Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(121)

I wanted to kill him with my eye daggers. After several hours of standing at the viewing tonight, my high heels had moved beyond constricting and into the second level of pain. I thought about kicking them off and aiming for his head, maybe even put an early end to the budding humiliation, but then I’d probably be forced to dangle here on my tippy-toes. I groaned my displeasure.

His head tilted. “Do you want me to leave you alone with your thoughts?”

Damn it, he was frustrating.

I tried to slouch; my legs were aching, but every time I let the rope take some of my weight, my arms would pull and send registers of pain into my shoulders and spine.

“Stressful night.” Adam unbuckled his wristwatch. “Kind of night when I could really go for a drink.” He rubbed his wrist, carefully massaging his skin, and set the heavy timepiece on the table. “I know all about stress.”

He sat down on the couch and crossed his feet on the ottoman. “Instead of managing it, I let it get the better of me. One drink led to too many. Took me a long time to realize I was choosing self destruction instead of dealing with things.” He glanced over my body. “But that doesn’t seem to be a problem for you, Doc. You don’t need any help, just like I didn’t. I get that you want to keep that all bottled in. Worry about everyone else but yourself. It’s cool. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. You’re right—most guys don’t give a f*ck.”

Sheer determination had me fighting this every step of the way but gravity was hammering me hard. So were my tattered emotions. What did he want from me? Didn’t I just deal with enough grief and sadness for one day? I was starting to hate him. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him. This was not love. No, this was torture and he was all smug and content and relaxed and comfortable while I dangled from the f*cking ceiling.

If he wanted to explore his fetishes, pissing me off was the wrong way to go about it. I shifted from foot to foot, unable to stand in one place for very long, despising him even more with each agonizing second that passed. What had probably been only minutes bound up and tethered began to feel like hours. My ankles were beginning to ache more than my squashed toes.

I started to sway. Thoughts were barraging my mind faster than each pounding beat of my heart. Pain, anger, regret, sorrow, hate, contempt all swirled into a vortex of agony. Sobs started to break. I squeezed the tears from my eyes while my saliva soaked into the silk between my lips. I had to remember to breathe through my nose. What did I ever do to deserve this?

Strong arms braced me, keeping me from falling over. He tipped my chin up. “I’ve got you. What you’re feeling right now is how I feel. You don’t trust me enough to share more than your body with me. I get that. I want you to trust me, Erin. Trust in me. I’m here, baby. Right here. For you.”

I was becoming as distressed and crazed as a cornered cat. Mascara and exhaustion mixed with anger and unshed tears, burning my eyes. That’s when I’d noticed the room had gone silent and his white dress shirt was gone.

He loosened the knot at the back of my head and pulled his tie away from my mouth. I could see his regret and sadness as clearly as my own. “Please. Talk to me.”

My hair hung in my eyes, while his desperate plea resonated through my stubborn stance. Worries that had been plaguing my mind all night flooded my throat and bubbled up out of me. “I’m waiting for you to run.”

“Oh, baby, no.”

I focused on the floor. “It’s just a matter of time. You’ll be sick of me.”

“Sweetheart, no.”

Adam quickly released the tension tethering me to the ceiling, holding my weight. He walked us backward and sat down on the couch, slipping my skirt up so my legs could straddle him. He brushed my hair back. His eyes never left mine. “No, baby. I’m not running.”

“You will.”

“Hard to run with you sitting on me, Doc.”

“You know what I mean. It’s too much. Too fast. Sooner or later… Men don’t want drama.”

“I’m here. Right here.”

Years of inadequacies stood like gatekeepers, prepared to discount his words, while the rationale behind my current breakdown sealed my fate. Surely he’d see me as an unstable female—unworthy of his time—just like his predecessors.

“Hey. Hey.” He held my face. “Look at me.”

His request was difficult. I was afraid of what he’d see.

Adam’s eyes searched mine. “I’m not running, Doc. I’m falling.”

My heart pushed out a soft whimper. “You are?”

He bit his bottom lip and nodded.

I leaned forward just as he pulled me in, relishing in the relief of his mouth on mine.

I rested my forehead on his and drew in a deep breath.

“It’s just you and me here.” He caressed my cheek. “Talk to me.”

“I’m worried about my sister. I think… I think her boyfriend is abusing her.”

“I think you may be right,” he said softly, brushing my hair back. He slipped my shoes off, dropping them to the floor, relieving some of the physical pain, but the mental anguish had far surpassed the body. As if he could read my mind, his hands held my face and seemed to hold the heaviness of my thoughts, too.

My eyes stung. “It’s my fault.” Three simple words, spoken aloud. An admission of guilt once again. The weight from letting a piece of my darkest secrets out was almost crushing.