Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(45)

She was finished with everything in her life that wasn’t real. Maybe she would start dating someone who actually wanted her for her. Just because Reid had rejected her didn’t mean there wasn’t someone out there for her. Her ex, Nathan, always told her she was a good kisser. She had something to offer in the sex department. Granted, kissing was just a part of it, but she wasn’t totally inept. Now that she knew her libido wasn’t dead—thanks to a certain muscle-bound escaped convict—she felt certain she could find someone who got her blood pumping. More than Charles did anyway.

Wincing, she shut off the water and opened the wobbly fake-glass door.

She owned the inappropriate thought. She’d done enough lying. Publicly, she had been lying for years, pretending that she had the perfect life, the perfect family, perfect boyfriend. Pretending to care about things she didn’t care about. The least she could do was be honest with herself. Even if it was messed up to admit it, her captor was hot, and her long neglected girl parts had noticed.

She reached for the scratchy cotton towel on the hook. Not nearly big enough to wrap around her body. An unwanted image of naked Reid rose in her mind. It must be like a washcloth against his big frame. Instead of striking her as ridiculous, the visual only burned her face.

By the time she emerged, he’d shut off most of the lights in the house. Only the lamp in the living room glowed.

She stopped at the threshold to the master bedroom that she’d spent so much time in today. He’d arranged his pallet near the door again, leaving room for her to pass. The sight of him there brought home the reminder that he still did not trust her.

She stepped around him. He didn’t stir. Pulling back the covers, she slipped into bed, turning on her side. She stared unseeingly at the opposite wall, watching flickering shadows chase the darkness. She tried valiantly not to think back to that footage of her father, but she couldn’t help herself. She saw him standing there in the press room. Saw his lips move, heard those words that she knew were meaningless to him.

Then she heard Reid’s voice in her head. If Daddy doesn’t love you enough, maybe you need to take a hard look in the mirror and figure some things out.

It was cruel, but she wondered if he was right. Lying there in the darkness, old insecurities found her and bit deep. She felt like a little girl again, forced to play the piano in front of her father’s guests. Every time her fingers stumbled or hit the wrong key, she could feel her parents cringe.

Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her in that she couldn’t inspire love and devotion from her parents. From anyone.

Bullshit. For the first time, she felt the stirrings of anger deep in her belly. She didn’t blame herself for that anymore. People cared about her. She had friends. Granted, the list was short, but it was hard to make friends she could call her own when everyone had to be vetted by her father.

Still, she had Holly. She might be on her father’s payroll, but no one forced Holly to like her. And there was her college roommate, Abby. Not a week went by when they didn’t talk. They texted almost every day. Especially since Abby got engaged. And Charles. They were friends, just not lovers. They spent too much time together to fake friendship.

When Charles first asked her out, she thought it was actually because he wanted to go out with her. But after a few dates she knew the score. Her father had put him up to it. There was probably no chance for sparks once she knew that. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she’d never given him—them—a chance.

She sniffed and rubbed at her nose, blinking burning eyes. She’d wasted all these years, hoping she might eventually earn her parents’ love and approval. No more. She wasn’t going to try any longer. She was taking back control.

Tonight, with Reid, she had been bold and stepped outside her boundaries. As crazy as it had been, she had learned something from it. She was going to seize life. She would live boldly—just no more making out with escaped convicts.

The bed dipped and she grabbed the edge to stop from rolling to the center. She craned her head to look around at Reid sliding in beside her.

“What do you want?” she snapped, blinking burning eyes that brimmed with tears, rubbing them with the heel of her hands.

“Why are you crying?”

Damn it. She was crying. She hadn’t even realized it.

“I’m not—”

“Liar.”

She snorted. “Why do you care?”

“Because I can hear you sniffling from across the room.”

“I have a cold. Don’t concern yourself.”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at her in the dark, his disbelief palpable between them, which only made her feel more wretched. The urge to cry was still there, pressing on the back of her throat. But these tears were different. Not self-pitying. She was pissed.

His hand closed over her shoulder, forcing her to roll around and face him fully. Her feet brushed along his. He hissed a breath. “Damn, woman, your feet are like blocks of ice.”

“I did what you suggested,” she confessed, her throat tight.

“Yeah?” His deep, gravelly voice stroked her skin. “Remind me what that was.”

“I took a hard look at myself, and you’re right. There’s something wrong with me.” The last half of her words escaped in a strangled choke. “But that’s going to change.”