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Xavier whirled around, running a hand through his loose, damp hair.
“Your back.” Her hands were on him, smoothing along his skin. He jerked, not used to affection or coddling. If he had to imagine heaven, some place outside the darkness of his own mind, it would be the feel of her touching him. She was gentle. The concern in her voice confused him.
She traced the raised scars on his back, and then her lips kissed along the old wounds. Each burn and slash was a reminder of the hell he’d been through. From ten years old and onward, his life had been a battle. Before that, extreme poverty had stolen his childhood.
“You’ve seen it before, no?”
“I was more worried getting you to bed and dealing with the blood. What happened to you, Xavier?”
“Let’s not get into that,” he said. He turned back around and shackled both her wrists to keep her from touching him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where did you get all these scars?” she asked, not heeding his warning. Alesha was an enigma. His fearless little cleaner. He released one of her hands, and she reached for his neck.
He placed his hand over hers. “You think you want me, but you don’t. Trust me on that.”
These good girls flocked to bad boys like moths to a flame. Maybe they wanted excitement, domination, or whatever the fuck they didn’t get from daddy, but Xavier wasn’t a bad boy. He was her worst fucking nightmare. He wouldn’t be able to love her, just destroy her.
“You wanted me earlier. Or don’t you remember the way you touched me?”
He licked his lips. The scent of her strawberry shampoo, her swollen lips, the yearning in her eyes—she was a big problem.
“More mistakes. I can’t even count the number of women I’ve touched the same way.”
She narrowed her eyes and stepped back. “You’re an asshole. I keep thinking there’s something there, and then you do a one-eighty.”
“Now you’re getting it,” he said.
“Do you have any feelings left at all?” she asked. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.
“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve your tears.”
She shook her head, angrily wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “What is it? You love another woman?”
“I don’t love another woman, Alesha. Something’s broken in me. Fucked up.” He put his hand on his chest, slapping himself a couple times. “There’s nothing you can do to fix it.”
“So, I’m supposed to believe you feel nothing for me?”
He clenched his jaw down hard. “I feel a lot for you.” He took a section of her hair and felt it between his thumb and finger. “I want to fuck you. How do you feel about that, my little virgin?”
She whirled around, dashing for his door, but he grabbed her around the waist and pressed her to the wall.
“Get off me! I hate you!” Hot tears traced down her cheeks.
He held her steady despite her struggling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, baby.”
The tension in her body eased, her heavy breathing calming. He felt like a bastard, trying to scare her away when every instinct told him to protect her.
“You bring out the worst in me.”
“How? I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand,” she said
“In my world, kindness is a weakness. My boss can sense it like a dog smells shit. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “You’ll protect me.”
“You give me too much credit, Alesha.”
Her fingers trailed along his jaw. “I feel safe with you.”
