Page 51 of Turn of the Tides
He planted his hands on his hips, letting out a bark of incredulous laughter. “Are you kidding me? Like fuck it was a mistake,” he barked so fiercely it made me jump.
“Beau, just listen?—”
“Fuck that! I’m not going to listen to you downplay what happened between us last night and try to talk yourself out of this.”
Just like that, the embers caught and that coal in my belly ignited. “There’s nothisto be talked out of. It was just sex, Beau.”
He stalked across the room, the ferocious predator coming out to play. I stumbled backward, trying to maintain distance between us, but he wasn’t having any of it. He kept coming until my back slammed against the wall, his arms coming up to bracket either side of my head, trapping me in place. “What happened last night was so much more than sex, and you damn well know it. The game between us changed the moment you told me you were mine.”
“I didn’t—I wasn’t—” I couldn’t think straight, he was so damn close. The smell of him always managed to scramble my brain. “I’m not yours,” I finally managed, my chest sinking with relief that those words actually came out stronger than I was feeling at that moment.
“You are,” he argued, something like desperation flashing in those crystal-clear eyes. His voice went quiet, tender, almost sweet enough to make me forget myself.Almost.“Baby, please. Let’s talk about this. I know there’s a lot of history between us, but I can explain?—”
I shook my head, ducking under his arm and moving away from him. I lifted a hand to stop him when he started in my direction. “I don’t need an explanation, Beau.” Truth was, I didn’t want one, because a part of me was terrified to hear what he had to say. “That’s all in the past.”
“Obviously not, if you’re holding it over my head right now.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” But a voice in the back of my head asked if that was really true.
He crossed his massive arms over his chest, his expression challenging as he asked, “Isn’t it?”
“No,” I shot back. “This is about me protecting myself. There’s a reason people say the best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, Beau. I’m not trying to hold anything over your head, but I have to look out for myself, and every time you and I have gone down this road, I’ve ended up getting hurt, so excuse me for not wanting to stick around for the finale for a third time. I lived through the first two, and let me tell you, it wasn’t fun.”
His face fell, sadness sinking deep. “Baby, that’s not going to happen this time, I swear.”
I hugged myself tighter. “You’re right. It’s not. Because I’m not going to let it. You need to leave, Beau.”
The look he gave me damn near flayed me open. He looked wrecked, like I’d shattered his world. “Bubbles, we can make this work. Last night was something I’ve wanted for so long—” He slammed his eyes closed and pulled in a deep breath before looking at me again, his eyes pleading. “I can’t lose you. Not after last night.”
God, he was killing me.
“Please,” I whispered, feeling my resolve start to crumble. “Please, just go.”
His frame deflated like a balloon being stuck with a pin. I watched in silence, willing my heart to slow down as I watched him pull on his clothes from the night before. My shoulders sagged as he moved toward the bedroom door, but at the last second, he turned and moved toward me, into me, pinning me against the wall again as his mouth came down on mine.
It wasn’t the same hungry, frantic kiss as the night before. This one was slow and deep, like he was worshipping me.
When he finally pulled back, my vision was hazy, my breathing erratic. “I’m not giving up on this,” he whispered against the shell of me ear. You’re under my skin, right where Iwant you, and I’m going to prove that this time, everything will be different.”
On that declaration, he pulled back, his eyes locking with mine. “I’ll see you soon, baby.” Then he was gone, and I was left with weak knees, a muddled brain, and a riot of emotions I couldn’t begin to sort out.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I was inbigtrouble.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BEAU
A beadof sweat trailed down my back, seeping into my already sweat-soaked shirt as I pounded at the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in my home gym. Heavy metal blared from my ear buds, drowning out all the other noises as I drove my taped fists into the stuffed leather harder and harder, doing what I could to work out the tension that had knotted up my shoulders and neck since I left Presley’s house an hour and a half ago. Since I waskicked out.
With a grunt, I punched harder, sending the bag swinging, the blow ricocheting up my arm, right into my injured shoulder.
“Fuck!” I barked at the pain lancing through my shoulder like I’d been stabbed with a white-hot poker. I ripped my ear buds out and threw them across the room as anger, frustration, and pain all boiled together inside me, creating something toxic and combustible.
Romero’s voice pulled me out of my downward spiral. “Jesus, man. Keep that shit up and you’re gonna end up back under the knife. Jesus, I heard you beating the shit out of that thing all the way upstairs.”
I shook out my shoulder as I looked to the entrance of the gym where he was standing, dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and serious bedhead. His jaw cracked open with a huge yawn as he scratched at his stomach. “Isn’t it a little early for self-castigation? Christ, what time is it?”
“Just after eight.” I unwound the tape from my hands and lifted one to massage my throbbing shoulder. “Sorry if I woke you.”