Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(51)

“I tell you that only to make you more at ease with me,” Sloane says. “I know it really bothered you at lunch the other day… making friendships with us… not sure how we’d look at you or if we’d judge you. I hope Callie and I have both shown that we don’t care about what happened in the past. I just told you about Rand so you know I’ve got dirty stuff in my closet too, but it doesn’t mean anything more than just an experience.”

I nod in understanding. She’s right… the knowledge that she was with Rand helps to obviate my guilt over being with her man.

“I saw you at The Silo once,” Sloane says, now leaning back and placing her hands flat on the carpet behind her.

“You did?” I cringe internally wondering exactly what she saw me doing. While Sloane walks a bit on the wild side, I’m betting the four-on-one she had was the wildest thing she’s ever done. She’d probably be sick if she knew some of the things I’ve done.

“It was after your husband died,” Sloane says with a nod of her head. “I was there with Cain and Bridger had told us. You were in one of the rooms… locked in a stockade.”

A small smile comes to my lips and my fingers come up to inadvertently touch them in remembrance. That was a good night. It was the night I first got to make my own choices about who I let into my body.

“You were beautiful,” Sloane says softly, and my gaze slides to her. She doesn’t say that in a “come on” type of way, but rather in a respectfully deferent way. “I remember being amazed at what strength and confidence you must have had to do that.”

“Insanity more like it,” I mutter as I push out of the chair and walk over to the boxes again.

“No,” Sloane says. “I saw your face. There was pride there. And pleasure. You owned it. It was exquisitely erotic but beautifully inspiring. I envy you a bit.”

I turn, startled to hear her say that. “Don’t envy me. What you saw was a rarity. Most of my Silo experiences are not good.”

“I suspected as much,” Sloane says with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m really sorry for that.”

Turning back around, I grab the next banker’s box and haul it down. “Well, it’s all in the past.”

“You say that as if you almost believe it,” she says, and my eyes snap to her.

“What do you mean?” I ask curiously. She acts like she has insight into me that I don’t have about myself.

“You’re holding back with Rand.”

“I’m not—”

“You most definitely are,” she reprimands. “I ask about Rand and you’re like, ‘He’s a great guy’. I call bullshit on that.”

My eyes narrow on her. “What would you know?”

“I know he’s taken you in, given you shelter, provided safety, and shielded you from judgment. Arranged for a job, took you to Vegas, and I bet he’s handing you orgasms like they’re candy every night, right?”

Not sure how she knows all that, but I’m going to guess it’s through Bridger to Woolf to Callie to her, but regardless… she’s right about all those things. She’s so right about them, and it makes me feel horrible that I refuse to give them the recognition they deserve.

“Rand deserves way better than me,” I tell her, finally voicing a fear I’ve had from the moment he held me after I told him about all the ways in which Samuel abused me.

Sloane cocks her head. “How do you figure?”

“I’ve got nothing to offer. I’m just a woman who is good for one thing, and I’ve been too well used for there to be anything special about me.”

I hope that didn’t sound too whiny because I’m just trying to call it as I see it. But now that I’ve told her that, I stiffen my spine and hold her gaze, knowing in my heart of hearts I just shared with her my secret fear that’s holding me back from Rand.

He’s much too good for me.

And I know I can’t keep him. Once I figure out what I’m entitled to—or not—I’m going to have to move on and let him have his life back. Until then, I’m going to keep accepting what he’s offering me because I guess that’s just me being selfish. I like the feelings he provokes in me too much. I like the safety and security and the way he makes me laugh. I’ll take it for a bit longer, which only confirms I’m no good. I’ll end up using him up and leaving him behind at some point.

But it’s what’s best for him, I’m sure of it.

Sloane looks at me skeptically. “You totally don’t even see yourself, do you?”

“Sure I do,” I mutter, pulling the lid off the box I just set down on the conference room table.

I see myself in the mirror every day, and I know exactly the kind of person looking back at me.

My phone starts ringing from inside my purse, and I pull it out to check Caller ID. I try to push down the measure of annoyance that starts to rise when I see “Trish Lyons” on the screen.

I don’t have her under the beloved title of “Mom” because she doesn’t hold that honor. I stopped considering her my mom long ago.

Little liar.

Swatting my conscience away, I reject the phone call, sending it to voice mail. I start to drop it back in my purse, but it starts ringing again.