She looks up at me. “I’ve already told you that if you could, you shouldn’t.”
Yes, and she also told me that I’d hurt her. God damn. The frustration gets too hard to keep under control. I take her mug from her hand and discard it on a nearby table, then I grab the tops of her arms, lowering to get our faces level. “I’m not going over this again. We’ve been there. But I know as well as you that it’s way off being out of both of our systems, and I’m not accepting your bullshit anymore. No more, Lainey.” This woman is driving me to the brink of fucking insanity. “Friday night was like nothing I’ve had before with a woman.” I’m so mad that she’s trying to fob me off. “Never. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Do I understand what I’m saying myself?
Her face is blank, then she blinks rapidly. She’s surprised. “So the notorious Tyler Christianson has been affected by a woman? Wow. I should get a medal.”
I erupt. Explode. I lose sight of where I am and what I’m doing. I drop Lainey and throw my arm out, punching the door. It doesn’t even hurt. I don’t feel a thing, except anger, and nothing can break down the wall of it currently closing me in. Yet despite my outburst, there’s not a peep from Lainey. Not. One. Word. I shake my fist, trying to gather myself, watching her stand like a statue before me. She looks like a mannequin. A life-sized doll. Emotionless.
I don’t know this woman. The one I first met seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. But it’s like she’s ripped it off and stuffed it away somewhere safe. The woman I met flirted with me, whether she knew it or not. She came to my apartment, made it clear she was attracted to me, screamed as I fucked her. She is passionate.
The woman in front of me, the one who packs a large box of condoms in her bag and allows any other man to date her, to touch her . . . I don’t know her at all. She’s a fucking mystery. She wants to find Mr. Perfect? Well, she’s going about it in a strange way.
What, Ty? You’re gonna show her Mr. Perfect, are you?
“What the fuck is going on with you?” I ask, more calmly. She’s got me by the balls, alternating between twisting them and caressing them. She’s doing the same with my mind.
“Nothing is going on with me,” she replies evenly. “I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Christianson. I know you might find that hard to come to terms with, given who you are, but it’s the way it is. You should get used to that.” She collects her coffee and walks out.
And I throw my fist into the wall once more.
That’s it. I can’t cope with all these alien feelings, the behavior I can’t control. It’s sending me over the edge.
I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Christianson.
Listen to her words, you idiot. Even if they’re bullshit, I should just listen to her words, because that’s far fucking easier than this shitstorm of emotion and frustration swirling within me.
Feelings are overrated. Lainey doesn’t want anything to do with me? Fine. She’s pissed me off. Me, Ty Christianson.
I have endless women on speed dial. And I’ve been chasing one woman.
But no more.
I’m done.
I LAUGH LIGHTLY, RUBBING A palm over my bristly chin and down my throat as I look up at the ceiling. It’s strategic, not that this woman seems to need enticing. She’s been all over me like a rash since I stalked into the bar after work.
“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” I say, looking back into her deep brown eyes. My statement is strategic, too. At least, on a private level. Lainey Summer definitely doesn’t know what she wants, yet seems quite happy to try and convince me that she does. I shake my head, reminding myself of where I am, who I’m with, and what I plan on doing with her.
“I definitely know what I want,” she replies, circling the tip of her tongue around the straw in her drink.
“Good.” I stand up and offer my hand. “You ready, then?”
She smiles a sexy smile, clearly practiced, and reaches for my offering. “Are you?”
Oh, she has no idea. “Let’s go.” Full of resolve, I lead her out of the bar by her hand. Ty Christianson is back, and lucky for this woman, he’s back with a vengeance. Or unlucky. Depends on how you look at it, I guess. I have some serious steam to let off.
As I tug her across the road to my car, I glance back to my evening’s entertainment and grin a little, spiking one from her. “You like coffee?”
“I love coffee.”
“Milk? Sugar?”
Her intrigued smile widens. “A little milk, no sugar.”
“Good to know.” I stop by my car and pull her into my chest, delighting in the fact that her breathing just went to shit. I look down at her, and slowly dip to kiss the side of her mouth, giving her a taste of things to come.
She moans and goes soft in my arms. “Why the interest in how I take my coffee?” she asks.
“So I can make you one in the morning,” I whisper, pulling back and looking into sultry, very pleased eyes. Score. Taking her arm, I open the passenger door of my car for her. “Madam,” I say, sweeping my arm out in gesture.
She moves forward slowly, keeping her gaze on mine. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
She stops in front of me. She wants another kiss. She’s going to get a lot more than that. I smile, glancing away teasingly, robbing her of the explicit intention in my eyes.
And my smile wavers when I see someone across the road watching us, standing on the curbside, still as can be. Her face is straight, but I can see the desolation as clear as I can see her blue eyes from here.
I turn back toward the woman standing before me and push her against my car, taking her mouth hard and forcefully, clawing my fingers in her hair. Her hands are all over my back in a second, her moans loud enough for Lainey to hear. Good. I hope they play on repeat all night in her head.
Don’t you like this game, Lainey?
The woman—I must get her name—pulls away, flustered and pulsing. “I think I’d rather have one of those in the morning.”
“I’m a giving kinda man,” I rasp, pushing her into the passenger seat and closing the door. When I turn around, Lainey’s still there, looking frozen in place. She hasn’t moved a muscle, and that desolation just amplified. I lock eyes with her and start rounding my car, and she follows my path the entire way until I’m at the driver’s door. I take the handle, pausing for a beat before I pull it open, waiting for her to be the first to look away. But as I stare at her, I realize she won’t. I don’t know if it’s willfulness, or whether she simply can’t. Whatever. I don’t care.
I rip my gaze from hers on a look of contempt and drop into my driver’s seat. It’s the only way for me. It’s so much easier to hate her than to deal with the feelings she unearths in me. To hate her for leading me on. To hate her for being so fucking alluring. To hate her for sleeping around, for giving me a taste of something she never planned on giving me again. I fucking hate her.
I start the car and slam it into gear, pulling off fast, leaving the squealing echoes of the wheels in my wake. I refuse to look in the rearview mirror. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask, finding my determination and quickly reinstating it.