by H. M. Ward
"What a bitch," Beth says, and hands me make up remover to take off the jagged black line.
My eye won't stop watering, so I press my finger to the lower lid, trying to stop the flow of tears.
Bruce steps into the room and bellows at Beth, "Get on stage! And you," he points his sausage-sized finger at me, "Boss wants you in the pink room. Now. Move it."
Beth smiles at me before slipping away to reassure me that everything is going to be fine, but it's not. This is the end. I'm walking into his office and he's going to hand me my ass. I don't see why he hasn't done it already. After I finish dressing, I make my way to the pink room. When I get there, it's quiet. There's no one seated in front of the stage, no music blasting from the speakers. I'm wearing a corset that has my boobs ready to pop out over the top, along with matching bottoms, thigh highs, and stilettos.
My heart races faster as I step out onto the floor. "Hello?"
Someone moves in the back corner of the room and suddenly, I can see him. A man is standing, leaning against a dark wall, submerged in shadows. He steps toward me and my heart pounds harder. Jon.
"Hey, Cassie." He looks beaten, like life has sucked him dry and he can barely stand up.
"Are you okay?" I step toward him, wanting to touch the gash on his face, but I think twice and keep my distance.
Jon's blazing blue eyes sweep over me, drinking me in like he'll never see me again. He doesn't answer my question. Looking at the floor, he says, "The pink room is closed tonight."
I manage to keep a plastic smile plastered on my face, right up until he says that. "Oh. Am I... supposed to work a different room?" My stomach is twisting into knots.
Jon shakes his head, and then lifts his chin and pushes his dark hair away from his eyes. "No, not tonight."
"Jon, are you firing me?" My heart thumps inside my chest like this can't be happening.
His eyes sweep over my face, but I can't read his expression. He seems so somber, like someone died. "Why are you working here?" I stiffen, my defenses rising, but Jon steps toward me and rests his hands on my bare shoulders. He's strong and careful. He smiles sadly at me, and says, "I need to know what happened to you."
"Nothing worth repeating." I smile weakly, and then drop his gaze knowing that my answer is too weak. We have no relationship, not anymore, but I wish—just for one second—that I could start over. Such hopes are useless, which is why I usually bat them away as soon as they flood my mind, but not tonight. Tonight I want to fix the unfixable. I want another chance with him, but there's no way. Jon would be an idiot to give it to me. There's no way he'll ever trust me again. Not after the things I did to him.
Sucking in a deep breath, I step forward saying, "You were right. My ideals, the way I wanted to live my life, were lacking a dose of reality. I was so naïve—"
"No, you weren't. I just said that so I'd get a shot with you." He smiles at me, but it's hollow. It's a mingling of regret masked by humor and I hear it choking him when he says the words.
Jon presses his eyes closed for a second and when he looks at me again it feels like someone's sucked all the air out of the room. The way he looks at me sends a jolt of hope straight into my heart. It's almost too much to witness, but I don't look away—I can't.
Swallowing hard, his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks, "I was in love with you, Cassie. I never had a chance, so of course I'd say whatever I could to get you to look at me that way." The soft lines on his face harden as his expression turns rancid. "But you never did, did you? I was always something expendable." The pencil in his hand cracks, but neither of us acknowledges the sound.
The insides of my ears throb. I heard the words, but I can't believe them. I stare at him, leaning forward like he's using an invisible lure to reel me in. I can't fight with him anymore, and things can't end this way, and this clearly feels like the end for us. My pulse pounds faster as I blink away tears and slap a smile across my face to hide my pain. "You weren't expendable. I would have kept you around forever. I would have—"
Shaking his head, Jon steps toward me. "But you didn't. You told the press where I was, what I'd done. You knew what that meant, what would happen to me, and you did it anyway. Why? Just tell me why so I can walk away from you and know the truth." As he speaks, he takes my hands and presses them to his face. It's like he's begging me to release him, but I never knew he was mine.
My lips part, jaw dropping open as my heart is ripped out of my chest. Is it true? Was he really in love with me? I remain on my feet even though my knees are ready to go out. My throat tightens so much that it's difficult to speak. "I tried to tell you, but your uncle wouldn't let me see you. Then you were gone before I could explain. Jon, I meant to help you. I thought I was helping you. Everything the press wrote about you at the time was wrong—like horribly wrong. They had no idea how smart and compassionate you were. They only printed crap about your latest conquest or screw up. I thought if I told them the truth—I thought if I told them who you really are—that they'd see it, too."
He stares at me, wide-eyed, shocked. His hands drop to my arms. "You didn't tell them that I bought a high school to sleep with that girl? Or those things about my dad's mistress?" He wants to believe me, but I can see that he's not going to. It doesn't matter what I say. Too much time has passed, and anguish has consumed any chance we had.
I try anyway, because the truth can't make it worse. Not now. "A guy gave me a card right before we left the hospital. He knew that we went to the exhibit together and thought we were, uh, intimate. I didn't talk to him then. I knew what you said, how you needed to avoid the press, so I didn't talk to him. But I didn't like it. The papers kept running stuff on you, even when you were with me, making up stories about how you were fucking your way through Europe.
"So, I called the reporter, and I told him about you and the school, and the way you spoke of their curriculum—and the way you knew about Jonathan Gray's art work. I told them how you protected me at his show—and how you helped the others who were hurt. That old lady survived because of you. At the end of the day you were covered in blood and you didn't even care about your own safety. You never do, Jon. You always put other people first."
I smile sadly at him. "I told the reporter how you helped Aunt Paula, and how you helped me. I told him the Jonathan Ferro they printed stories about didn't exist, that there was this other side to him, a side that's good, a side that he keeps hidden. That was what I said. I told them to run that story."
His fingers tighten on my forearms before he releases me and looks away. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he asks, "And he didn't, did he?"
I shake my head. "No, he didn't." Out of all the stupid things I've done, that was the dumbest. I never saw it coming until my words showed up in the paper, their meaning twisted, and showcasing Jon as the playboy troublemaker that the world loves and wants. Scandals sell papers, not altruistic young men.
Jon presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and turns away from me suddenly. "It doesn't make sense. You talked to the reporter—you called him—and he ran other information, things you didn't tell him?"
"I don't remember telling him some of the things he wrote, but I must have. I did mention there was a girl you liked, which is how you knew about her school. He must have read into it. Jon, I'm sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I never meant to hurt you."
Jon's back is turned to me, his lungs filling with air as anger takes hold. These were words I could never say—he didn't give me the chance. And now, I almost regret saying them because everything that happened afterward was my fault.
Jon rounds on me, his eyes blazing, and steps so close that his breath feels like wind on my face. "Well, you did."
His eyes lock with mine as my pulse roars in my ears and tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I destroyed him. My stupidity ruined his life. A single thoughtless act brought about a chain reaction of events, and the wrath of his mother, in a way that was unforeseeable to me. But it does
n't matter, because when life gets bad like that, we all need someone to blame and Jon blames me, good intentions or not. The fury on his face speaks for him, but I can't step away. I'm trapped. Even though I'm standing inches from his arms, I'm miles from his heart. I'll never be close to him again and it's my own damn fault.
The clock ticks loudly on the wall. The seconds pass, dragging on for what feels like hours, as we stand like that. His breath washes over my face as he works his jaw, his lips pressing into a thin line over and over again, as if he's biting back words that want to slaughter me. But he says nothing. Every inch of my skin is charged. I want to take him in my arms so much, but I can't. After everything that happened, here we are, years later, but it feels like that day all over again. Except that time I didn't get the chance to explain. I imagined this moment so many times, and never did it end like this.
The hollow spot in the center of my chest feels like it's being blasted with bricks. I can't breathe and I have no idea how I'm still standing here, facing him. There's one thing I never told him, one thing I couldn't manage to confess, and since it's clear that I'm never going to see him again, I say it.
The words come out like an apology, soft and confession-like. "You had a better grasp on life back then, and I was too stupid to see that the thing that I wanted most in the world was you. I loved you then and I've never stopped." My voice trails off as I say the last sentence. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as I avert my eyes and confess my feelings to his shoulder, and then to the floor.
My voice catches in the back of my throat as I draw back a foot, ready to turn away. "That's why I called them—I adored you and I wanted the world to see the man that I saw. I'm sorry, Jon. It's too little, too late, but it's all I have to offer."
As I turn to step away, his arm juts out and his fingers wrap around my wrist. When he speaks, I stare at his hand because I can't look into his hope-drained eyes. "You married someone else, even though you loved me?"
"Yeah," I laugh bitterly. "I thought I'd move on and get over you, but things don't work like that, do they?" I chance it and look up at him from under wet lashes.
His deep blue gaze ensnares me and our eyes lock. Jon shakes his head, and when I look away, he takes my chin in his hand, gently turning my face back to him. Soft touches while fighting are so foreign that I flinch when he reaches for me. Lines crease his face like he knows why I'd flinch, like he knows what it implies. "What happened to you Cassie? What'd he do to you?"
My lower lip quivers because I don't want to remember, but everything comes flooding back. The reality of Jon's kind words and gentle touches crash into Mark's distorted affection. My lip quivers as I try to tell him, but no words come out. Tears streak down my cheeks, unbidden and unwanted, as I look away. "I should go," I manage to say.
His eyes lower to the floor and he nods. Jon doesn't say anything as he follows me to the door. When I reach for the handle he steps closer, his back nearly touching mine as his hand lands above my shoulder, preventing me from leaving.
He speaks to my back, quickly, like he knows he's out of time. "I don't want things to end this way, but I have no idea how to fix them. You're married, Cass. I'm in love with a married woman who ruined years of my life. Maybe I have no sense, but I can't let you go."
My back tenses because I've been in this position before. In the past my hands have flown up to protect my face, as fists were punched into the wall next to my head. There are no such things as do-overs. Reality doesn't grant second chances, but for some reason, Jon is. My heart thuds harder inside my chest as I stand there trying not to shake, but it doesn't work.
Jon takes my shoulder and turns me toward him, his touch is kind and careful, like I'm made of glass. He presses his forehead to mine and wipes the tears off my cheeks. "Don't leave me, Cass."
The touch is so tender, so perfect, that I'm paralyzed. It's what I crave, what I need so desperately. Jon's fingers tangle in my hair as his thumbs wipe away tears, and he tilts my face up. His eyes lock on my lips, which makes my body run warm. The magnetic pull is strong, but neither of us moves. We're locked in place, fighting the attraction. When Jon breaks my gaze, he pulls me into his chest, embracing me, whispering in my ear, "I can't even kiss you. This is torture, Cass. I want you so much, but you belong to someone else."
My mind is blubbering, running nonsensical thoughts through my head, trying to grasp what's happening here. I speak into his shoulder, holding onto him tight, confessing the things nightmares are made of, "He thinks I'm his, too. He says that I should do what he tells me and not complain, that I have it good with him."
"So, did you?" Jon pulls back enough to see my face. One of his hands gently sweeps over my cheek, pushing away stray hairs that were stuck to my damp skin. "I mean, do you love him? Because if you're happy Cass—then I don't want to—"
"I'm hiding from him. That's why I work here, because it's the only job I could find that pays enough and has a security guard to protect me. But he's looking for me, Jon. He'll drag me back there and I don't want to go back. I can't go back." I'm no longer blinking. Instead, I'm staring off into space, reliving the hell I escaped from as my body shivers because I'm unable to repress the memories.
"He hurt you." There's no question in Jon's voice. He knows, he's sure of his statement.
I nod, almost too ashamed to say it, and look at the floor. "It was my fault—"
"Cassie, baby, look at me." Jon takes my face in his palms and raises my gaze until I have to look at him. "No matter what happened, no matter what you did, he shouldn't have hurt you." Sobs are bubbling up from inside of me, but I choke them back down.
His hands run through my hair, stroking gently as a smile spreads across his face. "You completely messed up my life. If anyone had the right to punish you for what you've done, it's me. So maybe I'm a fucked up asshole, but I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you breathless. I want you by me every moment of every day. And these tears," his eyes drift to my cheek, "I want to kiss them away and make sure they never come back."
Jon's gaze follows a tear as it slips down my cheek. Leaning in slowly, he brushes his lips to the tear, kissing it away. I close my eyes, as I tense and hold my breath. Those warm lips feel so soft and perfect against my skin. Jon does it again, leaning in close to the other side of my face, and kissing away another tear. He does it over and over, each time slower than the last, letting his lips linger longer, until he works his way to the spot where the tears collect at the corner of my lips.
When Jon leans in for that kiss, my heart lurches and slams into my ribs as my body is covered in a rush of heat. The sensation of his mouth so close to mine makes me turn my head the slightest bit so that we're lip to lip.
Jon watches me from beneath lowered lashes, his gaze locked on my mouth. "Can I kiss you, Cassie?"
CHAPTER 33
JONATHAN
She's trembling, standing half naked in front of me. Vulnerability is painted across her beautiful face and I'm a dick for doing this to her now, but I can't stop. The pull is too strong and before I know what's happening, I'm standing before her, wanting to cover her body in light kisses. I nearly do it, but then I stop. I don't want to add to whatever hell she's been through, and from the way she flinched when I moved before, I know that fucker did something to her. Cassie isn't saying much about him, but I know what I see, and I see that she's been wounded. I want to take away her pain, just for a second, so I ask her for a kiss.
Her big brown eyes lock on mine, and Cassie nods once. The movement makes that silky dark hair fall over her bare shoulders. Her beautiful body shivers as she fights for breath in that corset. God, I want to rip it off of her. Gently, gently, I chant over and over again in my mind. She doesn't need another asshole using her, but as I think it, I know it's not true. I don't want to use her—I want her for myself. I love her.
As I lean in, I can't stop looking at her mouth, wondering what those big full lips will feel like if I kissed her as deeply as I want to. The wom
an is an emotional train wreck. Something inside my head is screaming at me to stop and be her friend. God knows she needs one, but those pink lips call to me and I can't pull away. I'm trapped and I don't want to leave this place. My mind is hers, my body is hers, every bit of me—I'd give it to her and worship at her feet if she'd let me in the way she used to.
My body buzzes with feverish intensity as my mouth touches hers. When her lashes close and her lips part, I can't resist. I mean, I try. I try to give her a long, slow, gentle kiss, but with her arms wrapped around my chest and her nails biting into my back, it's hard to go slow. Tracing my tongue over the swell of her lower lip, I kiss her softly, making her moan into my mouth. Cassie leans into me, and presses her tight little body against my chest even harder.
I'm lost in a spray of sparks as the intensity of the kiss escalates. Tingles run through me, making my desire for her impossible to hide. My lips dance with hers, tasting her, drinking her in like I'll never have this chance again. Her tongue flicks across the seam of my lips and I let her in as her fingers tangle in my hair, kissing me deeper, harder. Pressing my body against hers, I push her into the wall as my hands trail down the sides of the lingerie and over her bare hips. I moan into her mouth as she kisses me and her fingers tug at my hair, like I'm not close enough. Cassie nips my lip playfully and I take her head in my hands and kiss her with every last bit of passion I can offer. I don't hold back. I don't mask how much I want her or what she does to me. She can feel it—my ragged breathing, my hot body, and my dick straining for her touch—and she doesn't slink back.
We're tangled together like that, lost in a kiss that feels hotter than Hell when someone knocks on the door. My heart is ready to burst when we fly apart. Cassie's eyes are wide as she wipes away the kiss with the back of her hand, her expression panicked.