The Rebound

by Winter Renshaw

  I’ve never felt more vulnerable.

  He stares me up and down, taking in my body like it’s the first time all over again, eyes lingering on my breasts for a beat longer. His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling. Rhett’s chest and shoulders are massive, bigger than they were before, and veins protrude from his arms when he flexes.

  I wish he’d say something.

  “Are you happy, Rhett?” I ask the question I’ve wanted to know the answer to for the longest time.

  “Do I look happy?” he answers. His gaze falls to my mouth, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

  I want him to kiss me.

  I want him to kiss me more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.

  “Did you miss me?” I ask, delivering it with a casual smirk. If I pretend like I’m teasing, it won’t hurt so bad if he says “no.”

  Rhett drags his teeth along his bottom lip for a half second.

  “Yes? No?” I tease. We need to lighten the mood here because this is way too intense.

  “Is that your boyfriend out there?” he asks.

  My brows meet. “Who? Seth? No, no, no. We’re just friends.”

  He gives a single nod, studying me. “Why was he touching you?”

  I laugh. “Did you follow me in here just so you could interrogate me?”

  “Your personal life is none of my concern, Ayla. It was a simple question.”

  “Then wh—”

  His lips crash onto mine in a frenzied rush that sucks the air from my lungs. Rhett’s hands slick down my outer thighs, cupping my ass and lifting me to the wall, where he presses his body against mine and I hook my legs around his sides.

  I don’t know what this means or why he’s doing it, but I’ll be damned if I ask because I don’t want him to stop.

  My fingers interlace at the nape of his neck, and his kiss hurts, but I don’t mind because a kiss that hurts is better than a kiss that doesn’t exist at all. His tongue grazes mine as our lips dance, and I smile when I realize he tastes exactly the same.

  Someone’s pounding on the door, but we don’t stop.

  “Hurry up! I gotta piss,” a woman shouts from the other side. “If you don’t wrap it up, you’ll be stepping in it on your way out!”

  Got to love New York.

  Rhett groans and loosens his grip on me, letting me slide down the wall before tossing me the t-shirt. I tug it over my head, and before I realize what’s happening, his hand is clamped around my wrist and we’re ducking out a back door, dashing across an alley, and sprinting through a crosswalk toward the Hotel du Glace across the street.

  It’s only when we’re in the elevator and his brute body is pinning mine into the wall so hard I can’t breathe and he’s dragging my lip between his teeth and the taste of blood hits my tongue …

  … that I realize he didn’t miss me at all.

  He wants to punish me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Rhett

  I toss her on the bed—recklessly—the very same way she treated my heart.

  Reaching for her jeans, I yank them down her thighs, my calloused hands rough against her tender skin. My bad. Was that careless of me?

  Her panties are next.

  I rip those straight down the middle, not unlike the very thing she did to me. It was almost too easy. Was it that easy for her?

  “Rhett,” she breathes my name, holding me in her wanton gaze, but I mute her with a rough kiss, my hand knotting in her hair as I control her mouth.

  I won’t be kissing her softly tonight. Nothing about this is going to be gentle. This isn’t a jaunt down memory lane—far from it.

  Running my finger beneath the left strap of her bra, I pull it taut before letting it snap her skin. Even in the dark, I see the beginnings of a welt, but it’s only minor, and it’ll fade with time. Nothing like the mark she left on me.

  Unfastening my jeans, I shove them down and climb over on top of her, crushing her lips over and over, sucking the air from her lungs and digging my fingers into the curved flesh of her perfect fucking ass.

  Her thighs hook around mine.

  She wants this. She wants me.

  Hate to break it to her, but I’m not the man I used to be.

  I position her beneath me, dominating her and spreading her legs apart, teasing her clit with the tip of my swollen cock before dragging it to her entrance, pressing just enough to torture her.

  Yeah. I want to fuck her. That feeling never quite subsided no matter how much I tried to force it away, but I can’t fuck her like I used to. She might get the wrong impression.

  I rise, pulling my body off hers. “On your knees.”

  She hesitates before rolling over and pressing herself up on all fours. Tonight I’m going to fuck her like a dog so I won’t have to feel her staring at me. I don’t want to see that little sliver of hope in her eyes that has abso-fucking-lutely no business being there.

  Grabbing a condom from my jeans pocket on the floor, I rip the packet with my teeth before rolling it over my throbbing cock. I’ve waited a long time for this, and I’m so fucking hard my cock aches.

  Tracing my fingertip along her seam, I watch as her body shivers, and as soon as she exhales, I thrust deep inside her with one forceful move.

  Ayla sighs, falling to her elbows and pressing her cheek against the bed as she grips the sheets.

  My hands clutch the flesh of her hips, leaving rosy imprints where I squeeze, and soon the slap of my skin against hers mixes with the scent of her arousal and the soft breathless sighs escaping her traitorous mouth.

  Deeper.

  Faster.

  Harder.

  I fuck her until we lose track of time; until she’s screaming into the sheets, telling me how good I feel inside her and begging me not to stop. She’s having quite the experience, but I don’t feel a fucking thing.

  I’m numb.

  When it’s over, I pull out, toss the condom in the trash, and hit the shower.

  “You’re still here.” I stand in the bathroom doorway twenty minutes later, a towel wrapped around my waist and another draped around my neck.

  I had to wash her off of me.

  She’s dressed now, lying on my bed. “You didn’t ask me to go…?”

  “Thought it was implied.”

  Ayla sits up, eyes tracking me as I move around the room. I grab some clothes. And a drink from the mini bar. I don’t offer her a damn thing.

  “What the hell was that, Rhett?” she asks.

  “That ... was nothing.” I take a sip of Scotch. It’s cheap, which surprises me considering this is a world-class hotel, but it’ll have to do. “Absolutely nothing.”

  The liquid burns my throat on the way down.

  There.

  Finally feel something.

  “What, were you trying to fuck me out of your system?” she asks.

  “Is that even a thing?” My head cocks to the side and my brows lift. I turn my attention to her and smirk.

  Her face falls, washed in disappointment.

  “What, you think because I kissed you—because I fucked you—that things are magically going to go back to the way they were?” I ask.

  She’s quiet. She did. She totally fucking thought that.

  “Cute,” I huff, shaking my head and taking a drink.

  “So you just wanted to hurt me to get back at me,” she says, finally grasping the situation. “Don’t you think it was enough that you told me you never wanted to see me again?”

  “Not really.”

  “Who are you?” she asks, rising and moving to me.

  I chuckle, glancing over her shoulder and out the balcony window.

  “Stop,” she says. “Stop acting like this. It isn’t who you are. You’re not this guy, this heartless jerk. I see it in your eyes.”

  My gaze snaps to hers. “Really, Ayla? And what do you see exactly?”

  Her arms fold. “I see someone that was beginning to fall in love with me, and I hurt him s
o badly his heart turned to ice so that it would never have to feel again.”

  “Poetic.” I roll my eyes, taking another sip.

  “Don’t do this,” she pleads.

  “No clue what you’re talking about,” I say. “I fucked you. Now I’m done fucking you. I’m not doing anything.”

  Her lip quivers. Still, I feel zero sympathy.

  “You know,” she says. “One of the reasons I didn’t tell you who I was right away was because it was too soon after Damiana. You were hurting. And you found an escape with me. I let you do anything you wanted to me—I let you use me—because I cared for you, and because that’s what you needed at the time.”

  “Bryce always liked to play the martyr,” I say. “Must run in the family.”

  Ayla buries her face in her hands.

  “Stop trying to justify what you did. You knew who I was, you fucked me anyway. Deal with the consequences of your actions.” I toss back the rest of my drink, my hand gripping the glass so hard it could shatter. “Now get out of my hotel room.”

  Her mouth gapes for a second.

  “Go on. I’m done with you now.” I motion toward the door. My jaw sets, clenching until it throbs with pain.

  I don’t see it coming—the slap across my face—until it’s too late. Heat blooms along my cheek and my jaw throbs. Her hazel eyes are wide, like she’s shocked by her own actions, but she says nothing.

  “Hit me again,” I say. “I fucking love it.”

  “You love it because it’s the only way you feel a damn thing, you cold-hearted bastard.” She turns on her heel to leave, but I hook my hand through her elbow and pull her against me.

  “I said, hit me again.” I hold her wrist, my teeth gritting.

  She scowls. “No.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “Because I …” her voice trails off and her gaze falls to the carpet.

  “Because what?”

  “Because I don’t want to hurt you,” she blurts, eyes glassy. And then her shoulders cave, her hands flying to her mouth to cover an escaped cry. “Because ... I love you.”

  I cup her chin in my hand, lowering my mouth until our lips graze. Her tears won’t soften me. I’m incapable of pitying the self-centered.

  “Then I highly recommend that you stop,” I say, making my words clear as day. I want there to be no mistaking my sentiments in this moment. “Immediately.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “Then you’re in for a world of hurt.” I release her chin and let her go, leaving her side and storming toward the balcony.

  “Rhett,” she says, following. “If you want to hurt me, if that’s what makes you feel better about all of this, then I understand. I can take it. Believe me, any physical or emotional pain you could inflict on me is nothing compared to the pain I feel when you’re not around.”

  Her hand warms my shoulder, and I turn to face her.

  “I don’t think you understand,” she says, both of her hands clasped at her chest and eyes pleading, “how much of me ... belongs to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We hardly knew each other,” I say. “And don’t flatter yourself. You’re nothing more than a miniscule blip on my timeline.”

  “The length of time you’re with someone has nothing to do with how much you love them.”

  “Oh, yeah? Is that a scientific fact?” I smirk, pushing past her.

  “Did you ever love me?” she asks, head tilted. “When things were good, did you ever look at me and think that maybe you were starting to fall? Just a little?”

  Of course I did.

  “No,” I lie.

  “If you never loved me,” she says, “if I was just some girl you fucked, some blip on your timeline, then why do you want to hurt me so badly?”

  “I’m not answering any more of your questions.” I point to the door.

  “I’m not leaving,” she says.

  “Then get on the bed.”

  “What?”

  “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.”

  “Why?” Her eyes dance between mine and the bed behind me.

  It hits me—really hits me—that this woman is willing to take all the pain I want to inflict on her, all because she loves me.

  “I’m going to fuck you again,” I say.

  Harder. Faster. Deeper. Mercilessly.

  I’m starting to feel again, and I need to be numb to her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ayla

  “Is your number still the same?” I ask as I’m getting ready to slip out of his hotel room before the sun comes up Sunday morning.

  He let me stay last night. Progress? That has to count for something. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to try to get me to leave.

  “Don’t call me,” he says.

  “So we’re back to this?”

  “I’ll break you,” he promises, striding toward me. Or is it a threat? Either way, I don’t care. My heart refuses to listen. His hand lifts to my jaw, his thumb grazing my lower lip as his stare penetrates.

  He smells like me—like us. He didn’t wash me off of him the second time.

  “A little late for that.” I hold my breath, I let his mouth crush mine, and I allow myself fall knowing there will never be a safety net at the bottom. “You broke me a long time ago, Rhett. And you’re the only one who can put me back together.”

  “Never mind. I found her. She just walked in. I’ll call you later.” Seth is pacing our hotel room when I return Sunday morning. He exhales, relieved, when he sees me, ending his call and placing his phone on the dresser. “Where the hell were you? God, I was about to call the police.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I ran into an old friend last night. Got a little swept up in the moment. And then my phone died.”

  “You could have found a way to call,” he says. I’ve never seen him so angry with me. “I thought something bad had happened, Ayla.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He moves closer to me, and I wonder if he’ll be able to smell Rhett.

  “Rosalie called this morning,” he says. “She was trying to get a hold of you. Called the hotel room.”

  “Yeah? What’d she say?”

  “Keep in mind, this is not official. But. She says her contact at Cutler and Bagby is saying Hard Hearted has sold fifty thousand copies this weekend alone,” he says. “And we won’t know until Wednesday, but we’re pretty sure you’re going to hit the New York Times bestsellers list.”

  My hand clamps over my mouth. “Seth! Are you serious?”

  He nods, smirking. He’s happy for me. Genuinely happy. I throw my arms around his shoulders, and he squeezes me tight, spinning me around the room.

  And still, for some bittersweet reason, my mind goes to Rhett, wishing it were Rhett swinging me around, smiling for me and congratulating me, and knowing it will probably never be him.

  “Flight leaves this afternoon,” Seth says, releasing me. “Want to hit the Museum of Modern Art before we go? They’ve got a Carolee Schneeman exhibit I’d love to see if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, of course. Give me a little bit to get ready?”

  I grab my clothes from my suitcase and hit the showers, soaping my body until remnants of Rhett swirl around the drain. It’s only when I’m drying off and standing before the bathroom mirror that I see the bite marks along the top of my shoulder. I run my finger along them. They’re light and they’ll fade soon.

  They didn’t hurt at the time, but my senses were overwhelmed by the sheer fact that his hands and mouth were claiming my body in ways they hadn’t in so long.

  I was starved for him.

  I was so famished for his touch, I took him any way I could, even cold and raw.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ayla

  “You want to dance?” Seth comes up from behind me at Viv and Fernando’s wedding, his hand grazing my low back as I order another drink from the bar. The DJ spins an Al Green song from across the room and couples
are shuffling toward the dance floor, surrounding the bride and groom.

  Love is in the air. Literally. The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Almeida haven’t stopped smiling since they took their first walk down the aisle, and they’ve been joined at the hip all night. It isn’t much different from any other day in that respect, but today has truly been something special. So. Much. Love.

  I couldn’t be happier for them.

  “I’m a terrible dancer,” I tell Seth.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I know. And I don’t care. Dance with me.”

  He runs his fingers down my arm until he catches my hand, and then he pulls me toward the music, spinning me into his arms once our feet hit the parquet dance floor. I laugh. He’s grinning. And Al’s voice serenades everyone about staying together.

  It’s been a week since I left New York, and in two days, I’ll head out to my second stop. I’ll be coming and going, coming and going for the next two months. It’s going to be exhausting, and I’ll probably never want to so much as look at the inside of a plane again when it’s over and done, but my hope is that I’ll be so busy traveling I might be able to stop obsessing over that night with Rhett.

  The song ends, and Seth spins me one last time before wrapping me in his arms. Stayin’ Alive comes on next, and a bunch of Vivian’s aunts and uncles rush out the dance floor in a fit of nostalgic laughter.

  “I’m going to grab that drink I never got …” I tell Seth, letting him go and making my way back to the bar. The bartender sees me immediately and slides me my champagne. I slip a tip in the jar and head back to the bridal party’s table, which is now empty. Viv had eight bridesmaids, which seemed a little overkill. I was number five, after her sisters and cousins and before her college roommates.

  “Hey.” Seth takes Cousin Emily’s empty seat.

  “Hey.” I love Seth. I do. But he’s been clinging to my side all night, and I’m beginning to get annoyed. Yes, he’s my date tonight, but it doesn’t mean we’re dating. “What’s up?”

  I take a sip of champagne and he takes me in like I’m the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He’s been doing that all night, ever since he saw me glammed out in my strapless pink chiffon bridesmaid dress with full hair and makeup.