AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sloane—” I start, but she shakes her head. Both of her hands are working at her clothes, trying to straighten the wrinkles on her chest where I kneaded her breasts only moments ago. My gaze darkens. I want to beg her not to erase the proof that this moment happened, but I fight the urge because I know it’ll only make the situation worse.
“Can you please turn around?”
Her voice breaks on the last word and tears fall steadily down her face. The last thing I want to do is turn my back on her, but I can’t deny her request. I turn and stare at the drywall, ears primed and listening for any sound that comes from her. There’s a slight rustle of fabric as she shifts her skirt back down. A gasp as she smoothes her fingers over her curls, and then sniffles. First, they’re small, so faint I think I’m imagining them, but when they turn into sobs I whirl around to face her.
Her clothes are straight now. All evidence of our encounter is gone, save for the puddle of liquid arousal she’s left on my leg. It’s soaked through the denim of my jeans, so it’s not visible at all, which is good because it would probably only add to the great, heaving sobs wracking through her body. She’s got a hand clamped over her mouth, trying, and failing, to stifle the broken sounds pouring out of her.
My heart twists. Fuck, does she regret what we just did that much?
I move towards her, and she turns away from me, shrinking further into herself. I take another step, my front pressing to her back, and wrap my arms around her. This time she doesn’t move away, and relief floods me when she relaxes into my hold. But it only lasts for a second before it transforms into something more destructive while I listen to her cry.
Her tears seem to go on forever, each sob bleeding into another until I can’t tell where one begins and another ends, and I don’t move or breathe because I’m too scared to remind her I’m the one comforting her.
When they turn into soft sniffles, I put my hands on her hips and turn her around. I need to understand what went wrong and how I can stop it from happening next time—if there’s going to be a next time—but she still won’t meet my eyes.
“Sloane, I—” I don’t know what to say because there’s nothing I can say to relieve her of the burden of her guilt and grief. “It’s okay, angel. Please don’t cry.”
Her back goes ramrod straight and then she’s pulling away from me. Our gazes lock, and I wish like hell she wasn’t looking at me because there’s nothing masking the absolute devastation playing across her features and nowhere to run from those watery eyes, flushed cheeks, or trembling lips threatening to destroy me. It breaks my heart to see her like this, to know being with me in the most basic way did this to her.
“Don’t.” Her chin wobbles. “Please don’t call me that.”
This is the sickest form of confirmation, undeniable proof of just how wrong I’ve always been for her. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve wanted her or how much I loved the girl I met all those years ago, I wasn’t right for her then and I’m sure as hell not right for her now. Why did I think I ever could be?
I knew better than any other man that might pursue her what I was up against: the memory of her perfect husband who was funny, kind, and loved her beyond belief.
Eric never raised his voice at her or intentionally provoked her to anger. He wouldn’t have taken more than a kiss from her while she was working, and he damn sure wouldn’t have pushed her to the edge when she was barely recovered from a fight with yet another person who wanted things from her she didn’t want to give.
But I’m not Eric.
Honestly, right now I feel a lot like my dad. Reckless and self-serving with a nasty habit of disregarding other people’s needs in favor of his selfish desires. My stomach hitches, protesting at the thought of being anything like my father, but the proof is right here looking at me with defeated hazel eyes.
“I have to go,” Sloane whispers, more to herself than to me. “I have to get out of here.”
When she pushes at my chest a final time, I don’t have it in me to stop her. I watch her walk out of the room on unsteady feet, teetering on heels that make no sense for a construction site. Her head hung low and her chin tucked into her chest.
And seeing that—her entire body bowed and broken with regretting me—finally destroys me.
I don’t know how long I stand in there, wrapped in shame and already missing the warmth of her body, but when I finally start moving, my feet are blocks of cement. Only two of my guys, Malcolm and Jason, are still working in the interior of the suite. They’re both too focused on the piece of drywall they’re installing in the space that will serve as the living room to pay any attention to me, which is fine because my mind is on Sloane.
On the hurt in her eyes and the defeat lining her features. Those heart-wrenching sobs tearing through her like a thousand tiny knives puncturing my chest. I don’t have to go out looking for her to know she’s left the building. I can feel her absence in my bones.
In another life, I would go after her, hold her in my arms and make everything okay, but if the past few minutes have taught me anything it’s that my hands are not a source of solace for Sloane. As fucked up as it is, I wish Eric was here, so I could tell him how I screwed it all up. He would know exactly what to say to her, exactly how to fix the mess I’ve made, but unfortunately for both of us, he isn’t.
If he was here, she never would have let you touch her. And you would still be pretending to hate her guts to keep everyone from seeing how much you love her.
God, this is all so fucked up.
It’s the kind of mess only an Alexander man could make, but unlike my bastard of a father, I don’t plan on leaving Sloane to pick up all of the pieces on her own. She won’t let me comfort her, and I can’t give her Eric, so I’ll make sure she has the next best thing. Grabbing my phone, I type out a quick message to Mal.
Dominic: Can you go check on Sloane? She didn’t look well when she left the hotel a while ago.
There. It’s the vaguest message I’ve ever sent, but I know it’ll be enough to get Mal moving. She’s too much like Eric not to jump into action when someone she loves needs her.
Mal: I was just wondering why she wasn’t back at the office yet. I’ll swing by the house and check on her.
That’s the Kents for you. Caring. Selfless. Loyal to a fault. Knowing Mal will be with Sloane soon, taking care of her in a way I now know she’ll never let me, does nothing for the crack in my chest, but I can’t find it in me to care.
I deserve this pain. I practically begged the universe for it the first time I touched her skin after years of holding her at arm’s length with nothing but my words, so it’s on me. All the hurt I feel, all the pain Sloane feels, lies squarely on my shoulders, and I’ll bear it because that’s what you do for the people you love.
