He exhales heavily, his breath mingling with the steam rising around us. “Okay, okay. But I want to see you again, in New York. Not just at work.”
My heart goes full Usain Bolt. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” he says with a smile, droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
“But why?”
“Why? Who asks ‘why’?”
I return his jest with a serious look. “Honestly, JP. I’m not naive. You have it all. Billions, looks that would make a nun reconsider, and, of course, that big, beautiful dick. You could have any woman you want. I’m not saying I’m ugly,” I tell him. “But I’ve got a healthy amount of self-awareness. There’s a reason why I’m not America’s next top model, and I’m fine with that.”
“Hey, I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down, sweetheart,” he says, his tone serious. When I nod, he grins and adds, “So my wealth and my… ‘assets’ are my best qualities? And here I thought my charm might be a winning factor.” He chuckles, the sound echoing around the shower.
Something about the sound makes me jolt.
It’s a jolt when you knock your funny bone and there’s a white-hot flare shooting through your nerves. It’s intense, startling, a strange mix of pain and surprise, and you don’t quite know why you want to cry.
Was that even real? Did he just laugh or was that in my head?
“Lucy.” JP is looking at me. “What is it?”
“What?” I gape at him. “Nothing.”
That was weird, like déjà vu. Like I had with smarmy Derek this evening.
“You sure?”
“Just the champagne talking. I’m good.” I give him a smile to reassure him. “And yes, your charm is pretty incredible too, except when you’re being a slave driver with deadlines.”
His demeanor changes, his gaze softening. His hand cradles my face, his thumb tracing my jaw. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs.
“Get what?”
“I want you, Lucy. Just you.”
Before I can react, he reels me in for a kiss that blows every other kiss I’ve ever had out of the water. It’s the kind of kiss that changes things, that forever shakes up your world.
And in that electrifying moment, one terrifying truth crash-lands: I’ve fallen. Fallen hard and fast. And there’s no safety net in sight.
THIRTY
Lucy
Here we go again. The familiar scene begins to play once again. I’m little Lucy, my childhood home a backdrop, fingers itching to stroke Buddy through the faded picket fence.
Buddy’s dark, clouded eyes meet mine, and a ripple of unease courses through me. Uncertainty gnaws at me: will he greet me with a wagging tail or teeth bared?
His paws rake against the ground, like he’s in some unseen agony. It’s an unsettling echo of reality, a déjà vu I can’t quite place.
I want to reach out to him, comfort him, but I’m scared of getting hurt.
Summoning my courage, I slide my fingers through the gaps in the fence. And just like that, Buddy becomes the good boy, succumbing to my touch, and I breathe easy. He whines and leans into my strokes.
But then Buddy’s playful growl morphs into something out of a Stephen King novel.
And then, bam! The bite. Pain, like slamming my fingers in a car door, only worse. I open my mouth to scream, but all that emerges is a mousey squeak.
My tears, hot and salty, race down my cheeks. I should have trusted my instinct. He lured me in and gained my trust, only to throw it back in my face.
