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He whirled around. “We were talking about our dead parents, Elle. It was a gesture of comfort. Jesus Christ.”
She tilted her head, surprise morphing her features. “Your parents are dead?”
He stared at her, realizing that they’d fucked for all these months, and he hadn’t told her a damn thing about himself. Not that she’d asked. They’d always been . . . drinking and playing the game. He looked away and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore.”
She groaned and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, come on, don’t be a baby and pout. Use that anger on me. You know that’s what I like. I like you when you’re pissed.”
He gritted his teeth. He thought of all the times she’d invited him over, how she’d always had bottles of wine at the ready, how she’d purposely try to goad him so he’d get rougher in bed. And though his limits were pretty far outside the norm, her craving for the violent stuff surpassed some of his boundaries. So he’d hold his line, and she’d try to push him past it. It was a dance they danced. But apparently it’d gone far beyond what he’d thought.
She’d figured out why he drank and had encouraged it, had used it to get what she wanted. His stomach turned. Fuck. He thought they played games of control—and they had—he’d just never realized he’d been the one getting played.
He took her hands and unwound himself from her grip. He met her gaze. “We’re done here, Elle.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What? Because of the new girl?”
“Because this, us”—he pointed between the two of them—“was fucked up from the start. Just took me until now to see exactly how much.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, come off that high horse. This works because we’re both screwed up. We get a fix from each other. You’ve known that all along.”
He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “Maybe I did. But I’m done making it worse. We can be fucked up alone.”
She stared at him for a second and then shook her head. “Go to hell, Donovan.”
Her voice was quieter and when she blinked, her eyes went shiny. Donovan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This woman never cried, never showed her poker hand. He didn’t know what in her life had made her so hard, but seeing her about to cry made him feel like a world-class asshole. She’d used him, sure. But he’d used her right back. There were no saints here.
He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t waste tears on me, Elle. You’re a smart, beautiful woman. You can do better than this.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not fucking crying. Get over yourself. I know I can do better than you. You’re a prick. I don’t even like you.”
He sighed as he lowered his arms and then walked over to her kitchen counter to grab a sticky note and pen she’d left by the phone. He scribbled down an address, his handwriting more messy than usual with the lingering effects of the alcohol. “There’s a BDSM club in the city. It’s a well-run place with a good membership. I bet you can find what you need there.” He held out the slip of paper to her. “I’m not it.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, you asshole,” she said, not making any move to take the note from him. “You have no idea what I want or need.”
“Okay. You’re probably right. All the more reason for me to leave.” He left the note on the counter and turned toward the door. “Good luck, Elle.”
“So that’s it?” Her tone was a knifepoint, poking him with sharp, stiff jabs.
He kept his back to her, this sense of calm coming over him. “Yep. That’s it.”
He walked out the door and didn’t look back.
15
Donovan showed up to work late and hungover. Marin tried to keep her annoyance at bay while Donovan greeted Ysabel and got his messages, but it spilled over when he strolled into her office, set a cup of coffee on her desk, and sank into the chair across from her without apology. He flipped through a file he had in his hands. “Got a busy docket today.”
“You’re late.”
His gaze flicked up briefly. “I overslept. I didn’t miss any appointments.”
Nope. He hadn’t. He’d just missed the show. “Ysa says you’re late a lot.”
His jaw flexed but he didn’t look up again. “So how’d the research go last night?”
So that’s how he was going to play it? Just ignore that things had gotten weird last night? Fine.
“It went okay. I made a list from the intake form. Skimmed through a few videos.” A lie. She’d done those things, but it had been anything but okay. She’d already been keyed up after her talk with Donovan. Two hours of going through a list of sexual acts and clicking through sexy videos had not helped. But she hadn’t allowed herself to relieve the tension. Not when she knew she would’ve been picturing Donovan during it. No way was she stooping to getting off to thoughts of someone else’s boyfriend. So she’d gone to sleep frustrated. And then she’d walked into a minefield this morning alone because Donovan had been sleeping it off. Fucker.
“Do you have the list? I can make suggestions if I know which areas you feel need the most attention.”
