by Heidi Rice
Ty leant into the booth past his sister, his eyes fixed on Zelda. The familiar scent of him enveloped her and sent a blast of need to her already overwrought senses. “You want to have this conversation here, in front of my sister and your friends? Or in the basement, in private? It’s your call. But we are having this conversation, you owe me that much.”
She could still hear the spike of temper, but behind it was the echo of hurt. The hurt she’d caused, by being a coward, and not telling him the truth when she had the chance.
She let go of Faith’s arm. “It’s all right, Faith, you can let me out now.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and her friend stood up.
Ty took her arm as soon as she had edged out of the booth after Faith. As if he were scared she would run off again.
“Thanks, sis. Goodbye, ladies,” he said, his voice tight.
Before any of her friends had a chance to reply, Zelda found herself being drawn towards the back of the bar and out into a narrow alleyway. Slamming open a side door, Ty hauled her down a flight of stairs into a vast, cavernous cellar room stacked to the ceiling with kegs. Dimly lit by a single bulb at the far end of the space, lines of tubing snaked upwards, siphoning the beer and stout and lager from the tapped kegs to the bar above.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “You can stop manhandling me now, thank you very much.”
Shoving the door closed, he flicked the lock. “Damn it, Zel. Why did you run off like that, without a word? And why didn’t you answer any of my calls or texts?”
“I left you a note,” she protested, the energy firing through her system at the sight of him, the smell of him, clean and male, above the cloying scent of alcohol. “What more did you want? I told you the rules and you agreed to them. And now you’ve informed Faith of our liaison, you’ve finally managed to break every single one of them.”
“Fuck the rules. I don’t give a shit about them, because this became more than that. And you broke those damn rules, too, so don’t deny it.”
“If I did, I regret it now,” she lied, her gaze fixating on the strong column of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the firm sensual line of his lips, flat with displeasure.
“No you don’t.” He grasped her arm again, pulled her towards him.
But this time, she couldn’t find the will to pull away, to pull back. She’d missed him so much. But even as the sharp rush of longing consumed her, she assured herself it was nothing more than endorphins. This was chemistry, biology. The instinctive desire to mate. It was an addiction she would have to break, but as the answering desire sparked in his eyes, and his fingers pressed into her bicep, she took in the tortured rise and fall of his chest beneath the creased shirt. And knew he wanted her, too.
Why not have one more fuck for old time’s sake? Before she had to go cold turkey. Did the hair of the dog theory work for sexual addictions?
And if they jumped each other, there would be no time for talk.
Her fevered mind clung to the insane logic, as his fingers plunged into her hair, and lifted her face to his.
“Damnit, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, his lips hovering so close, promising so much. “Now tell me you haven’t missed me, too?”
“I can’t.” She grasped his face, pulled his mouth down to hers and shoved him back against the stacked barrels.
Insanity gripped her as she ripped at his shirt. Buttons popped, pinging against the concrete floor. Her hands found warm solid flesh and felt the quiver of muscle and bone, the leashed power in him like a racehorse at the starting gate. She sucked in a lungful of his scent. Fresh male sweat, pine shampoo, the spicy hint of cologne. Then fastened her lips over his and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
He sucked on her tongue, groaning, and then swung her round, until her back hit the damp brick, cool against her heated flesh. His large hand gripped her thigh, to hook her leg over his hip. The solid ridge of his erection felt glorious, as he ground his length against her aching clit through their clothing.
Reaching down, she grappled to find his fly, to tug down the zipper and work her hand into his shorts.
He swore, letting out a low groan as she found him firm, and long, and so wonderfully hard.
“I want you inside me,” she begged.
His fingers located the damp gusset of her panties, nudging the satin aside to plunge into the wet heat. His thumb brushed her throbbing clit and she bucked.
“You’re so wet.” He pressed his forehead against hers, the groan wretched with longing. “I don’t have any condoms.”
“I’m on the pill.” She stroked his length, felt it leap against her hand. “I’m safe.” But this wasn’t safe. If she took this plunge again would she ever be able to pull back?
But even as the sane thought pierced the feverish longing, she knew she couldn’t say no. Not this time. Not to him.
She glided her thumb across the head of his erection, spreading the bead of pre-come. The magnificent shaft bobbed in her hand, but he shifted back, to cradle her face. “Are you sure, Zel?”
“Yes, now shut up and do me.”
His eyes narrowed at the vulgar tone and she wondered if she’d pushed him too far. But then he swore under his breath and lifted her, wedging her thighs further apart to rip at her panties.
The sound of satin tearing echoed in the cavernous space and then his fingers were digging into soft flesh as he positioned himself to thrust hard. Her head dropped back, the brutal swell of desire tempered by shock as he impaled himself to the hilt, her slick flesh stretching to receive him.
He buried his face in her neck, pulled out and plunged back. She held onto his shoulders, anchoring herself as best she could against the stunning pressure, the punishing pleasure. His grunts and her sobs sounded raw and primal as he drove into her. Again and again. Flesh slapped against flesh, the spiral of heat yanking tight, surging up from her center, threatening to tear her apart. The feeling of loss and longing and regret burned away on the savage swell. Brutal, tumultuous, unstoppable.
She fisted her fingers in his hair, urging him on, crying out as the orgasm overtook her at last, exploding through her senses. His yell rang in her ear, his seed flooding her.
She floated down on the wave of afterglow, her heart thundering right out of her chest. But as her fingers relaxed in his hair, her palms brushed the rough skin of his cheeks, the day-old stubble, and she had the sudden yearning to cling to him forever.
He slipped out of her and lowered her to the floor. She felt raw and too open like a seeping wound—his semen wet against her thighs. The sense of loss overwhelming. She locked her knees, to keep from collapsing, the last of the pleasure chased away by the wave of horror. As realization dawned of what they’d just done. And what she would have to do and say now. To push him away for good.
She would have to pay the price for her recklessness. Because Zelda had discovered long ago that if there was no such thing as a free fuck, there was certainly no such thing as a free fuck-up.
*
Ty’s breath sawed in his lungs as he shoved his cock back in his pants, surveyed the tattered remains of his shirt. Had that actually just happened? Had he just taken Zelda against a wall in Sully’s basement? And come like a freight train? He stared at the familiar stacks of beer kegs, inhaled the musty smell of damp brick and stale Guinness.
She looked blank, shaky, her lips pursed in a thin line as if she were trying to hold onto control. Was she in shock? Because he thought he might be.
“Jesus, Zel.” He cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb across the delicate skin, so soft, so fragile. “I didn’t come here intending to do that. I just wanted to talk. But you do something to me. Something I can’t control. Something I don’t want to control. Not anymore.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and drew his hand away from her face. “Well you’re going to have to, because that’s all there is.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, her dism
issive tone, the flat acceptance in her eyes scaring him.
She was so precious, so special. Why couldn’t she see that?
“Something happened last weekend.” His voice sounded small and far away. He paused to take a breath, and push the confidence into his tone he used when presenting evidence to a jury. “Something important. And it was never just about the sex. It meant something to me. You mean something to me. I don’t want this to be over.”
She stepped away from him, her face flat and expressionless and his panic careened up another notch. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ty. This can’t go anywhere. Our worlds are too far apart.”
The barb was well-aimed, hitting him right where it hurt the most, at his pride. And that niggling doubt underneath, that told him he would never be good enough for someone like her. She was beautiful and cultured and rich and aristocratic, the daughter of an American ambassador who had probably been to every major city in the world, while he’d never been outside the US. She lived in a townhouse on the Upper East Side twenty times the size of the apartment above them where he’d grown up. She probably earned more disposable income in a week than he could earn in a year.
But she didn’t look at him when she said it and the chip that had ridden on his shoulder all through Columbia Law, because he couldn’t afford to join a fraternity, and didn’t want to have a corner office in some pricey, midtown law firm, toppled off. Zelda wasn’t a snob. She didn’t judge people by their hourly income. She was simply feeding his own prejudices back to him. He knew an unreliable witness when he saw one.
“Don’t do that.” He grasped her chin, forcing her gaze back to his, and he saw that flicker in her eyes that he had seen once before. “Don’t play the Park Avenue princess when I know you’re not. If there’s a reason why you don’t want to explore this thing further, tell me straight what it is. And I’ll back off. But you have to give me a reason I can believe.”
He was through being on the defensive, through playing this game by her rules. If she had secrets, he wanted to know what they were. He was entitled to know, because he’d told her every one of his.
She slapped his hand away. “Fine, I’ll give you a reason. I don’t do relationships.”
“That’s not a reason, it’s a platitude. Tell me why you don’t?”
“Because I’m no good at them.”
“How do you know if you won’t even try? I’m not asking for anything more than a chance here, Zel, to see where this is going, without putting obstacles in our path.”
“There’s no point, when I know I’ll screw it up.”
“Why would you think that? Is this something to do with your jerk of a brother?” That had to be it. She needed someone to show her exactly how precious she was. And he could be that guy. If only she would believe in herself enough to let him in. “Can’t you see his neglect has made you think you’re worthless?” he continued. “That you can’t do this, when you can.”
He tried to gather her close, but she struggled free and shoved him back.
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? You arrogant bastard. We fucked for three days. You don’t know anything about me.”
The cruel words felt like a slap, but he could see the terror in her eyes, and knew she was pushing him away because she was scared. She was hitting out at him, playing the bad girl to hide her fear, the way she had all those years ago at that pricey convent school.
“I know enough, Zel,” he said, refusing to let the bad girl act distract him, the way it had a decade ago. “I know you believe the worst of yourself. But that’s not who you really are. Because I also know you’re the kind of woman who would take the blame for something she didn’t do, rather than let down her friends. Who would get torn away from the only people who cared about her, rather than speak up in her own defense.”
“I’m not one of your charity cases. I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“I don’t want to rescue you. I want much more than that. Don’t you get it? I’m falling in love with you, for fuck’s sake.”
He saw shock, followed quickly by panic. It wasn’t the way he’d intended to say it. This was the first time he’d ever told a woman he loved her, and he’d messed it up. But the truth of it still stood. He didn’t care if it was too quick.
And yeah, maybe it was supremely arrogant of him, but he didn’t think he was having these feelings all on his own.
“You can’t love me, you don’t know me,” she said, the panic rising in her voice. “You don’t know the things I’ve done. I’ve screwed up all the way down the line. This isn’t about bad choices, it’s more than that, just read any headline about me and you’ll see.”
“Do you think I give a damn about what the press says about you?”
“It’s not just the press, they didn’t make it up.”
“I don’t care.”
He tried to hold her arm, but she jerked free. “I’m an alcoholic, Ty. Now do you get it?”
“Bullshit, I’ve never seen you take a drink.”
“Because I’m in recovery,” she said, exasperated. “I’ve been sober for five years. But I’ll always be an alcoholic.”
She looked devastated at the admission. He almost laughed. Did she really believe he was so shallow and insensitive, that he couldn’t see that made her even more heroic? Because she’d faced her demons and overcome them?
“That’s your big confession?” he said. “That you’re an alcoholic and you’ve fought to control your addiction for five years?” He reached for her again, and this time she let him pull her into his arms. “It doesn’t matter, not to me. If that’s what’s stopping you from admitting how you feel, I don’t care.” He brushed her hair, cupped her skull, felt her cheek rest against his collarbone. “I can give up drinking, too. I want to help. I want to be there for you. Don’t you see? We can fight this thing together.”
*
Zelda struggled free, wrapping her arms around her midriff to hold in the hollow hurt, the trembles of reaction. And forced her anger to the fore to cover the crippling feeling of loss, of yearning that she could never let him see.
Tyrone Sullivan wanted to be her knight in shining armor. He wanted to protect her and care for her, and maybe he really was falling in love with her. But what he didn’t realize was she could never take that leap, because she’d lost the right to take those kinds of risks, years ago.
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t see,” she said. “This isn’t about you, or me, or whether we can give this relationship a chance.” She spat the words out, filling them with as much contempt as she could to hide the pain. “I have a fucking disease, Ty. A disease for which there is no cure. A disease which would happily kill me if I let it. And fighting that disease has to be my only priority. Not you. Or any relationship I might have. It’s not that I can’t admit my feelings, it’s that I don’t want to. Because then you’ll think that we can be a normal couple, when we can’t. We had three great days together. I told you there couldn’t be more right from the start. That you chose not to listen is your problem. Not mine.”
He flinched, clearly shocked at her outburst. But she could see the knowledge finally dawning on his face. That she wasn’t who he’d convinced himself she was. Not the romantic wild child, worthy of his sympathy and support, but something damaged and desperate, seedy and ugly, who would have to spend the rest of her life atoning for the mistakes she had made before she had ever met him. Someone who would forever have those mistakes hanging over her, waiting to drag her back down.
She had to be strong. She couldn’t let anything weaken her. So needing him, wanting him, believing he could rescue her when she had to be able to rescue herself could destroy her.
“Zelda… Don’t throw this away…” He reached for her again.
“No.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Please just leave me alone. I don’t want this. I…” She gulped down the ball of tears wedged in her throat. “I don’t want you.”
Beca
use I can’t have you.
He said nothing as she turned and walked to the door on unsteady legs. Nothing as she unlocked it and ran up the cellar stairs and out into the alleyway.
Tears streaked her face as she rushed into the Brooklyn night and called a cab. Foolishly, she cast a glance at the back door of the pub as the cab sped away from the curb, willing him to appear, to chase after her. But even as a part of her wanted him to be willing to take her, broken and damaged as she was, wanted him to be willing to fight for what they might have had together, and take on her burdens, another part of her knew it was a selfish and destructive pipedream that would only destroy them both. Neither of them could turn back the clock to a time when love would have been enough to conquer all. The realist, the pragmatist, the cynic inside her, which had been forged in fire during five years of fighting her addictions, knew she had to fight her battles alone. That she couldn’t afford to believe in fairy tales.
And the foolish, romantic unrealistic part of her that wanted to believe in happy ever afters also knew she couldn’t shackle Ty to a person who could never give him everything he deserved.
Because every part of her cared for him too much.
Chapter Ten
‡
Ty stabbed the buzzer to apartment D and prayed his brother’s voice would come over the line. He hadn’t texted, or called ahead, because he hadn’t known he’d been heading to Finn and Dawn’s loft apartment in SoHo, until he’d found himself walking towards the subway after work.
“Who is it and what the hell do you want?” Finn’s muffled voice rumbled out of the intercom, the clipped surly tone almost making Ty smile, for the first time in close to three weeks, ever since he’d woken up in the barge to find Zelda gone. His brother had never been one to hold back, unless he was trying to charm a lady, but right now the gruff response fit Ty’s mood.
“It’s Ty. I was in the neighborhood doing a deposition.” He lied. “You want to go grab a beer to celebrate TGIF?” Not that he had a damn thing to celebrate, and not that he felt like drinking, but he’d rehearsed the casual request for the last twenty minutes, while walking past all the loved up couples, dating up a storm in the upscale neighborhood on a warm Friday evening in Manhattan. In fact, he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since Zelda’s revelation over a week ago at Sully’s, because for some dumb reason just the thought of drinking made him feel guilty, as if it were a betrayal of the struggle she’d waged—and won—for five years.