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“Drew, what is that picture of you about?” she asks. The question feels like the weight of four years crammed into a handful of words.
“I’ve never seen that picture before.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“What do you think it’s about, Lindsay?” If they shared that picture with her, what else did they show her?
My skin turns to cold plastic. My mouth goes dry. The world turns into nothing but dark shadows and cold winds.
“You’re naked in that pic. And you have blood all over you.” She’s staring at the ground, then her eyes click up to meet mine. “And my scarf is in the picture. What...what did you really do that night? Whose blood is that?”
Someone bangs an enormous gong in my head.
She’s really asking if that’s her blood.
The truth is, I don’t know.
“I can tell you what I know,” I choke out. “I know I didn’t hurt you that night. I know they drugged me. I know I would never, ever willingly participate in what they did to you.”
Mark Paulson clears his throat. I can’t see him. He’s behind a bush. The other guys must be getting antsy. You don’t order a high alert and leave them hanging. Relieved by the interruption, I leave Lindsay hanging.
I can only handle so much. I’m made of steel when it comes to protecting other people, but even I have weaknesses.
Not many.
But this topic is one of them.
“And I know damn well, Lindsay,” I add, grabbing her arms, pulling her to me with a fierce possession. “I know damn well I’ll never, ever let them hurt you again.”
“How am I supposed to know that, Drew?” Her words are a mixture of fury and a whimper that says she wants to believe me. “I see a picture like that and of course I wonder.”
Those assholes. I open my mouth to explain. Or to try.
“Drew?” Mark calls out.
Saved by the bell.
“Tell Gentian it’s covered,” I call out to him. “We got it. No need to tell Bosworth.”
Lindsay’s shoulders sag with relief. Her eyes cut over to both of us, and when she meets mine, she’s fuming. Aching with confusion and pissed as hell, but she’s panting.
Exertion? Arousal?
I can’t tell the difference in her anymore.
I reel back.
I call out to Mark. “But we have a new situation. You, me, and Gentian inside in Lindsay’s bedroom in ten minutes. Tell the team to go back to normal stations. Crisis over.”
Paulson leaves, and just as he’s around the corner, Lindsay tries to run for it. Again.
I pounce, flattening her in seconds, belly to belly, and this time, she’s not getting away.
Before she can say a word, my mouth’s on hers, my body blanketing her, hips grinding into her, my cock hard and ready. None of this makes sense.
Not one movement, not one kiss, nothing.
She pushes up against me, her energy and anger directed through her mouth, her hands, the way she grabs my ass. Her hands pin me to her body. This is her volition. Her will. Her need is clear.
