I stopped his words with a quick kiss. “I’ll be there later, I promise,” I whispered, my mouth dangerously close to his. “And we’ll make it a night to remember.”
He leaned in, his hand cupping my face, his fingers trailing down my neck, sending shivers across my skin in a heady, dizzying mix of heat and cold. Then he captured my lips with a kiss that was fierce, urgent, and filled with the pent-up passion he’d been holding back.
When he pulled away, we were both breathing heavily, eyes locked in an intense, spellbinding gaze. He rested his forehead against mine for a moment. I loved it when he did that. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, his words both a promise and an enthralling challenge. “But don’t make me wait too long.”
“I won’t,” I whispered, before looking away. “You can walk me to my car if you’d like. I’m parked across the street.”
I could tell he was disappointed. I could sense it in his initial silence, even in the things he eventually started sharing with me in a lively voice, pretending everything was okay. The hurt was in his gait, in his lowered shoulders, and there was nothing I could do to make it up to him.
I’d ruined for him the moment he’d made exquisite for me.
Because my mind was elsewhere.
While we crossed the Strip, I kept looking for Jack’s ominous face. He was at the forefront of my thoughts for some reason, but nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’d given up on me. Perhaps it was all over. I could barely follow what Winston was saying on the way, making excited plans for another desert outing with the horses.
Fear does that to people; it fogs the ability to enjoy life as if dimming the light that shines inside us until everything turns dark and inescapable. Until we’re completely isolated and heartbroken and hopeless.
Still holding hands like teenagers, we took the parking elevator at the Paris. It was going to be a short ride, just two levels, and no one else shared it with us.
The moment the elevator’s doors closed, Winston folded me into his arms. “Oh God, Olivia ...” he whispered, and then crushed my lips under his. My back was already against the wall, and his body pressed against mine, demanding, impatient. Crushing me. I felt weak under his hands—weak but passionate, and helplessly aching for him.
Then, in a split second, it all changed, when his weight on my body made me feel pinned down. Sheer panic ripped through me, leaving me desperately gasping for air as the doors opened and he pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing me so dazed, breathing heavily.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Well, not nothing,” I managed after a short moment, with a timid smile, when the panic started to recede. “You are intense, I’ll give you that.”
He tilted his head, and his eyes glimmered with that mischief I loved so much about him. “Too much?”
“I don’t think so,” I laughed, shaking my head as we made our way through the parking structure, our footsteps echoing against the concrete. The air was thick with lingering heat from the day, carrying the faint scent of oil and asphalt. Rows of cars stretched in every direction, their metallic surfaces catching the overhead lights.
Finally, we reached my Beemer. I unlocked it with a press of the key fob, the soft chirp breaking the quiet. Winston ran a hand over the edge of the door as I slid behind the wheel, then raised a brow as I pressed thebutton to put the top down. “Meet later? For dinner, maybe?” I asked, already regretting my decision to drive away from him.
“How about room service instead?” he asked, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “À la carte.”
I leaned into his touch and repressed a sigh that ached to come out. “Whatever you want.”
“Five-oh-oh-three,” he said, as I put it in reverse, ready to pull out of the parking spot. “That’s the suite number.” He slipped a white unmarked key card into my hand.
I stopped and looked at his loving eyes, getting my fill of him. I whispered, “I love you.”
It was the truth.
Before he could answer, I drove off, tears streaming down my face freely once he couldn’t see me anymore.
District Attorney Mitchell:Dr. Leishman, you’ve spoken about the difficulties victims of childhood sexual abuse face in intimate situations. But would you say that these individuals, if triggered by certain situations, could potentially become violent?
Dr. Kristen Leishman:In some cases, yes. Trauma can cause individuals to react violently if they feel threatened or cornered. However—
District Attorney Mitchell:So it’s possible that someone like the defendant, with her history of trauma, could become violent if pushed too far?
Dr. Kristen Leishman:It is possible, but such reactions are—
District Attorney Mitchell:Thank you, Dr. Leishman. No further questions.
22
Leaving Texas
