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He stares at me thoughtfully, considering the question. “I get the feeling we’re both fish out of water in this situation. It’s not that I’m telling you not to expect anything from me. I honestly don’t know what to expect of myself.” He raises a hand to push the hair out of my face, and his touch is so gentle it feels like he’s being especially careful with me. I love that.
“I am not one to put any demands on you. I am not here to tie you down or push for a ring on my finger.” When I say this, my stomach clenches as if I just told a lie, and I don’t know why. I don’t want those things. I’ve never wanted those things from anyone. I did once and learned the hard way never to do it again. I only need to make a mistake like that once to learn a life lesson.
A crease forms between his brows as he lazily draws patterns on my upper arm. “What happened to you that would make you say something like that?” He raises up on his own elbow to meet me face to face. “It sounds to me like that stance comes from experience. Not to sound cliche, but who hurt you?”
I laugh, but it’s nervous and reactionary in an attempt to buy some time to find a believable answer but still not entirely the truth. I still don’t know how much of my life I can share. It strikes me as funny that Fiona asked me the same question not too long ago. Maybe my hurt shows to other people more than I thought.
“Who hurt me? Well, Mr. Cliché Book Boyfriend, that’s a pretty open-ended question. The better question would be, who hasn’t?”
He traces a finger along my cheekbone, down to my lips, and across my chin ever so lightly. I have to stifle a shudder that wants to shake me senseless. Just a simple touch from Cooper and I disintegrate.
The concern on his face hasn’t changed or dissipated at all and, in fact, appears to deepen at my response. “Whoever would be dumb enough to hurt you doesn’t deserve you.”
I laugh again, trying to cover up my unease. “Well, you said it, not me.”
“Talk to me, Sloane. How did you end up here? With me in bed on a Tuesday afternoon? A disreputable bad-boy rockstar known only for bad press. For some reason, I don’t feel like your type.”
“What makes you think I have a type?”
“Everyone has a type, whether they admit to it or not is beside the point. Deep down in that beautiful brain, inside that generous heart, and swimming around in your glorious hormones, is a picture-perfect specimen of a human being that is your ideal mate.” He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer, and I can feel his hard cock press against my stomach. “I can’t imagine I am anywhere close to the idea in your head.”
I grab his ass and pull him closer, making him groan and writhe against me. And as I begin trailing kisses down his neck, his body suddenly stiffens, and he pulls away from me gently.
His eyes narrow slightly as he reads me, and I know that he knows exactly what I’m doing. I’m trying to distract instead of talk.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need some guardrails.” He pulls farther away, and the air between us cools. “I can’t do a relationship that’s all trial and error. If we’re going to do a relationship, which I think we are, I’m going to need a little bit of help from you.”
“Just don’t betray me or try to control me.” That, at least, is the truth. “Ever.”
Cooper is quiet for a minute as he considers my words, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out if he can ask more questions or if that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. And internally, I wrestle with myself, wondering if I can trust him. I want to. God, how I want to.
“I have a feeling the subject goes deeper than someone telling a little white lie to you, correct?”
I nod. “That is correct.”
“Do you want to tell me anything more?”
I glance down at our hands on the bed only inches apart and carefully walk my fingers over to his. He doesn’t hesitate and grabs my hand, twisting it to kiss the back, and that one small gesture, tiny action, simple movement, makes me want to tell him my entire life story right here and now. His absent-minded display of affection, which he probably doesn’t even know he’s doing or its effect on me, shows me his true feelings and good intentions.
I’m suddenly brave. A sense of safety wraps around and hugs me for the first time in many years. I didn’t think I would ever feel safe with someone again.
“There’s a reason I don’t perform or record anymore,” I start, unsure where in the story I should begin. He doesn’t react or say a word. He just gives me space to talk. “And there’s a reason I no longer have family or a large circle of friends. Or, many friends at all.”
Pushing the hair from my shoulder, he simply asks, “And what is that reason?”
I search his eyes again, reassuring myself I can do this. “Because everyone I trusted, including my family, used me. I was just a tool for them to get what they wanted. I was a puppet. A rung on the ladder to be stepped on as they elevated themselves. And when I pushed back, refused to change, and resisted everyone’s demands that would make me into something I’m not, I was tossed aside and buried.”
“What did your family have to do with it?”
I can feel the familiar pain in my heart as I think of them. What started out as something so good and exciting became so twisted. “My parents were my managers. All they saw were dollar signs when they looked at me, and I guess their greed took over their better nature.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“That’s the thing, they weren’t always like that. I think that’s what hurts the most, watching them become monsters right before my eyes.”
“So what happened?”
Here we go. Details. The emotional roller coaster of the day is starting to take its toll on me, and I’m not sure I want to let my feelings sink any lower after they were just so high.
