His Love - Cassandra Dee Page 0,40

heavy chest rising and then falling. And then he began.

“Serena called me a manwhore because in a way, I am. I sleep with a lot of girls. Slept with, I should say,” he growled, turning bright blue eyes to me. “Once I had you, I stopped.”

But I shook my head, still not happy.

“But why? Was it abnormal in some way? This is NYC, lots of guys sleep with girls, it’s how the city works.”

The alpha nodded, still holding my eyes.

“Honey, I slept with a lot of women. A lot,” he added. “And some of those were from the ballet school,” he began carefully. “They were students at the Academy, girls who danced.”

I nodded slowly. So Serena had been telling the truth after all. Lucy Jane and Natalie really did exist.

“I see,” I said, breathing slow, trying to calm my pounding heart. “I see.”

Luke took another deep breath, seizing my hand.

“I sleep with the young ballerinas, and admittedly, I wasn’t exactly shy about doing it,” he said roughly. “I banged a couple chicks from the incoming class, and it got Serena’s goat. Because she wasn’t young anymore, she wasn’t flexible and limber, and I didn’t want her. So she was jealous. She acted okay on the outside, but clearly, she wasn’t okay with it at all.”

I nodded dully.

“Right. A couple girls from the incoming class. Every year.” Oh my god, how many women was that?

But Luke could read my thoughts and he squeezed my hand then, eyes fierce.

“But you’re different,” he growled in a low voice. “Things with you are different, Kitty.”

That made me look up slowly.

“How? Why?” I asked carefully, meeting his eyes full-on. “What makes me different?”

The billionaire was silent, the look on his face shuttered.

“You’re different, that’s all,” he said. “Can’t you tell? You’re different in so many ways that I can’t explain, there are too many.”

“Try,” I said in a low voice, still like a hummingbird poised in the air. “Just try, please.”

But Luke leapt up then, pacing in a rage, working off furious energy.

“I can’t explain it,” he growled, long legs eating up the carpet while throwing me angry and confused looks. “I can’t explain it, but you’re special Kitty.”

And inside, my heart crumpled. Because of course, that was a lie. I wasn’t different from all the girls who’d come before me, and all the girls that would follow after I was gone. I was just the youngest, newest, freshest ballerina at the Academy right now, but in a couple months? There’d be a new crop of sweet young things, and Luke would move on. There was nothing special about me, nada, zip, zilch.

And the realization made my heart break. If it’d been broken already, now it lay in splinters on the floor, shattered beyond repair. I was devastated, absolutely gone with no way out. So there was only one thing to do. I stood then, heart heavy. Expression unreadable, I gestured at the door.

“I see,” was all I said, voice tuneless. “I see. Could you leave now please? My mom and I have had a rough day, and we’d like our privacy.”

“Kitty,” Mr. Lyons protested, looking at me with anguish in his eyes, that blue gaze pleading. I almost gave in, he was so goddamn gorgeous, even now, in the middle of a crisis.

But the thing is, I’ve learned my lesson. Miss Lane’s crazy behavior had exposed the truth, and the big man couldn’t deny it. He could say that I was special, but there were no reasons behind his statement. There was no “you’re special because you’re beautiful,” “you’re special because you’re sassy,” or “you’re special because I’ve fallen in love with you.” I was special because I was young and dumb, willing to let him use my body any way he pleased. And unfortunately, that fades with time. Sooner or later, I’d become a big fat zero, a whole lotta nothing.

So now, I just needed to salvage what was left.

“Please go,” I said, turning my face away. “Just go.”

Mr. Lyons knelt before me then, taking my hands in his big ones.

“You’re special to me Kitty Jones,” was all he growled. “You’re special, don’t forget that.”

His hands felt so warm, so reassuring, but I didn’t believe it for one second. Because I hated that word “special.” It meant nothing, it was just an empty phrase, a mean-nothing, toss-off filler that he was using because we were in a bad spot. So I refused to look at him, jerking my chin away.

“Go,” was my final