As Kane rolls up his beddingand deposits it outside the door, I sit on the edge of my unmade bed, legs crossed, right foot swinging, studying him, wondering how far I can push this. Wondering what my therapist would say to me right now. I can almost hear her well-modulated voice asking me if I’m choosing a course of action simply to punish myself. Maybe I am. Pain has always been easier to feel than emptiness. More and more, the only times I feel truly alive is when I self-sabotage.
Then again, what does my therapist know? She didn’t cure my fear of the dark.
“I’ll remove temptation,” Kane says, unhooking the mirror above the desk to place it in the hallway.
I snort. “Maybe you should take the bed as well,” I tell him. “In case I manage to scrape out a splinter and gouge out your eye.”
He halts mid-step. “It scares me you’re even thinking that.”
“I’m thinking a lot of things. None of them good.”
His eyes narrow. “Anything else you need?” he asks with forced politeness.
“My freedom would be nice.”
“Not gonna happen right now.”
“Coward.”
All the while I’m thinking,Amy, you fool. You reckless, idiotic fool. If he falls, so do you. Perhaps it’s the blue teeth. It’s hard to feel like a victim when your captor has blue teeth.
In two long, angry strides, Kane is looming over me, his hands gripping my upper arms, jerking me off the bed to stand in front of him.
This has gone too far. I know it even as my body refuses to listen.
“What kind of game are you playing here?” he grounds out.
I look up at him, self-destructive exhilaration quickening my pulse. With a five o’clock shadow heavy on his face, a storm building in his eyes, there’s a fierceness to him that’s a continent away from the corporate suits who typically trail after me.
What kind of game am I playing? I have no idea.
His grip tightens. “This is a game youcan’t win.”
“Neither can you.”
Our eyes lock. He’s so close. The heat from his body brings an excited flush to my own. I can smell mint on his breath, the lemon tang of his aftershave, the male, sleep-warm scent of his skin.
I want him to kiss me.
I want to claw his eyes out.
Abruptly, Kane lets go of me and takes a quick step back, staring at me as if he hates me. “That,” he says in a hoarse voice, “will never happen between us.”
He leaves the room so quickly it takes a minute for his absence to register. When it does, I sink to the floor and draw my knees to my chest.
I wanted to kiss him.
I forgot my father, forgot everything Kane subjected me to.
What is happening to me? How can I betray my father like this? Betray myself like this?
I wrap my arms around my knees and rock back and forth in a mindless agony of shame.
44
KANE
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