Every Single Secret(41)

“Same old me.”

“Never. You need to get in here. Now.”

God, I loved the gruffness in his voice. I could feel myself getting turned on by the mere tone of it. I stepped in, and he corralled me in his arms. He was dripping but I didn’t care. He felt warm and perfect.

“Hi,” he rumbled.

I raised on tiptoe, kissed him, and he gathered me close. Held the back of my head and pressed the length of his body into me. His mouth was open and warm, his tongue gentle. I tipped back my head and let him bend over me, enjoying the familiar leap of desire in my belly. We fit together like we’d been made that way, his chest and abdomen lining up with mine. He circled one arm around me, and we staggered back against the shower wall.

“Daphne,” he said into my mouth.

Suddenly, the jet spray caught me full in the face. “Oh, God,” I sputtered, part moan, part laugh. “Not sexy.”

“Hold on,” he said and twisted the nozzle down. Turning back, he lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He kissed me again, and I felt the rush of his breath down my neck. When he entered me, I tipped my head back, reveling in the feeling of him inside me, and the water cascading over us. We fit together perfectly. We always had.

I groaned with pleasure, grinding against him. And he was enjoying it too, his hand under my thigh, fingers probing higher and higher as he kissed me. And then, without warning, he lurched forward, pushing me back against the tile. My head struck the wall, so hard stars burst across my vision.

I would’ve gasped but my lungs wouldn’t work. I wanted to cry out, to protest, but I couldn’t make a sound. I was flash frozen. I blinked a couple of times, trying to wake myself up. Had he slipped?

I opened my mouth to ask, and it happened again—my head slammed back against the tile.

This time I cried out. That hadn’t been an accident. And now, the way his face had turned from mine, the way he was holding me, pinning me against the wall, it was like he was lost in some fantasy that had nothing to do with me. The lights of the bathroom blurred and the sound of the water muted. I couldn’t catch my breath from the shock and the pain and the steam. My mind spun out, synapses firing chaotically. I couldn’t tell him to stop, to let me go, to—

“Stop. You can’t—” I finally gasped. “You have to stop.”

He did stop. And he stared at me.

I shook my head. “Why did you do that?”

“What do you mean? Do what?” His face looked so blank, it filled me with fury.

“You hit my head. You hurt me, Heath!” My voice, finally, loud and shrill.

His eyes filled with instant regret. “Oh my God, Daph. I didn’t mean . . . I just got caught up . . .”

“Caught up.” I pushed my wet hair out of my face and let out a harsh bark of laughter. Or a wail, I couldn’t tell the difference. “Did you think I liked having my head bashed on the wall? Are you into that sort of—”

He edged toward me. “I’m not. I didn’t realize—”

I put my hand on his chest. “I need you to give me a second, all right?”

I stood there, my fingers splayed against him. Water streamed over my ring and dripped down my arm, and he waited, not moving. But I was already doubting myself. Wondering if I was overreacting. Maybe Heath had just gotten ahead of himself. He was a big guy. Strong. He probably didn’t realize the impact of his strength.

He pressed his chest against my hand. “Daphne.”

My elbow bent, the slightest bit. I couldn’t bear to look at his crushed face anymore. I looked down instead—focused on the tile floor through the sheet of water. It had gone lukewarm.

“Do you want me to leave?” he said. “Just tell me and I’ll go.”

I couldn’t answer him. Yes, I wanted him to go. And I wanted him to stay. I wanted to scratch out his eyes, draw blood from his skin. Scream at him until I was hoarse.

I thought about Annalise Beard. Was this the kind of thing she’d been afraid of? She had said she’d prefer to forget she ever knew him . . .

“I love you so much, Daphne,” Heath said. “I would never intentionally hurt you, I swear.” He held up his hands and it was such a vulnerable gesture, so forlorn, I felt myself waver. All the possibilities flooded through me.

I rested on the most probable one, the one I wanted. He hadn’t meant to hurt me. He loved me, I knew it. This had just been a manifestation of his wild problem—the darkness he hadn’t yet embraced. I hugged myself, closed my eyes, and let the warm water run over me.

“Daphne—”

“No,” I said. “Don’t speak. Don’t say a word. We’re going to start over.”

I took a shaky breath, ran one finger down his streaming chest all the way to his taut abdomen, and let it linger. He closed his mouth.

“None of this happened,” I said. “You and I just got in the shower, and we started kissing.”

I knew it was unreasonable, maybe even foolish, but I just wanted him back, wanted all the hurt and confusion to go away. And why couldn’t we just go back and say it had never happened, if we both agreed to it? The truth was, it wouldn’t have, not if we hadn’t come to Baskens. This strange place was messing with our minds, making us do things we wouldn’t normally do. Feel things we normally didn’t feel.