I’m still annoyed that the fumbling fool is the one who made her think that her body isn’t capable of experiencing pleasure. She was painfully tense when I was gentle with her that first time. He probably reinforced that stiffness with his inept attempts at seduction. I wonder how many times she forced herself to endure the pain to soothe the boy’s ego, the way she’d tried to do with me when she faked her orgasm.
He might not be the one who hurt her, but he should suffer for that sin against her.
“What’s his name?” I demand.
“Devin.” Her brows are drawn together in a small, concerned frown. “What are you going to do, fly to Seattle and beat him up for being too nice?”
I force my body to relax with considerable effort. She can see me so clearly. I don’t want her to read the extent of my vicious intentions in my eyes. I’ll take care of her, but she doesn’t need to know my violent plans for the men in her past.
“How do you know he’s in Seattle?” My tone is light, as though it’s an offhand question. “Are you still in touch?”
She huffs an exasperated breath. “No. That’s where he transferred for college. I don’t know if he’s still living there. Can we please change the subject? I’d rather spend time getting to know you than talking about my ex.”
“I’ve never been in a serious relationship,” I offer in order to placate her.
I’ll have to return to this line of questioning later, when I’ve managed to get my new, surging emotions under control. I won’t risk scaring her off if I reveal the extent of my violent nature. Shecraves my erotic cruelty, but I suspect she’d be upset if she saw it directed at others.
“I’d rather not hear about your womanizing,” she says frostily.
Fuck.
Sometimes, I feel like a fumbling idiot when I’m around her. I never lose control of a conversation like this, but I’m saying all the wrong things.
I’d meant to reassure her that I’ve only engaged in casual flings to sate my needs. I’m skilled at BDSM because it’s provided an outlet for my darker urges, even if I’ve never been fully satisfied. I’ve kept my mask firmly on, and the women I’ve been with never knew anything about my family or my past. I didn’t put myself at risk for them. I didn’t make myself vulnerable.
I can only be this way with Abigail.
“I’ve never wanted to be with anyone before I met you,” I say earnestly. “That’s all you need to know. You make me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.”
That seems to be the right thing to say, because she softens, and her frown eases.
“Sorry, I’m being insecure.” Incredibly, she’s the one offering an apology.
That throbbing beat starts up in my chest again. I can hardly believe I’ve captured this sweet woman. She possesses her own inner darkness, but she’s nothing like me. She doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body.
Distant thunder rumbles, breaking the intense moment. I blink and tear my gaze from her x-ray eyes. Dark clouds are rolling at the horizon, the storm drawing closer to the beach.
“We should go,” I say, but she pulls her phone out of her bag.
“Just a few more minutes,” she requests, taking a picture of the encroaching storm. “This is my favorite weather.”
“Ah, yes. I noticed your preference in your paintings.”
She sets her phone down and focuses on me again, brows raised. “At the market that day?”
Fuck.
She thinks I’ve only seen her work one time: on the day I came to the market to save her from the thief.
She has no idea that I stare at scores of her paintings every day. And she doesn’t know that I’ve seen her darker art that she keeps hidden.
I manage to keep my expression neutral and nod.
“Do you always paint landscapes?” I ask, pushing her to confess about her stunning, erotic work.
Her eyes cut away from mine, fixing on the horizon. “It’s what always resonated with me most. And the tourists seem to like them.”
She’s not lying, but she is evading me.
