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“You still haven’t told me where you were,” he says.
I don’t owe him anything, but I give him the truth. “I was out with friends.”
“Malik and Anna?” he asks, hand still holding me tight.
I can’t figure out if he’s driven by jealousy or true concern but either would be fine with me. Something to make me believe he cares.
“Malik and Anna are family, not friends,” I say.
“You don’t have any friends in Pittsburgh.” I can see the anger burning bright in his eyes, which means he’s jealous. Ordinarily I’d use that as a weapon but one thing I’ll never do is lead him to believe there would be someone else. “I went out with Brienne Norcross and some of the other Titans women. She sent a limo for me, so how could I decline?”
Van releases me so suddenly, I stumble back. “Brienne Norcross?” he asks aghast. “Why the hell would you be with her? Or the Titans women?”
I snap at him hotly. “Because they happen to care that I’m here in a foreign city by myself and that I’m lonely.”
“And how did they know you’re here and lonely?” he snarls, his face reddening with what I think might be embarrassment. “Did you call Brienne and let her know what a douche your husband was for leaving you behind? Did you cry out all of your misery to my fucking boss?”
“No, Van.” My voice is quiet… calm. “Malik told Baden. Baden told Brienne. Your boss showed up on the doorstep and was intuitive enough to know something was wrong the minute she saw me. I think it was the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep or the fact they were red from constantly crying. Take your pick. But she had the decency to ask me what was wrong and I told her the truth.”
Van’s expression crumbles. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know I’m not trying to hurt you, right?”
It’s the first moment of true vulnerability I’ve seen from him and I move quick to take advantage. I walk right into him, pressing my body against his muscular frame. My hands slip over his shoulders and I tip my head back. “You’re hurting me all the same. You’ve shut me out and you’re not giving me the chance to fight for you.”
Van doesn’t return my touch but he doesn’t pull away either. His voice is gravelly. “I don’t want you fighting for me. I want you to forget about me.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Never. It won’t happen. I’m not moving on from you, baby, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can start fixing things.”
“I can’t—”
I grab his hand and pull it to my chest, forcing his palm over my heart. “You’re in here, Van. You’re entwined with every cell in my being and to remove you would kill me.”
His expression is a turbulent storm of angst, his jaw locked hard.
Words alone won’t get him to soften all the way so I move his hand over my breast. My nipple puckers under the touch and Van inhales sharply before trying to pull away. I grip him hard. “Touch me, please.”
His gaze drops to where his hand rests on my chest, indecision warring in his eyes. I want to reach out and touch him, but I think I’ll die a million deaths if he’s not hard. He always gets so hard for me with such little provocation.
Instead, I grab his other hand hanging loose at his side and force it between my legs. “Touch me here.”
Van’s hand reflexively squeezes and my hips jerk, a tiny moan escaping.
It’s that tiny sound that seems to snap Van out of a daze and he wrenches away from me. I’m breathing hard, a mixture of desire and pure frustration. I can’t help myself… my gaze drops down and I’m somewhat mollified by the thick line of his erection through his jeans.
“You still want me,” I point out bluntly. “Why are you pulling away?”
“I’ll want you to the day I die, Simone. But that doesn’t change a damn thing.”
“Aaagghhh,” I scream with frustration, my fists balled up and I stomp my foot. “Why are you being such a pigheaded asshole? Why do I even love someone like you?”
Van’s expression remains impassive and for the first time in one of our fights, he’s not the first to turn away. I march toward the door and bend to pick up my purse. I swipe my keys from the table and jerk the door open.
“Where are you going?” Van asks.
I ignore him, stepping over the threshold and slamming the door behind me. I’m halfway down the steps when the door opens and he calls out again, “Simone… where are you going?”
I throw my middle finger up in the air. That should be answer enough.
“Simone,” he barks but I head straight for my car, intent on putting as much distance between us as I can tonight.
