by Lila Price
“Yes,” I whispered. “I want to forget.”
It was true. I wanted to forget everything. I wanted to forget the fact that I was homeless, that my parents wanted nothing to do with me, that none of my other relatives were willing to take me in. But most of all, right now, I wanted to forget about the promise I had made to Declan. And I hated myself for it.
“No.” I took a step back and shook my head. “I can’t.”
If he was offended, he didn’t show it. Instead, that same amused glint came back into his eyes. But there was something else there, too, burning beneath the surface. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was lust. But that was impossible. A guy like him – rich, sexy as all hell, with beautiful women throwing themselves at him every night – didn’t lust after girls like me.
“You can,” he said, his eyes still on mine.
“No.” I shook my head. “I really can’t.”
“You want to.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I raised my chin. “Oh, really?” I shot at him. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.” He was still staring into my eyes, the connection between us burning hot. “So then, Princess,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me why you can’t?”
The way it said it infuriated me, like he thought whatever reason I had would be something completely ridiculous.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said, trying to step around him.
But he stayed put, blocking my path. “Try me.”
I shook my head. “There’s no reason,” I lied. “You’re just not as irresistible as you’d like to think.”
“Oh, I’m plenty irresistible.”
It sounded like a dare.
“Not to me.”
“We’ll see.”
He turned and walked out of the bathroom.
I watched him go, then turned back to the sink, my heart pounding. I gripped the edge of the counter so hard I left marks on my fingers. I wanted to cut again so badly, but the fact that Colt had caught me had completely ruined any relief I might get from it.
I splashed cold water on my face and on my wrists.
When I got back to the bedroom, Colt was standing by the bed.
“If you’re going to try and give me some big lecture on why I shouldn’t be cutting, you can save your breath,” I said. “My foster mom tried doing that every month since I was fourteen, and it obviously didn’t work.” I didn’t mention the countless social workers, the psychotherapists, the inpatient clinic they put me in for two weeks. None of it worked, or if it did, it wasn’t for long.
“I don’t lecture people,” Colt said. He reached out and took my wrist, pulled me close to him so that our chests were touching. “I don’t believe in big speeches. Words are just words. They don’t mean shit.”
I laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”
He turned my hand over in his slowly, then ran his finger over the Band-Aid on my arm. “It stopped bleeding.”
“Yeah.” I pulled my arm away from him, uncomfortable at the closeness between us. “It’s fine.”
I pushed past him., needing to get away from his closeness. But there was nowhere to go except for the bed, and I didn’t really want to be in bed with him in the room.
But he saved me from that awkwardness by turning around and walking toward the door.
At the last moment, he turned and looked at me. “If you’re going to stay here, you have to promise to stop cutting yourself.”
“I’m only going to be here for one night,” I said.
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed. “Are you moving me in?”
“Perhaps.”
“I really don’t think my family would approve.”
“Olivia,” he said. “I know you’ve been staying at the Walnut Street shelter. I’ve called and arranged for your things to be brought here.” He said it matter-of-factly, devoid of pity or sympathy.
“What?” I scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice didn’t shake. It didn’t break. I was a good liar. You have to be when your whole existence depends on it.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he said. “I know where you’ve been staying.”
“How did you – ”
He held his hand up. “We’ll get to that. But first, I have a business proposition for you.”
END OF BOOK ONE
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