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"Shit, shit, shit," I curse as I hit the table, the loud noise resounding in my entire office.
I need to shove all my tender feelings towards her in a box until I can resolve the messy ones—the confusion, hate, and disbelief I feel at knowing what she's done to me. And though thus far I've avoided confronting the problem head on, to fully move on I need to do it.
Because I'd been out most of the time and I have very little recollection of my time at the hacienda, I cannot conceptualize the fact that this could have happened to me. That Noelle would have…drugged me and fucked me while I was barely conscious.
For fuck's sake, she had my child!
Of everything, that is the one thing that hurts the most, both in the fact that it had been conceived without my knowledge or consent, and that he was gone before I could even meet him.
She'd said it had been a boy.
A son.
I had a son, and I didn't even know about it.
My lips twitch as a sad smile pulls at my features.
And now that I know about him, I can't do anything.
He's already gone.
God, but how do I come to grips with that? I can barely understand my own feelings—if what I feel is anger at what she's done, or grief at knowing I had a child…who died.
How does one deal with that?
So lost in my own thoughts I am that I barely notice the door as it creeps open.
My head whips up, my eyes narrowing on the small form tentatively walking inside.
Closing the door behind her, she fits herself to the wooden frame, her hands behind her back, her eyes big and fearful.
She's looking at me as if I might kill her any moment when it's her that killed my goddamn heart.
"What are you doing here, Noelle?" I snap at her.
She visibly flinches, her features paling as she swallows hard.
My eyes trace the column of her neck, sliding lower as I realize what she's wearing.
A flimsy dark violet satin nightgown that leaves little to the imagination as the material clings to her curves, hugging her breasts until her nipples are poking through.
"Can we…talk?" she asks uncertainly.
I raise a bored eyebrow at her, leaning back in my chair and giving her my attention—yet it's not in the way she wants.
Going by the way she's dressed, she doesn't have any discussion in mind. Rather, she's here to try her wiles on me—use her body to seduce me where her words no longer have any effect.
I can immediately tell that is her goal, just as I know that she's convinced she will succeed.
Ah, my little liar. I have bad news for you.
My cock might get hard for you, but my heart is already made of stone.
"About?"
"Us. This situation… Will you let me tell you what happened? You can judge me after. But first, please…" she wets her lips as she starts towards me.
Every single goddamn movement she makes is the epitome of sensuality. She might fear my rejection, but she's banking on using her sexuality to ensnare me—as she's done from the beginning.
