Risky (Torn Between Two Lovers #2)(20)

Trace had knocked on the door last night, but I’d stifled my painful cries while he was in the hallway, made myself not utter a sound. He’d finally left, probably assuming I was asleep. Unfortunately, I hadn’t slept much, and I’d been very much awake when he’d been hammering on my door. I’d just been too afraid to answer.

“It’s Thanksgiving. How am I going to face him?” I flopped onto my back and covered my face with a pillow. I was going to have to face him and live with the fact that he knew my history, and he hadn’t accepted it well. There had been anger in his voice last night when he’d come to my bedroom door, and really, could I blame him? I hadn’t been honest before he’d laid his hands on me, and he’d unknowingly been intimate with a felon, somebody he shouldn’t even know, much less screw.

“Eva!”

I jackknifed into a sitting position as I heard his low baritone outside my door. “I know you’re in there. I left last night to give you time, but I’m not leaving again. Answer the door or I break it in.” His fist pounded hard on the heavy wood barrier.

Resigned, I scooted out of bed and went to the door, unlocking it and turning around to walk back to the bed and sit.

He entered almost immediately, and I was certain he had been listening for the lock on the door to click. Of course, I was going to unlock it. Number one: there was no way I was going to let him destroy such a beautiful polished wood door. Number two: I couldn’t run away from the truth forever. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

I lowered my head and focused on the elegant pattern of the cream-colored carpet on the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with him. My crazy hair hid my face, and I waited.


And waited.

And then, continued to wait.

Every muscle in my body was tense, and I knew he was in the room. Not only had I heard him enter, but I could feel him. Trace Walker emitted such a compelling force of energy just by entering a room that he couldn’t be ignored.

Just when I was about to give in and look up, I found myself suddenly on my back, pinned by the significant weight of his body. “What are you doing?” My voice was tremulous as he pinned my hands over my head.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he demanded in a husky voice.

“Do what?” I couldn’t avoid looking at him as he swiped my hair from my face.

“Leave,” he growled. “Run away from me. Don’t do it again. I f*cking hated it.”

My heart skittered as I stared at his grim expression. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and I wondered if he’d slept. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep much. It was hard to fall asleep after I found out I’d screwed a virgin without knowing I was her first. And I damn well knew you were crying.”

How had he known? I’d tried not to make a sound. The last thing I wanted was his sympathy.

“I wasn’t crying,” I told him stubbornly.

“Bullshit!” He frowned and traced what I thought was an invisible line of tears. “Your makeup is smeared.”

Shit! Shit! Shit! Damn Claudette and her magic mascara wand.

I was guessing that the telltale sign of my tears was now smeared down my cheeks in a black line of makeup that used to be on my eyelashes. I was going to nix the mascara from now on.

“I did cry, okay. I admit it. I was upset. It’s no big deal.” I tried to minimize the river of tears I cried the night before, and the release of the sorrow I’d bottled up inside me for years.

As I noticed his expression go from irritation to downright furious, I wondered if he had violent tendencies. He had seemed so in control, so sure of himself. This was a side of Trace that scared me just a little.

“It is a big deal. I hurt you. I’m sorry.” His expression was still angry, but his eyes were full of remorse.

“You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” I didn’t struggle in his hold. The weight of his body holding me prisoner was strangely warm and comforting, and his grip on my wrists was only tight enough to keep me from running away…again.

I didn’t deserve his guilt over taking my virginity. I’d given it to him willingly because I wanted that experience greedily. Desperately. I wanted someone to cling to for a short time. I wanted to feel like somebody cared. And most of all, I wanted the pleasure he could offer me.

“Then why in the hell did you take off like that?”

I took a deep breath. “I told you that I’m an ex-con. You were disgusted that you’d slept with me. Admit it.” I didn’t want to hear him say the words, but I needed to hear them. My moments of pleasure were over and it was time to face reality.

“I wasn’t disgusted with you. I was mad at myself, Eva. I should have known, should have recognized that you were inexperienced. I didn’t. I wanted you, and I couldn’t think past that. Yes, you surprised me. I was angry, but not at you.” He paused for a minute before continuing, “Who set you up? It was your mother, wasn’t it?”

I gaped at him. “You think I was innocent?”

He lifted an arrogant brow. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes.” My chest ached as I realized that he assumed I wasn’t guilty of committing the crime that had put me away for most of my adult life.

He shrugged. “I believe you.”