment, which seemed so innocuous at the time, I leave the warmth of his bed behind to seek him out. If Rebel won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.
Soft music plays in the background as I enter the living room. Casting my gaze around the room, I almost don’t see Rebel at first. He’s slumped down in the recliner, his dark head barely peeking past the top of the brown leather. One arm hangs off the side of the chair, and in his hand his loose fingers barely hold on to a tumbler with less than a half inch of scotch at its base. A soft moan carries over the music, and I realize he’s lost in a bad dream.
I go to him, my nose taking in the spicy scent of the alcohol’s rich perfume—one that I’ve come to associate with him. Having ditched my shoes long ago, my bare feet make no sound on the hard wood floors. I’m thankful for that because when I get close enough to see over the top of the chair, my world stops.
Horror washes through every cell in my body as I watch the red mop of hair move between his spread thighs. I know the shade instantly. Can place the face and name without pause. Here I thought Rebel was drowning his sorrows in booze, when he was getting sucked off by this tramp.
He lied to me. I asked Rebel flat out if there was anyone else, and he denied it. It’s a total slap in the face, and it’s breaking my fucking heart.
How can he do this to me? How could he invite this woman over while I slept in his bed and do…that?
I am beyond disgusted. Beyond humiliated. Beyond everything. Not wanting to interrupt, wanting absolutely no part of what is going on, I back away slowly. When I’ve placed a safe distance between us, I spin around and rush back to Rebel’s room.
I don’t make it there.
Just as I reach Ransom’s door, it opens, and he steps into my path, blocking my escape. Surprised to see me there, he begins to apologize, but one look at my face and his expression hardens. “What did he do?”
“He—he brought her here.” My voice trembles and I realize that I am on the verge of crying. I can’t allow myself the luxury of doing that. Not here, not in front of them. I won’t allow my emotions to overtake me. I won’t.
Filling my lungs, I close my eyes and force it all back down. There’s no room in my life for weakness. Not now, not ever. Once I’ve regained control, I open my eyes to find Ransom glaring down at me.
His anger’s not directed at me, though. Oh, no. As he lifts his eyes and stares over my head with a deadly calm I’ve only ever seen in his brother’s eyes, I know I’m not the person he’s thinking of now. “Go in my room and shut the door,” he says with more of that terrifying calm that invites no argument. “Don’t come out, no matter what you hear.”
I step sideways into the room, watching him the entire time. I’m scared. I don’t like where this is leading. I’m upset and hurt and angry, but I don’t want to see anyone get hurt, especially not over me. “What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done a long time ago.”
Whatever that means, but I can tell by the look on his face that Ransom isn’t open to any more questions. I close the door softly and back away from it until my knees hit something soft and I drop down to sit on the edge of his bed.
The door is nothing but a rectangle of shadow outlined by an even darker shade of gray from the lack of light. In the absolute quiet, all I can hear is the steady drum of my heart and the low hum of voices coming from the other room.
I can’t make out actual words or who they belong to and my imagination fills in the details. They’re probably fighting, over me, over her, I don’t know, but with the way Ransom spoke before he left, it’s the only sensible option. Still, the shouting I expected never comes. The longer the silence goes on, the more I hate myself. I’m causing a rift between these brothers. I’m tearing a family apart. What kind of person am I that I am willing to ruin lives to satisfy my libido?