by Tara West
“Do you think you’re to blame for what he did to you?”
I gritted my teeth at that question. Damn well I did. Why had I tempted him? I’d wandered into the barn alone, knowing he’d follow. I’d wanted him to try, because I thought I could take him on. “Not the first time, but I should’ve been better prepared the second time.”
She arched a bushy brow. “Did you ask him to rape you?”
I shot up from my seat. “No!” What kind of question was that?
“Then why would you be to blame?”
Ugh. She was leading me to the answers she wanted. I totally saw through her BS reverse psychology. I sat back down, hanging my head. “Because I let down my guard.” I shouldn’t have led him into the barn without a can of mace or a baton. Why had I thought those kickboxing classes were enough?
“And you said he was your best friend’s dad?”
“Yes.” Poor Savannah. If anyone had a need for a therapist, it was her. Last week she’d confessed to me she’d been seeing a shrink. Maybe that was why I was here now. If she could get professional help, so could I. Savannah was the strongest person I’d ever known, having suffered from her father’s abuse since childhood. He’d beaten her for the stupidest reasons, like crying at her mother’s funeral when she was just four years old.
“He was a father figure?” She set her pad and pencil down, steepling her fingers under her chin. “Someone you should have been able to trust?”
Ha. She had him pegged all wrong. “No. Bud Boudreau was never a father figure. He beat Savannah for no reason. He treated her like shit.”
“Did he rape her, too?”
“I don’t think so.” Savannah would’ve told me, and if her dad had raped her, I would’ve killed him.
“What happened the first time?”
The first time had been far harder than the second, because he’d actually penetrated me, ripped me open and stolen my virginity. That night he’d taken a big shit on my psyche, fucking me up for years to come, making me fear intimacy and mistrust the opposite sex. Not to mention I’d lived with the fear of pregnancy for two weeks afterward.
I expelled a shaky breath before telling her what I’d rehearsed in my mind. “My best friend ran away. Everyone at the ranch was searching for her, and I went looking in the barn.” I spoke with as little inflection as possible, trying to remove emotion from the story. “He was there. He was drunk, and he raped me.”
“And the second time?”
I slouched, hoping her furniture didn’t have mold or fleas. “It was last summer. I’d taken kickboxing in college. I’d been waiting for this moment. It didn’t take him long to find me alone. I thought I was ready, but he was too strong. There was no penetration, though. Clint, one of the ranch hands, came in and kicked Bud in the cajones.” It had been awesome.
“Good for him,” she said.
“So damn good.” I couldn’t help but smile. “He helped me up, and we got out of there. My stepdad, Angus, found Bud curled up in a ball and rushed him to the hospital.”
“You didn’t tell anyone what happened?”
My eyes bulged. “No. My mom would’ve had a heart attack, and Angus would’ve probably gone to jail for shooting Bud Boudreau.”
“What about the ranch hand?”
My shoulders fell as I thought about Clint. He’d graduated high school with me and Savannah, a nice, quiet kid who’d only been working at the ranch a few years. “He quit that night. I begged him not to tell.” I remembered how red-faced Clint was when I pleaded with him not to tell Angus and Mamá. He’d said he had to quit before he shot Bud himself. I never saw him after that.
“Didn’t anyone suspect how Bud was injured?”
“Bud said he’d been kicked by a mare.” It was kind of awkward that a mare would have kicked him when he had his pants down. Guess he’d rather be labeled a horse fucker than a rapist, probably because he knew Angus would have killed him if he’d told the truth. “After they examined him, they found prostate cancer. He died a few months later. A fitting end for that son of a bitch.”
“A very fitting end.” She flashed a wide smile, revealing yellowing teeth. No surprise there. “Are you still ashamed about what happened?”
“Yes,” I answered without blinking. “Clint lost his job because I let Bud hog-tie me.”
“But you do realize it’s not your fault?” Her tone was only slightly patronizing. “Bud is the one to blame, not you.”
“I hear you,” I said, raking a hand down my face, “and I’ve told myself this a thousand times, but I still wish I would’ve fought harder.”
“Are these feelings of shame affecting your work or love life?”
Well, duh. I rolled my eyes. “That’s an understatement.”
“What if you accepted the fact that you made some mistakes, but that doesn’t mean you are to blame for the rape or Clint losing his job?”
I vehemently shook my head. “I set Bud up that second time, and my friend lost his job after helping me.”
She frowned, tapping her pencil on the notebook. “Bud was a grown man responsible for his own actions. Do you think it was your best friend’s fault her dad beat her?”
I jerked up. What kind of a question was that? “No! Savannah never did anything to deserve it.”
“Then why would it be your fault he raped you?”
When I looked over at her, she appeared to be a vision in a dream. The room had hazed over, and it took me several moments to realize my eyes were watering. “I-I don’t know.”
six
I expelled a shaky breath as I pulled up in front of my rental house and saw a hunk of a man standing in front of his fence, looking sexier than should be legal. Brad had picked a hell of a time to check his mail. I set the parking brake so it didn’t roll down the impossibly steep road. Then I checked my makeup in the mirror, making sure my eyeliner wasn’t smudged after my stupid crying incident. It wasn’t so much that I was angry with myself for showing weakness. I was angrier with Bud for making me cry, even though he was neck-deep in demon shit at the bottom level of hell.
Brad stood by my door, tapping on the window and smiling down at me. Gah! Can’t I get a little space?
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he held out a hand. “Better?”
I shrugged, taking his warm hand, impressed by his thick, strong fingers and wishing they were tunneling into me. “I saw a therapist.”
His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “How was it?”
I wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions. “She’s not an idiot.”
“That’s good,” he said a little too eagerly. He leaned against my doorframe, batting thick eyelashes and looking too much like a perfect Prince Charming. “Do you want to go to dinner and catch a movie?”
“How cute.” I cupped his cheek, dragging a nail across his lower lip. “I think I’d rather stay home and order in. Do you want to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
I led him to the house while tracing a circular pattern across his palm with my thumb. As soon as we were at the door, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, and not a gentle, nice-to-see-you peck, but the kiss of a hungry lover with a rabid libido. I wrapped my arms around his neck when he pulled back, playfully nibbling on his lip so he wouldn’t get away.
He pushed me off him. “Ariana, that hurts.” He wiped his lower lip with a scowl, and that’s when I saw blood on the back of his hand.
Holy shit! Had I done that?
“I’m sorry.” I batted my eyes, looking up at him with a playful pout. “I didn’t realize I was biting you so hard.”
He put a hand on my back and escorted me inside. “Maybe we should just watch the movie.”
“Okay.” As soon as he shut the door behind him, I spun around, trailing my fingers up his solid chest. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” I waggled my eyebrows. I knew exactly what I needed to relax after all my stress: a few good orgasms.
Shadows fell across his
boyish features. “No.”
I gaped up at him. “Why not?”
“Because you’re not well, and I’m not taking advantage of you.”
Why did the good doctor have to get a conscience when I was horny? “You won’t be taking advantage of me if I tie you up,” I teased, biting my bottom lip in a way I knew drove him wild.
He backed against the door, holding out his hands in a defensive gesture. “Ariana, this isn’t working.”
My heart rate quickened. “What isn’t working?”
The look in his eyes reminded me of a little boy who’d just watched his puppy get run over. “Us. We’re not working.”
I fought to keep a straight face. “Oh, I see.” I would not let him see that I was breaking apart inside, as if he’d swung a sledgehammer at my heart.
“No, you don’t see. This is ridiculous. You need help.”
I threw up my hands. “News flash, Einstein. I’m getting some.”
“One day of therapy doesn’t cut it.”
“I know that. I’m going back.”
“We need to cut out sex until you work through this.”
So he wasn’t breaking up with me, just putting our love life on hold. Hang on! That was almost as bad as breaking up! “Cut out sex?” I flung my arms around his neck, shamelessly nibbling on his ear. “But I need sex almost as much as air.”
“No, you need to dominate.” He pulled my arms off him, latching onto the door handle as if it was a lifeline. “You need to control me because you couldn’t control him.”
I advanced toward him. “So?”
Fine lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Ariana, this isn’t healthy.”
I jutted my hands on my hips. “Orgasms have been scientifically proven to promote better health.”
One corner of his mouth hinted at a smile. Good. I was breaking down his defenses. “That’s not what I mean. I have an early shift. I need to get to bed.”
“Fine.” I pushed him aside and threw open the door, waving at the opening impatiently. “I don’t need you. I have a vibrator.”
seven
The asshole had the nerve to bring me muffins and coffee the next day. I shouldn’t have let him in, but I was out of coffee grounds, and the rich hazelnut aroma was more than I could stand.
“How do you feel?” he asked, sitting across from me, uninvited, at my small kitchen table.
“Like a sex camel, wandering the Sahara in search of orgasms.” My stupid vibrator had died on me last night, right as I finally started to get into it. It had taken me nearly twenty minutes to get to that point. It was hard focusing on the task at hand with so many dark thoughts running through my mind. Needless to say, I added batteries to my ever-growing grocery list in big, bold letters. Either batteries or a better shower head. Heck, now that I was getting a decent paycheck, maybe I’d splurge on both. I’d never want to leave the house, and I certainly wouldn’t need Brad again. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
He scooted his chair back and stood, resting his knuckles on the table. “I have a long shift today. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”
“Fine.” I waved him away, slowly sipping my coffee. “If you hear a loud buzzing coming from my house, don’t interrupt me.”
“Okay.” He smirked. “I won’t.”
“Good,” I huffed. “I don’t need you anyway.”
Liar, Ariana. You need him. Just say it.
Brad paused at the front door, looking as if he was going to say something, but then he shook his head and walked out. It took all my willpower not to chase after him. Gawd, how had I let a man turn me into a pathetic puppy, begging for a bone? My life was a mess, and I feared it would get worse before it got better.
eight
Johanna was kind enough not to make me reshoot that scene. Instead, we worked on a new one, where I got to punch out my friend’s pimp. That felt damn good, except I didn’t actually hit the guy. Jeremy Jameson, or as we liked to call him, JJ, filled in as a stunt double, letting my knuckles graze his chin before he dramatically fell out a second-story window.
Afterward, Jeremy let me buy him a drink at a local club where his boyfriend worked as a DJ. Jeremy and I danced until our feet hurt. Then we went back to my place to watch Jeremy’s stunt moves in a spy movie playing on Netflix while he waited for his boyfriend to get off work. I had to admit Jeremy was talented, making falling out of burning buildings look easy. The guy had the moves of a cat, stealthy and smooth. One part Asian, one part African, and one part hot-as-fuck, he was a few inches taller than me, lean with wiry muscles, with full, kissable lips and eyelashes to die for.
Good thing he wasn’t attracted to me, and good thing I was still committed to Brad, because I might have been all over that tight ass and toned abs. We’d talked a little on the way over and before watching the movie. I’d given him just enough information that he knew my neighbor boyfriend and I were on rocky terms. JJ was a good listener. I was almost compelled to tell him about Bud Boudreau but thought better of it. That’s what I was paying a shrink for, right?
We’d just finished watching Jeremy jump across the top of a moving train when a heavy knock sounded at the front door. I looked through the peephole, then swung open the door, not surprised to see Mr. Tall, Tanned, and Cornbread-Fed with a single red rose.
I leaned against the doorframe, still angry with him for leaving me in limbo. “I thought you were working late.”
“I did.” He made a big show of holding up the screen of his glowing cellphone. “It’s almost 1:00 a.m.” He peered over my shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”
Oh, so now that I had a guy over, he was interested in me? Hm. Brad didn’t need to know Jeremy was gay. “Watching a movie with a friend.”
“Ariana, where’s your bottle opener?” JJ came up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you there.” He kept one hand on my shoulder, holding the other hand out to Brad. “Jeremy Jameson,” he said, staring stony-faced at Brad. “Everyone calls me JJ.”
“Excuse us for a minute, JJ,” I said to him with a wink before stepping outside and shutting the door behind me. I knew exactly what game Jeremy was playing, and I made a mental note to thank him later.
“Wow. It didn’t take you long to replace me.” Brad crossed his arms, scowling at me and crushing the rose stem in his grip. “I take it he doesn’t mind shackles.”
Damn, that was cold. Really cold, as in I was half-ass tempted to smack that smug smirk off his face.
“I don’t know,” I snarled, opening the door. “You’ll have to ask his boyfriend.”
His eyes bugged out, and his jaw slackened. “Oh.”
Anger welled in my throat, making it impossible to speak, so I walked back in the house, slamming the door in Brad’s face. I did my best to hold back the tears, but a few slipped out anyway. I didn’t need to say anything to JJ. The sympathetic look he gave me told me he understood. He wordlessly held my hand for the rest of the movie while I alternated between dabbing my eyes with a tissue and resting my head on his shoulder. Why did all the decent guys have to be gay?
nine
Jeremy didn’t want to leave after the movie ended, but I insisted. After the looks he and that DJ had been exchanging at the club, I could tell they couldn’t wait to be together.
After walking him to his car, I wasn’t surprised to see Mr. Corn-Fed coming over, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking like a contrite child who’d just gotten scolded for pulling my pigtails.
“Hey, can we talk?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I waved JJ off and then wordlessly returned to the house, the sound of Brad’s heavy footsteps thudding behind me.
I stopped at the threshold, tossing a dirty look over my shoulder. “I have to work in the morning.”
He pulled the now very tattered rose out of his pocket and toyed with the broken stem. “It will only take a few minutes.”
I shrugged, acting as if it didn�
��t make much difference to me. As if. Too bad I wasn’t fooling myself.
After I shut the door behind us, he filled the cramped doorway with wide shoulders, invading my personal space and forcing me to step back. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”
I turned up my chin, willing back the tears and forcing a note of humor into my voice. “I asked JJ, and he and his boyfriend are definitely into shackles.”
Lines tightened around his mouth. “I was being insensitive.”
I arched a brow. “You were being a dick.”
“Yeah.” He kicked the edge of a frayed rug, his lip turned down in a pout. “I’m sorry.”
Damn, why did he have to be so cute? I crossed my arms, impatiently tapping my foot. I would not let him see how badly I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him senseless. “Anything else?”
When he looked at me with those penetrating blue eyes, I swear I felt Cupid’s arrow shoot straight through my chest.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s really hard staying away from you.”
“Then don’t,” I breathed, leaning into him.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I looked up at him, my vision clouded with moisture. “I won’t let you hurt me.”
I gasped when he swept me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom. My mind reeled as I thought about how to seize control of the situation when he set me on the bed. I climbed to my knees, scooting back when he crawled in beside me.