Not me. You. Thom was the kind of misogynistic narcissist who believes everything is about him. The only way you move on is to let go of everything he told you and do what makes you happy.”
Masey doesn’t say anything at all for long moments, just stares and blinks. “What do you want from me?”
“Honesty.”
She looks away, casting her gaze out the window to the lush grounds beyond the pane. “I’m being honest.”
“Not with yourself. You’re being scared. I get it. You invested a decade in Thom, and he still hurt you, so why should you trust some guy you’ve known for a weekend? But don’t leave; talk to me. Let’s figure this out. You didn’t like seeing Caitlyn touch me.”
“She wasn’t just touching you. She had her mouth on you. She was licking you like she had every right to.”
“Because she’s like Thom, a narcissist to the core. Before you, I had a type: sexually aggressive blondes. I fucked a long line of them, and they seemed all too happy to let me.”
Masey’s mouth pinches shut as she grabs a box off my desk and pulls it against her chest like armor. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”
When she tries to march past me, I grip her arm and jerk the box out of her hands, then slam it on the table. “Not until we talk this out. Then, if you want to leave, I’ll take you to Harlow myself.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I don’t. But let me ask you a question. Can you think of a time Thom fought to keep you two together? Even one?”
She sputters, then falls silent, pressing her lips together mulishly and focusing out the window again.
“That’s what I thought.” I cup her face, bringing her gaze back to me. “I’ve spent two days with you. Do I know if this is a forever kind of thing? No. But I think we’ve got something that’s worth exploring.”
Actually, I’m almost convinced this fling could lead to something more but…baby steps.
“So special that you needed to tell me about all the blondes you’ve taken to bed. Why, so you can point out that I’m not your type?”
“No. So I can tell you that this”—I gesture between us—“has taken me by surprise. But I’m rolling with it. I’m telling you that I’m completely into you.”
When my confession slips out, my heart starts pounding. Jesus, I’m making myself awfully fucking vulnerable to a woman who’s fighting me for everything except sex. Yeah, she banters with me. And she likes my son. But she wanted to meet me for the sex. She probably came to stay with me instead of getting a hotel for more sex. I can’t pretend to be disinterested in sex, mostly because I can’t be near Masey without wanting her. But it says a lot about what I’m feeling that if I had to choose between spending the next ten days talking to her or fucking her, I would—though begrudgingly—choose the conversation.
Masey is quiet for such a long time, I don’t have the faintest clue what she’s going to say. “You weren’t in any hurry to push that woman away.”
“She shocked me. One minute I was telling her about Ranger, who she had no idea existed, and the next she started licking me. After you ran away, I basically told her to fuck off.”
Masey’s expression doesn’t change, but at least she’s looking at me. “How do I know that’s true?”
I fucking want to beat Thom, plow my fist into his pretty face, and hurt him for hurting her so much. “You don’t. All I can give you is my word. I realize Thom gave you his and then lied straight to your face.”
“And I stupidly believed him.”
Because she wanted to. So now she’s afraid to believe me. But that would only scare her if she wants to believe me.
“I get you.” I hesitate explaining why. As pasts go, it’s the part that’s most painful. Humiliating. Emasculating. It was, hands down, the worst day of my life. But telling Masey may be the only way she believes I would never stab her in the back. “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”
That gets her attention. “Never?”
“Ever. The night we met, you asked me if I’d ever had any long-term relationships or fiancées along the way and I said no. That was true…but not the whole story. There was a bitch who ripped my fucking heart out.”