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Suddenly, Bethany appears around the corner. When she spots me, she gasps, palm pressed to her chest. Her whole body goes tense. “You’re here. You heard.”
“Yeah.” I try to keep the accusing note out of my voice even though I’m livid that she’s apparently conspiring with her asshole of a father. And like the possibility of that isn’t ripping me to shreds.
“It’s not what you think. Please, please believe me.”
Under the overhead lights in the parking light, I see the vulnerable plea on her face that I hear echoed in her words. The confident ballbuster I heard only moments ago is gone, replaced suddenly by the shy, withdrawn Beth I first met over a week ago.
Who is the real Bethany?
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“Can we please not talk about it here?” Her voice trembles.
When I look at her closely, I see that her body is, too.
She genuinely looks rattled. Whether I want it to or not, my anger softens. But confusion still has me reeling. Will whatever explanation she gives me really make everything okay?
“Fine. I’ll take you back to the inn.”
I’d rather head to Ash’s place since he won’t be there and it’s so much closer. But doubt about her—and about our future—creeps in. If she can’t explain everything I overheard away, I’m not going to want to be in the same room with her. I’ll want to be alone, where I can wonder how the fuck my heart got everything so wrong.
On some level, I hate fresh mistrust creeping in. But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. She is her father’s daughter. It’s possible she’s conned me in a different way than she conned my dad. It’s also possible I was snowed by her sob story and so blinded by lust that I didn’t see the truth.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, then doesn’t speak again until she’s in the passenger’s seat and we’ve left the lot.
As I drive down the mostly empty road, Bethany surprises me by wrapping gentle fingers around my arm. “Everything you overheard must have been confusing.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“Will you listen to my side of things?”
That takes me aback. Does she think there’s any way I don’t want to hear this? “Of course.”
“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”
Her fingertips drag slowly across my skin, as if she’s reluctant to withdraw her touch. Once she does, she clasps her hands in her lap again, not saying another word until we reach the inn.
When I roll into the parking lot and shove the car in park, I turn to her expectantly. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Come upstairs with me? Please. The explanation is long.”
I tap my thumb against the wheel, but what is there to decide? I want to hear how she’ll talk her way out of this. I need to hear her side of the story I’ve been chasing for weeks. Now that she finally seems willing to give it, I’m anxious it will change everything between us. I’m dreading she’ll tell me she’s guilty…and I’ll realize it doesn’t matter as much as it should.
Because I’ll still be stupidly in love with her.
Regardless, I can’t run away. This is my responsibility. She might be a cheat and a liar, but I doubt she’s capable of doing me bodily harm, so I’ve got no reason to decline.
“All right.”
In silence, I follow her up the stairs. I hear her keys rattling as she inserts hers in the lock with trembling fingers and enters the dark ohana. She doesn’t bother with the lights.
Instead, she turns as I shut the door behind me and throws herself against me, barreling me against the portal. “Clint?”
Her nearness throws me into a tailspin. My head tells me to watch myself, but my body is seemingly wired to respond to her. All she has to do is brush against me and turn her face up, stare at me with those wide green eyes, and I’m more than aching for her.
Fuck.
“What, Beth?” I manage to get out gruffly. “Spit it out.”
“I know what you heard sounded awful, but my father is a manipulative bastard. I told him what I had to in order to get away from him. I’ll explain more. Everything. I promise. Just… Would you make love to me one more time? In case you hate me after I’ve told you all I know. Please.”
I should say no. Her assurance helps some. Still, I shouldn’t let sex cloud our discussion. But Bethany rarely asks me for anything, especially closeness, affection, or sex. And like her, I’m afraid of how the truth will change us. I don’t know what I’ll think or believe after I hear her side of the story. I also don’t know where we’ll stand after I tell her my secrets.
This may be the very last time I touch Bethany.
Swallowing down my desperation at the thought, I cup her nape, urge her body closer, and plaster every inch of her against me, then slant my lips over hers. She meets me halfway with a cry, clinging to me.
