Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(82)

More than f*cking or release. More than hate sex.

More than masochism or revenge.

It was the give and take that only occurs when the heart is involved.

When the heart isn't yours to give, because it already belongs to someone else.

Because it always f*cking did.

I barely got his tie off, his shirt open, as he tugged the scant top of my dress down, dragging the thin straps off my shoulders.

He took me face to face, mouth to mouth, bare chest to bare chest.

It was smoother this time. With more finesse. This was not merely him consuming me. It was not just his body partaking of mine. This time he seduced as much as he owned.

It lasted longer. And felt better.

There was more pleasure to be had within his expert, knowing touch.

There was more delight to endure under his relentless, familiar body.

There was more torment to suffer from his unstoppable, merciless lips.

The first time had been more than enough to mess with my head for the foreseeable future, but the second time ruined me.

Utterly. Completely.

If I'd built up any believable delusions that I could move forward from this, from him, he'd just blown them all to little, twitching, unrecoverable bits.

Was there some piece of my heart left intact inside of my miserable chest before that encounter?

Some tiny fragment of my soul?

I couldn't remember.

But I felt like nothing when he finished with me. Whatever had been left, he'd just carelessly taken.

There was some trivial bit of comfort to be taken in the fact that he seemed to be as affected. He couldn't muster up the energy for a casual one-liner after that round. Instead, when he caught his breath, he wrenched out of me, staggering away, his devastated eyes making a connection with mine for a few horrible beats before he strode off, heading opposite of the road, straightening his clothes as he took some crucial moments to compose himself, giving me his back.

It was a mistake on his part, because I recovered faster, or at least, I got my act together quickly enough to make the first move.

My only regret was that I didn't get to see his face as I drove away, leaving him stranded on the side of the road.

In the middle of f*cking nowhere.

I'd driven about a mile before I took some pity on him, slowing the car, rolling down the driver's side window, and tossing his phone out. Maybe he'd find it and get himself a ride.

If I were smart I'd have kept the car, used it for a spell. It was very nice, a brand new Audi. I could have driven around in style for a change. Even with how he felt about me now, I couldn't imagine him reporting it stolen.

Still, I wanted him to report it, because I didn't keep it. I left it in an empty parking lot a few blocks from my apartment, hoping he'd somehow get it back and find the present I'd carved for him on the hood.





I f*cking hate you. Quit stalking me.





Subtlety had never been my strength. Why try to change now?





CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

"There's nothing half so real in life as the things you've done... inexorably, unalterably done."

~Sara Teasdale





PRESENT





SCARLETT





We'd been living together in our love nest for a few months when it all came crashing down around us.

I was resigned to being together in secret for the foreseeable future, or forever if need be.

Hell, I was thankful for it. Even with the fighting, some of it horrible, messy, disastrous—some of it damn near too painful to take, I was still grateful for every second granted to us, only hoping each day that we could have another, and another.

We'd never had much luck with hope.

The movie was going well, scheduled to wrap up in days, and I'd just gotten into to my trailer and was changing to go home when I got the call.

It was an unknown number, and I automatically ignored the first few times it rang. Finally annoyance had me answering with a curt, "Hello?"

"Hello, Scarlett."

I hadn't heard the voice in a while, not since Gram's funeral, and then only briefly, but I recognized it instantly. "Hello, Adelaide," I said, voice gone cold with no effort at all. I had nothing but ice in my veins for this woman.

"How long did you think this could last?" she asked, poison dripping from the words. "How long did you think you could hide it from me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said evenly and unflappably. I was an actress, after all, and there was only one person, one man to be precise, that I couldn't fake it in front of, in a pinch.

"Cute. Very cute. I have a man waiting for you, right outside of the gate at your studio. Get in the car. It's time we had a talk."

"Not likely. Why the hell would I want to talk to you?"

"Don't be coy. I'm in no mood. You'll do what I say because you know what I know and I'm just looking for a reason to turn you in."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yes, I was still faking it for the simple reason that I didn't know what else to do.

"There's no statute of limitations on killing a cop," she said, tone flat. Dead. "Go get in the car."