Shame (Ruin #3)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Professor Blake reached me and pulled me into his arms. I started sobbing hysterically against his chest, unable to control myself. In all the time I’d received those letters, I never thought that would happen. Who would do that? Who even KNEW?

  “Shh,” he whispered into my hair. “It’s alright.” With his arms still around me, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and barked orders into it. “He just left the ballroom floor, took the west stairs. Find the bastard.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent. I knew it wouldn’t last long. After all, I was crying in the arms of a guy who didn’t really like me that much. To top that all off with the fact that he was my professor? Yeah, talk about pointless. But still, his smell was comforting, his embrace familiar, strong.

  “Do you think you can stand?” he asked after a few minutes.

  “Yeah,” my voice rasped. “I broke my heel though.”

  With a nod, he helped me to my feet then lifted me off the floor and into his arms like I weighed a feather, which, with my height, I knew wasn’t exactly true. He leaned against the door and pulled it open then returned his hand to my legs as he carried me into the ballroom.

  “Tristan?” Gabe yelled over the music. “What happened?” Gabe charged toward us. A look of pure rage crossed his features as he took in my face and then Professor Blake’s — Tristan’s. The name was nice, better than Professor Blake, less forbidden.

  “She was attacked,” Tristan answered.

  At the same time, I started to say, “Professor Blake—“

  “You son of a bitch!” Gabe lunged for him, but Wes intervened just in time, his arms wrapping around Gabe as he pushed him to the side and approached.

  “Stop!” I half-sobbed. “I was attacked by someone else, not Professor Blake.”

  “Tristan.” His eyes flashed, daring me to argue. “It’s Tristan.”

  I gave a weak nod and shivered, too upset to fight.

  “What happened?” Wes asked gently, looking at me then at Tristan.

  “A guy…” My voice shook as I hugged myself.

  Tristan pulled me closer to him.

  “He, um, he had a mask on, but it covered his mouth so I couldn’t make out his voice very well, or his eyes. He said he was going to take care of me, just threatened me.”

  Pallor crept into Gabe’s face. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line as he pushed past Wes. His expression softened, and he cradled my face against his palms. “Lisa, is it—?”

  “Fine,” I lied. “It’s totally fine. Nothing I haven’t handled before, Gabe. You know that.”

  He didn’t buy it. His hands gripped tighter. “You know it’s never been like this,” he ground out. “No crazy fan has ever made actual physical contact.”

  “Security,” Tristan said from beside me.

  “Damn.” Gabe released my face. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “If she’s in his class…” Wes shook his head, looking more irritated by the minute. “We’ll need security for both of them.”

  “What?” I drew in a quick breath. “Not that I’m uncaring, but can’t Tristan hold his own? In a fight? He towered over the guy.”

  Wes shared a look with Gabe, one I couldn’t interpret. “Right, but Tristan’s father—”

  “Will be notified,” Tristan said smoothly. “I’ll talk to the security detail tonight and make sure the house has an extra guard. Besides, nobody’s aware that I’m here, remember, Wes?”

  “But you just made a speech—” I shook my head; something wasn’t making sense.

  Gabe cleared his throat. “But, Lisa, they think he’s here just to make the speech then go back to—”

  “My job, which, coincidently, is not a full-time college professor.” Tristan shrugged. “I took a few months away from the company to clear my head…”

  “Can you do that?” My eyes narrowed. The confusing distraction of Tristan’s background was a welcome change from the terror still pumping through my veins.

  “He can probably do whatever the hell he wants, all things considering.” Wes shrugged and gave Tristan a brief nod. “We should probably get you back to the dorms, Lisa.”

  “I’ll take her,” Tristan offered.

  Wes’s hand froze on my arm, while Gabe’s nostrils flared with irritation.

  Tristan wrapped his arm around me. “We should talk. I’ll deliver her safely and make sure she’s in her dorm.”

  Gabe didn’t seem to be on board with the idea, but Wes slapped him twice on the shoulder and tilted his head toward the door. “We’ll leave you to it then. Have a good night, and, Lisa, call one of us if you get scared. And for the love of God, please use the pink Taser Gabe keeps teasing you about before I buy you a gun and hide it in your nightstand.”

  I nodded and watched them walk away, knowing each step they took meant I was even more alone with Tristan. Was I crazy? Allowing him to watch over me? I was half-tempted to run after Gabe; then again, that wouldn’t make things less awkward when I sat in class Monday morning and had to face Tristan or, I guess, Professor Blake again.

  Without turning around, I whispered, “Are we going to talk or make out, Professor?”

  That got a chuckle out of him before he sobered and tucked me into his side. “Well, technically I have a house in Hawaii.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not midnight in Hawaii… not yet.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed and looked away shyly.

  “Come on.” He kissed my head and walked me toward the door. “I think I know how to end this night on a good note.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You almost died.” She wept against my body as I tried to lift my hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Please don’t ever do that again, Tay. Never again!”

  “You care.” My throat felt like it was on fire. I talked anyway. “You really love me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I want you to do something for me…” My voice trailed off, and I freaking had a heyday as her face went completely white. —The Journal of Taylor B.

  Lisa

  WE WALKED HAND in hand to the front of the hotel. Tristan presented his valet ticket. I was shivering, but not because I was cold. I still felt that creepy guy’s hands on me. And it sucked, because he’d ruined what would have been a good memory of Tristan’s hands.

  I was pretty sure I was the last thing Tristan wanted to touch now. I wanted to pretend that our masks remained in place, that the kissing was still making me forget, rather than remember the type of girl I really was. Insecurity was a hard-enough battle when you’re female. Add that with the industry I grew up in, and then Taylor himself? And I struggled on a daily basis, fighting the looks people gave me and battling a strong sense of chronic self-loathing I carried with me night and day.

  Just the thought of my demons, of Taylor, caused my body to give an involuntary shudder.

  “Are you cold?” Tristan shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on my shoulders. It smelled like him — and I felt safe again.

  I glanced over, and my mouth went completely dry. His black button-up shirt fit every muscle and crevice of his body like a glove. Clearing my throat, I forced myself to look away, even though I wanted to do a few double-takes.

  A black Tesla pulled up to the curb.

  “That’s us.” Tristan caught the keys as the valet threw them in his direction and opened my door for me.

  I was almost afraid to get in. One didn’t hang out with Gabe and Wes and not know cars. I’d always thought cars told you a lot about a person. And the fact that he drove something both expensive and environmentally friendly? Well honestly, it just screamed CEO and tree-hugger.

  Soft leather seats cushioned every curve of my body as I leaned back against the headrest. The navigation turned on, and an old Jay Z song started playing in the background. I seriously wanted to laugh, but I was afraid I’d forgotten how, especially after tonight.

  Gabe didn’t know about the rap
e when I was younger.

  I wasn’t even sure if it was rape. I mean, is it rape when you’re in a sexual relationship with someone, and they still force you? Bile rose in my throat at Taylor’s words. I’d blocked it out, just like I tried to block him out, from the way his smile made me do anything to his smooth commands. I swore I’d never allow a guy to control me again. Not that way.

  Unable to stop shivering, I clutched Tristan’s coat closer around my body as he silently drove through the city.

  “Lisa,” he said, turning down the music. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I tried to appear nonchalant. “I get attacked all the time. I’ve got the damsel-in-distress bit down pat.”

  “Don’t.” He hissed. “Don’t make a joke out of something so serious. I’m asking you if you’re okay. I want a straight answer. No eye-rolling, no shrugging. Hell, if you shrug one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Just tell me, are you okay? And is there anything I can do to make you feel better than you are right now?”

  I chewed my lower lip as tears filled my eyes. “No. I’m not okay.”

  “Lisa—”

  “The first guy that’s interested me in a few years just so happens to be my professor. I don’t know who the hell he is, other than, apparently, he needs security and doesn’t actually work as a professor year round. Oh, and the best part? I got attacked by some creep who probably saw a picture of me in Victoria’s Secret and thought I was easy, so decided to hop on for a ride. So am I okay?” I laughed bitterly. “No, I’m not okay. I probably won’t ever be okay. There will never be a time in my life when I don’t wake up in the middle of the night freaked out that maybe someone’s in my room. And this probably won’t be the last time some creep thinks he has a right to grope me just because I made money taking my clothes off and walking down a runway. No, Tristan. I’m not okay.”

  Except for the sound of the heat coming through the vents, the car was silent.

  With a curse, Tristan made such an abrupt turn I almost banged my head against the door. He didn’t say anything, just drove like he was in a car chase with the cops. We went toward East Denny Street then followed it around to Madera Avenue. I knew the houses there were right by the water with killer views and ridiculously expensive zip codes.

  The car pulled up to a modern-looking house with four stories. It had huge windows and the look of a beach house; you know, if a beach house cost a few million and had a security gate in front of it. When we pulled through the gates, he stopped the car and sighed.

  “I can handle a lot of things…” Tristan glanced over at me. “…but knowing you’ll be scared tonight is not one of them. So, I’m going to show you to my guest room. I’m going to call Wes and Gabe, make sure they know you’re safe, and tomorrow I’ll take you back to school.”

  “Would that be before or after class?” I tilted my head mockingly.

  “Before.” He grinned. “You know how I feel about students being late.”

  I nodded and broke eye contact. “Will you get fired because of me?”

  “Of course not.” He shrugged it off completely. “Because, Lisa, there is no you and me… I don’t know how else to say it. You’re beautiful… but you’re not my beautiful.”

  What did that mean? Rejection hit me square in the chest. It was hard to breathe, but I was able to nod, too embarrassed to argue my case, to throw myself across the console and explain to him that he made me want again, made me desire. That his kiss healed things I never knew had needed healing. But instead, I was brave.

  I was so very tired of being that girl.

  The brave girl who pretended like everything was fine.

  All the while, the guilt and fear continued to pile onto my shoulders, making me slump under the pressure. I couldn’t help but feel like I deserved it. I’d had my part in the past, and now I was dealing with the consequences. Apparently, not being happy in any sort of relationship was one of them, because I highly doubted I’d have that same reaction with any other guy.

  “Pajamas?” I asked, trying to distract myself from wallowing.

  Tristan smiled. I felt it all the way to my toes, almost looked away, but tried to hold his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

  “Well, at least I know you won’t seduce me!” I opened the door and slammed it behind me then adjusted my dress, only to feel Tristan’s hands on my hips and his lips on my ear.

  “I don’t believe I ever made that promise.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Come on,” I pleaded from the hospital bed. “It will make me feel better.”

  “But it’s wrong.” She shook her head. “Tay, that’s so wrong. Why would I do that? To anyone!”

  “I’m bored,” I huffed.

  She hesitated, and I used that hesitation like a pro. I knew she would cave; she’d do my bidding. Eventually she nodded, and I told her the details of who the target was and how she was going to shame him — the video would go viral like my videos usually did, and I’d once again have the upper hand. I controlled her, and I needed her to remember that even though she weakened me, I still had control. And she was mine. Forever. She was mine. —The Journal of Taylor B.

  Tristan

  THE LIGHTS TURNED on automatically once we entered the house. It felt weird, bringing a woman home, since I typically didn’t do that type of thing — too afraid of the scandal it would cost the family. I’d always dated women my family approved of, women who ran in the same circles and knew how important image was. If we met, we met at hotels owned by my father. If we were going to the same room, I had a drink in the lobby while she took the elevator. Ten minutes later I’d follow, and we’d repeat a similar process the next time. My security tailed anyone suspicious, and it was an enjoyable time for everyone.

  Nothing scandalous. Nothing improper. And less-than-stellar sex. After all, what’s so scandalous and arousing about planned sex and meetings? About hooking up with a woman I’d known since childhood?

  Speaking of, I glanced down at my phone and grimaced. Seven missed calls. She could wait; he could wait; they could all wait. They knew I was taking a break, and that meant from everything, them included. I’d done my family duty by attending the benefit, and now… now I was going to try to pretend I didn’t have one of the sexiest women alive alone in my house.

  “Wow.” Lisa performed a slow pirouette. “You have four floors?”

  I nodded. “A view from each room.”

  “Gabe would love this place.” She sighed out loud then ran her hand across the granite countertop leading into the kitchen. “He has a thing about houses.”

  “I know.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Ever since the death of his fiancée and her obsession with living in Seattle.”

  Lisa’s face froze, her fingers tapping against the counter. “How long have you known Gabe?” Her shoulders were tense.

  “Not long,” I said quickly. “I’ve known Wes, however, my entire life.”

  She turned and smiled weakly. “So that makes you safe?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. “Probably not the safe you’re thinking about.” I circled around her. “Safe from any sort of harm? Absolutely. But safe? What is safety?” I grinned innocently. “And do you truly want to be safe all the time, or only in certain circumstances, ones where you know you don’t have the upper hand?”

  “You’re a little too philosophical for my tastes.”

  The light still wasn’t in her eyes. I felt like I needed to fix it, fix her, fix what had happened between us, even though I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’d told her she wasn’t mine, not my type of beautiful. Because I knew, damn but I knew, she’d been his. And taking her? Truly taking her? Right now? Seemed wrong. It was wrong. And suddenly I wasn’t okay with the plan I’d put into place. If I could go back in time and talk to myself, I’d probably shake some sense into the old me and get over it, maybe call her and ask her what happened, but I sure as hell
wouldn’t have hidden my identity, stalked her like a total freak, and then seduced her out of her mind.

  Then again, that last part was a total accident.

  One I wanted to repeat the more I was around her.

  “Are you tired?” I exhaled and went over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, then followed it with cups from the cabinet. In my experience, women were more emotional if they were hungry or thirsty. I filled both cups with orange juice, slid one over to her, then put the carton back in the fridge. I pulled out some cut up grapes and apples and a few slices of gouda cheese.

  When I had everything arranged the way I wanted, I moved the plate toward the middle of the breakfast bar and looked up, offering it to her with one raised eyebrow.

  Lisa was watching me, her blue eyes flashing with amusement. “Do you label your underwear, too, or just the food containers?”

  Heat blasted into my cheeks as I looked down at the container with cheese printed on the front, and the next that read grapes. With a chuckle and shake of my head, I scooted them away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Oh, I would. I’m seriously curious now. A bit OCD, are we?”

  “You have no idea.” I sighed. That was the last thing she needed to know. The last thing I wanted to talk about. It would remind her of him, too much of him, and I’d already decided I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin her more. I just didn’t know what that left me with except morbid curiosity and a need to know if it was the same diagnosis.

  “So—” I popped a grape in my mouth. “—I think you should eat some food. After all, I am a doc—”

  “Professor.”

  I held out a piece of cheese to her and lifted my eyebrows. “Doctor.”

  She rolled her eyes and took it between her teeth, making me want to throw the food against the floor and take her across the breakfast bar. My body tightened, letting me know it was liking the idea more and more as I watched her chew.