Once the waiter had processed his credit card, Greg said, "Ready to go?"
I looked into his eyes and passion leaped between us.
He leaned forward. "I know a place," he said softly, "where we can be alone. Would you like that?"
I nodded, unable to get enough air to speak. Yes, I'd like that. So much it hurt.
To my surprise, his 'place' was a secluded corner in the alley outside the restaurant. It was behind the loading dock, on the side next to Steel, the restaurant Kegan Underwood owned, but neither restaurant had windows there so we wouldn't be observed unless someone wandered through the dark alley for some reason.
Frankly, when Greg pulled me close and kissed me hard I stopped caring whether we were on display. I'd missed his mouth and his body and his hands so much. Now I knew why those other dates had all felt so wrong. I'd been wanting him, waiting for him. But he was here now and nothing had ever felt so right.
He pinned my back to the wall of Dominique's and kissed me again and again, his hands inside my coat roaming my sides and grazing more interesting places until I begged him to do more than just graze them.
He spun me around and again pressed me against the cold brick wall and I whimpered at the familiar position. We'd been like this so many times before, me sandwiched between a wall and his eager body, and as he kissed my neck and groped my chest and ground himself against me I rubbed back against him and pulled his hips tighter against mine and let my hand find his crotch.
He growled against my neck and turned me halfway round so he could kiss my mouth again. After a few minutes of desperate hungry kisses and wandering hands, he said, "I have to have you. Now," and pressed me back against the wall while he began fumbling to raise my skirt.
A tiny part of my brain said no, said this wasn't the sweet romantic reconnection I'd wanted, but I was on the Pill and my body was in control and it wanted him now, so I reached down and slipped off my lacy underwear, tossing it aside and feeling so glad that despite the cold I hadn't worn tights that would get in his way. I'd done that on purpose because he'd always loved bare legs, and now he could have mine.
Gasping at his hands under my skirt, I mumbled, "Do it. Please."
"I will, you're so sexy," he panted into my ear. "I can't wait."
The cold air on my legs and butt as he raised my skirt to my waist made me shiver but I was beyond caring. When we'd been together, he'd taken me like this so many times, and I'd loved it every time.
A memory flickered through my mind, of how I always slid my hands into his pant pockets and fondled him through the fabric until he gave in and made love to me. Knowing it would drive him even crazier than he was already, I rubbed myself against him then drove my hands deep into his pockets.
He grabbed my wrist and said, "What the hell are you doing?"
But he was too late. I'd already made contact with something I'd never have expected to find.
I pulled it out.
A plain gold ring.
A wedding ring.
Chapter Five
My body swirling with a mix of fading passion and rising horror, I tried to turn to face him but couldn't because he hadn't moved back. "Greg, let me go. You're married?"
He snatched the ring from my hand and stuffed it back into his pocket. "It doesn't matter. It's over, it's just that neither of us has bothered to get divorced yet." He pressed himself against me, locking my chest against the wall. "But I will. I'll file it tomorrow. Tonight. After." His hands began roaming my sides again and his mouth found my throat.
For a split second, I almost made myself believe him. I wanted to, so badly. But of course I knew he was lying. What guy in a dead marriage carries his ring with him? No guy. Just a guy who's taken it off so he can bang some idiot in an alley. "Let me go." I wriggled, trying to get free. "I won't do it."
He bit my neck. "You're turning me on. Come on, what does she matter? It's over." He slammed his hips against me and I felt him trying to jerk my skirt up again, heard it tear because it too was now trapped against the wall. "You know you want it."
A shock I'd never felt before ripped through me as he'd ripped my skirt. He wasn't going to stop. I'd said no and he wasn't hearing me. He was going to have sex with me whether I wanted it or not. And I didn't. Not any more.
I struggled to turn around, but I couldn't move him back enough to give me the space. He was taller and bigger and stronger and determined to take me, and from what I could feel against my butt my writhing was succeeding only in turning him on more.
One hand pinned my shoulder hard to the wall and his hips moved back just a fraction and the sound of his zipper going down shocked me into action. Space or no, I needed to get away. I flattened myself even closer against the wall and pushed sideways with all my strength and managed to pop myself free while he was busy with his pants.
I took two steps back from him, but I took them in the wrong direction and backed myself into a corner. "I said no." I tried to hold my voice steady but I was terrified and I knew he could hear it. "Greg, please..."
His eyes were hungry as he advanced on me. "You wanted it a minute ago," he said. "What's the big deal? My wife? It's irrelevant. She's out with a different guy every night." He sounded sincere, and again I briefly wondered if it was true.
But that was irrelevant too. I'd said no and he'd kept going and I wouldn't, I couldn't, give in. "No. I said no." I looked at him pleadingly, trying to appeal to whatever better instincts he still had, but also tried to take in the possible escape routes around him. I'd run if he gave me half a chance. Try to run, anyhow, in my stupid high-heeled boots. "Greg, no. Please. Not like this. Not at all. No."
He took another step toward me and I cringed. He didn't seem to notice. "You can't turn me on and leave me like this. You have to--"
"The lady said no."
The voice was deep, coldly angry, and horribly familiar, and the already awful situation took on an even more nightmarish facet. I turned my head away, hoping this could somehow be resolved without him realizing who I was.
Greg said, "Butt out, man. She said yes before. We're fine."
"She's saying no now. You don't seem to be listening." He walked forward a few slow steady steps, and his voice was even colder when he said, "Back up. Leave her alone."
"What the fuck do you care?"
I barely even heard Greg, the Greg I'd loved, in his words and his tone. This guy was a monster. A monster who'd nearly raped me in an alley. A monster I'd voluntarily gone into the alley with. He was a monster and I was a fool.
"I care. Back off. Zip up your pants and back off. Now."
I didn't look up but I heard the zipper.
The three of us stood silent for a moment, then Greg turned and ran out of the alley.
"I'm fine," I whispered so my savior wouldn't recognize my voice, staring down at the ground, my stomach churning with horror and relief. "Thanks. Go away."
"Are you sure you're all right?" I saw his feet, in polished black leather dress shoes, take a small step toward me. "I don't want to scare you, but your face... I think you're bleeding."
I raised a hand and brushed my left cheek, the one that had been pinned to the wall when I made my escape, and sure enough my fingers came away red. "I'm okay," I whispered again, then spun to the side and threw up.
Though I obviously hadn't done it on purpose, I did hope it would gross him out enough that he'd leave. When I was done, though, he said, "Look, I own the restaurant here. Do you want to come inside? You can get cleaned up, have some water... decide if you want to call the police."
That sent another shock through me. "No, I can't do that," I mumbled. "No police." How could I call the cops on Greg?
"Okay," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "That's up to you. But the rest? I'm not sure you should go home by yourself. Not yet anyhow."
I shut my eyes, fighting with myself. He was right, but to show him my face...
The sensation of blood trickling down my cheek made me g
ive in. I couldn't take care of myself, so I'd have to let him gloat as he no doubt would at my stupidity. I swallowed hard, then raised my head and turned to look at him.
Kegan's eyes widened. "Larissa!"
Chapter Six
We stared at each other for a long moment then Kegan gave his head a shake and said, "I'm sorry, I'm just shocked. Look, don't you think you should come in out of the cold and get cleaned up?"
I'd rather roll around naked in the snow than let Kegan see me this vulnerable. "I'm okay. I'm going to go."
"Your face, though. And... did you drive here?"
I shook my head. "Subway. But I'm fine. Don't put yourself out."
His eyes flicked over me. "You'll draw attention going home that way." He looked away. "Your skirt... and you might want to do up your coat."
I looked down and realized that not only was my skirt's side seam ripped to the waistband, especially dangerous since I'd discarded my underwear, but Greg had at some point untied my wrap sweater so it now hung loose and exposed my black lacy bra to Kegan's eyes. "Thanks," I muttered, not knowing what else to say, and quickly tied the stupid girly sweater and zipped up my coat to partially hide my skirt.
The sound of the zipper made me think of Greg undoing his pants and my stomach churned again, but I took a deep breath and calmed myself. "I... thanks." I shut my eyes, wanting to cry and scream and run all at once. "But I'm leaving. I can't..." I bit my lip, thinking of all the ways I could end that sentence. Can't stand seeing you for another second? Can't believe the date I've wanted for years ended this way? Can't do anything right?
All of the above.
I heard Kegan take a long deep breath and let it out slowly before he said, "Larissa?"
I turned to him, bracing myself. I'd been nothing but cruel to him for years and it was only fair he'd get to return the favor.
His deep blue eyes shocked me. Instead of their usual confident look that other women seemed to find sexy and I'd always seen as arrogant, they blazed with the same cold outrage I'd heard in his voice when he talked to Greg. When he spoke, though, when he said, "Please, come in and make sure your face is okay," there was no anger in it, only compassion and concern.
Though I hated it, he was right. I couldn't go home like this. "Oh, fine," I said, knowing I was being ungracious but not knowing how to be anything else with Kegan.
He didn't comment on his triumph. Instead he led me in silence around the back of the restaurant and unlocked a service door which he held open for me.
"Embarrassed to take me in the front door?" I tossed back at him as I walked in, then immediately regretted it when he said quietly, "I thought you'd prefer not going through the busy dining room." Why was I being such a bitch? I couldn't help it. Kegan brought it out of me.
He took me past a few storage areas and the bustling kitchen then opened a glass door for me. I managed to keep my mouth shut as we went, but it was tough, and I let myself think nasty thoughts about him and his kingdom. The pricklier I got the better I felt, somehow.
The room behind the glass door, clearly his office, held a large desk and a smaller one in a corner with a chair and a footstool, and a small sofa off to one side. He pointed me there and said, "Let me get you a drink of water, okay? And some cloths for your face."
I muttered an agreement then sank down on the sofa and leaned my head against its back, and he walked out without a word.
Left alone, with nothing but my self-disgust and the horror of what had happened, I squeezed my hands into fists to try to disperse my anger but immediately had to let go when it hurt. A quick check showed me that both palms were badly scraped, probably from when I'd pushed myself along the wall.
I'd been so stupid. I should have known Greg wasn't single. No guy like him was. But he wasn't who I'd thought he was, anyhow. The guy I'd been pining over for five years was a rapist.
As soon as I thought that word, I forced it away again. He wouldn't have kept going. He couldn't have.
Could he?
When it began to sink in that in fact he would have, that if Kegan hadn't arrived I would have had to try to break away and hope I could somehow escape a guy who ran five times a week, I started to shake. I clutched my arms around myself and sat on the couch of a man I hated more than life itself and shook so hard my stomach churned again.
The door opened slowly and I looked up, trying to pull myself together so Kegan wouldn't see me weak. It wasn't him, though. Instead, a short round woman with white hair and what was probably usually a sweet face when it wasn't bearing a look of outrage peeked in.
"How are you, dear? Oh, no, of course you're not okay." She hurried forward, carrying a bowl and a glass of water with several clean white cloths draped over her arm. "Here, have a drink." She gave me the glass then set the bowl on the table in front of me, sloshing a little water onto the wood. She didn't seem to notice. "The nerve of that guy. When Kegan told me I wanted to go after him myself. Lucky he ran away or I would."
The image of this woman trying to chase down Greg might ordinarily have made me laugh, but I saw no humor in it now. "Kegan... he's telling everyone?" He was a jerk but I'd never have thought he'd go that far.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "No, no, Larissa, he wouldn't. Just me, and only because he thought you might prefer having me here to having him. I'm Dorothy, his sous-chef. May I check your face?"
I nodded, and she sat beside me then dipped a cloth in the bowl and gently dabbed at my hands and then my cheekbone. It hurt, but I knew the wounds needed to be cleaned out so I let her work away and sipped the cool soothing water she'd given me until she said, "There. It's a bad scrape but I think that's about it."
"Can I see it?" I didn't like the shake in my voice, but I had to know how badly I'd wrecked my looks.
She glanced around. "There's a mirror on the wall there, but honey, I'm not sure..."
"I am." I got up and went to the mirror. She was right: just a bad scrape. But it looked hideous, and I had no idea how long the scabs would last and whether it would scar, and when I looked at her and saw the sympathy in her eyes I couldn't hold back my tears.
"Oh, honey," she said, and rushed over to reach up and pull me into her arms. "I'm so sorry."
She didn't say anything else, and I didn't need her to. I didn't want to talk, didn't want to have to explain how stupid I'd been. I just needed a little human contact from someone who wasn't trying to attack me.
She patted my back as I cried, and it did soothe me a little, but when I heard a knock at the door and Kegan's voice saying "May I come in?" I jerked back from her and muttered, "Don't tell him I was crying."
She looked at me, surprised. "But... okay, dear, I won't." Louder, she said, "We're pretty much done, so sure."
I swiped hard at my eyes as the door opened, and she snatched up a clean cloth and dabbed at them too. "Pardon the mess I've made of her makeup," she said to Kegan, holding up the cloth smudged with my mascara, "but I figured I'd better make sure there wasn't any brick dust anywhere."
Surprised at her quickness, I said, "Thank you."
She smiled. "You're welcome, dear. Now, let's see those hands."
Kegan pulled over his visitor chair and sat facing us, and I watched Dorothy work and waited for Kegan to begin pushing me around. It was in his nature. A zebra can't change its spots, as my dad always said.
Sure enough, Kegan cleared his throat and said, "Larissa, what do you want to do now?"
I didn't look at him. "Go out partying?"
Dorothy made a small chiding noise in the back of her throat.
"Well, it's a stupid question. Obviously I can't do anything looking like this."
"You do know who the guy was, though, right? It wasn't a stranger?"
I didn't want to answer Kegan, but when he let the silence hang I eventually had to nod.
"So calling the police is an option."
Not in my mind. Greg would just say I'd been into it, and since I had been until I'd found t
he ring I wouldn't know what to say. Plus, I'd know the cops were judging me for being stupid enough to be out there in the first place. "I don't want that."
"But you're not going to see him again, are you?"
Before I could answer, Kegan said, "Dorothy," in a quiet voice and she said, "Sorry. Of course it's up to you, Larissa. It's just... he was such a jerk."
Before I realized I was going to speak, I burst out with, "Yeah, well, so's your boss and you put up with that!" If I had snapped, "Yeah, well, so's your mama!" it wouldn't have sounded any less mature.
But Dorothy's response of "takes one to know one!" didn't improve the maturity level of the conversation.
I stared at her, too stunned to continue the fight, and Kegan gave a single bark of laughter before clearing his throat and saying, "Dorothy, really. Are you seven years old?"
"But she shouldn't say--"
"For all the time I knew her I was a jerk," he said, sounding unconcerned about my opinion of him. "Not a surprise she thinks I'm one now."
"But you've changed!"
I rolled my eyes, and Kegan said, "Dorothy, how are her hands?"
She didn't look at me. "Scraped up but clean."
"Then I thank you, and if you feel up to it you should probably throw out those cloths and get back to work."
The "if you feel up to it" sounded smooth and natural but I knew he had only said it for my benefit. He'd never cared before whether anyone felt up to doing what he wanted. Dorothy didn't seem surprised, though. She nodded, then leaned closer to me and said, "He's a good man now," and walked out. As she reached the door I remembered what little manners I had and said, "Thank you," but she left without responding.
I raised my chin and looked at Kegan, ready to fight, but he was sitting calmly and not looking defensive in the slightest. That only made me angrier, since I knew it was all fake. "You may have convinced her you've changed, and Candice, but I'm not falling for it."
He nodded, his expression not shifting. "I understand."
Unwillingly, I remembered the day Candice and Ian and I had come to the reopening of Steel after it had suffered a massive kitchen fire. Ian and I had been dead-set against it, of course, since Kegan and Candice had dated years ago and then he'd come back and nearly stolen Candice from Ian earlier in their marriage. She'd been involved with Steel's initial design, though, and had wanted to see what Kegan had changed, and she'd played the 'I'm pregnant with my first child so you have to do what I say' card jokingly but with determination.
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 31