Page 91 of The Devil’s Lair

“But that’s the whole point. It’s literally their job to help you figure it out.”

“Yeah.” I scuff a hand over my chin.

“Could you talk to me? might be worth a try until you feel ready for therapy.”

“I’m not sure what I’d say to you anymore than I’d know what to say to a therapist.”

She briefly touches my elbow, then points to the blanket. “Shall we sit?”

“Sure.” I head over, crossing my legs and propping my elbows on my knees. Rebecca joins me, sitting a good two feet away. Something inside me breaks, and no one is more surprised than me. I thought everything was already smashed to smithereens. We’d grown so close, and now me and my intimacy problems have fucked everything up.

“Do you remember the first time anyone touched you sexually and what your reaction was?”

I ponder her question. “Now that you ask, yeah, I do. I was sixteen and I’d asked this girl from my year on a date. Susan McIntyre. Everyone in school fancied her. When she agreed to go out with me, I was so fucking smug.”

I offer up a crooked smile. “We went bowling. My bodyguard came with me, so it was a bit of a threesome situation, but he was a cool guy. He gave me some space, although I knew he’d be there in a second if anything untoward happened. We had a fun time. In the car on the way home, she grabbed my dick through my jeans, and I freaked out, accidentally catching her in the face with my elbow. Gave her a black eye. I remember apologizing and her saying it was okay, even though it wasn’t. Suffice to say we never went on a second date.” I chuckle to cover up my discomfort. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Me, either.” She gives a small smile, and, God, I appreciate her teasing at this moment more than I can explain.

I frown. “I don’t think that was the catalyst, though.”

Her head tilts to one side. “What was?”

My nostrils flare on a breath. “That’s the frustrating part. I don’t know. It’s like the answers are right there, but every time I reach for them, they evaporate. I’m certain Susan McIntyre’s teenage fumble was not the reason I can’t stand the thought of intimacy, though.”

“Maybe don’t try so hard.” She smiles. “Easier said than done.”

“You’re not kidding.”

She leans back on her hands and turns her face up to the sun. “What was it like growing up here?”

I grip onto the change of subject like a lifeboat as the ship’s going down. “Before Mum and Annabel died, it was incredible. I have such fond memories of those early years. Lake swimming with my brothers in summer, horse riding through the grounds, Mum baking cakes even though she wasn’t very good and our chef would have done a much better job. She said it showed her love for us.”

“You must miss her terribly.”

“Most days, I don’t think about her.” I grimace. “That sounds worse than I mean it to. But twenty-one years is a long time. I missed having a mother growing up. Now, it’s normal for me.”

“I don’t miss my mother at all. She was a nightmare. I basically raised myself.”

Sorrow burns a hole in my chest. I might have lost my mum, but Dad was a constant, a tower of strength, and the best father I could ever have wished for. Plus, I had my brothers and my sister, as well as staff who truly cared for us.

I lean forward and put my hand on her knee. Touching her soothes me in a way I can’t quite understand. All I know is being close to Rebecca is like putting cooling gel on a sunburn. What most consider intimacy might be out of reach for me, but there are many ways to be close to someone. This is probably all I can hope for.

The thought is fucking depressing.

My phone buzzes. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull it out. “Finally.”

“Who is it?”

“The private investigator.” I swipe to answer. “What have you got for me?”

“Found her. I’m sending the details to your email now.”

“Thanks.” I hang up. “He’s found her.”

Rebecca’s eyes brighten with excitement. “At last. God, I hope she can give you some answers.”

“Me, too.” I refresh my email. Nothing. Refresh. Nothing. “Come on, for fuck’s sake.” Third refresh works. I click on the mail, then the attachment.