Part of me doesn’t want him to feel this connection to me. It can only lead to bad things, right? What if he realizes why he feels so connected, or that the reason I’m so familiar to him is because I am? Because he could’ve possibly murdered my sister? But the other part of me—dare I even say the bigger part of me—wants him to feel that way. Because I feel it, too. It’s not just because he’s from my past. Something about Baz makes me feel like I can be a better version of myself. A tangible force of energy connects us, and I’m afraid I won’t have the guts to sever it when all is said and done.
The truth is, I want him to know every part of me. Everything that makes me tick. Just as I want to know everything about him. I want to see him smile for no reason other than he can. I want to know what makes him happy, what makes him strive for such success in business. But most of all, I want him to be innocent. Because if Baz did have a hand in murdering Madison, I don’t know what I’ll do.
His face grows serious. If he wasn’t still stroking my face, I would think I said something to piss him off. “You don’t want to go steady with someone like me, Mackenzie. I’ll ruin you.”
My mouth goes dry.
My heart freezes in my chest.
What … is … What the hell is that supposed to mean?
His face is stoic, and I’ve never heard him sound more sincere. It makes me wonder what he’s hiding. What dark secrets he’s keeping.
Could he be the one who …?
My stomach twists, churning with an uneasy sensation, forcing me to swallow down the bile threatening to rise.
I shake my head, and his hand falls away from my face. I stare him down, trying to search for the answers in his eyes. My chest twinges at the torment I see there. It makes tears spring to my own because this whole time … I didn’t want him to be like them. To be a part of her death. But now, I think he is.
Why else would he look so guilty?
“What makes you say that?”
“Everything,” he replies vaguely.
“Well,” I breathe out shakily, sliding my arms around his neck to draw him closer. “What if I want to be ruined?”
His eyes flare, and his entire body tenses beneath me. His muscles are straining. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him from my comment. His jaw clenches as he stares up at me, and when I least expect it, he takes my lips in a bruising kiss that leaves me breathless. I moan helplessly into his mouth, giving myself over to him freely.
The saddest part is, the kiss isn’t even for show.
Not anymore.
The line between right and wrong is blurring, and I’ve just willingly crossed it.
We hover in the moment between right and wrong. Our lips barely graze as mine are still swollen from that last kiss. I realize this is the time to start asking questions. Postcoital. A pillow talk session of sorts, but I can’t bring myself to think of anything important enough to ask.
“So, are you—” I start, but I’m cut off by the tensing of Baz’s body as the lilting sound of laughter floats on the breeze. I freeze, drawing my brows together in confusion. When I glance up, following Baz’s gaze toward the glass windows of the penthouse, I see a silhouette getting closer. A very feminine silhouette.
Baz growls something unintelligible under his breath.
The first click of her six-inch heel hitting the tile is like a bruise to my ego. She’s gorgeous. The supermodel kind of gorgeous. With long, gold-spun blond hair and the body of a literal Victoria’s Secret Angel, it was like staring at a reincarnated version of Madison. A look down at my damp jet-black hair couldn’t have made me stick out like a sore thumb any more. It was obvious to me now Baz had a type.
Even now, after changing who I am—changing everything to reel him in—I’m still not his type.
The woman, dressed to the nines in clothes that scream wealth, looks at me, then back at Baz, wearing a suggestive grin on her face.
“Oh, am I intruding on a … date?” She starts to pout, and the fact that I’m naked in a Jacuzzi with this man, his cum still rooted deep inside me, immediately makes me feel sick.
What was I even thinking? I’m not cut out for this shit.
I dislodge from Baz’s hold and feel his grip on my waist tighten, almost in warning. When I look at him, I flinch at the coldness on his face, all of it reflected at me. His face says one thing, but his eyes … they’re damn near begging me to stay.
“Whatever you’re—”
I hold my hand up to stop him from finishing that sentence. Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it. I just want to get the fuck out of here before I look like an even bigger fool.
I grip the edge of the Jacuzzi and start to climb out, not even caring that I’m nude. My chest is aching, but I can’t explain why. I tell myself it’s because this woman has ruined my plans for the night, my plans of finding out more information, but it’s obviously more than that.
I’m jealous.
Fucking disgustingly jealous.
That sick feeling rising in my throat? That tightness squeezing my heart? That ice filling my chest, making it hard to breathe? Those are all the effects of jealousy.
I’m truly jealous of this woman because she’s been able to attain someone as elusive as Baz. I’ve had to change everything about myself; yet, it’s obvious he’s going to choose her over me. So I’m removing myself before I let that happen. Before I can feel any more idiotic than I already do.
Sucking in a lungful of air for strength, I pad my damp feet across the floor. I hold my head high, my nude body on full display the entire way. Even though I feel their eyes on me, I do everything within my power to ignore them.
“She’s not the usual, but she’s not bad,” the woman says as I pass her, her gaze trailing up and down my body. My hands curl into fists, and my stomach clenches with anger.
I bypass her, snatching a towel off the warmer and shoot a quick glance back at Baz over my shoulder. I’m not the least bit surprised to see he’s still in the water. I’d feel a little better if he looked dumbstruck or upset by me leaving so abruptly, but I couldn’t be more wrong. Much as he was earlier, with that infuriating calm, aloof mask on his face, Baz is leaning against the ledge of the Jacuzzi, his arms slung out at his sides as he watches me.
He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even bat a fucking eye.
And neither do I.
With that infuriating tightness in my chest, I snatch my dress and heels and hightail it out of there before I lose my composure.
It’s been two days. Two whole fucking days and still no word from Baz. I mean, I know I was the one who ran away because I was pissed off, but hell, you’d think he would at least have the decency to check in with me after what happened.
He knows where my room is. He knows how long I’ll be here. There’s only one reason I can think of as to why he’d ignore me. It’s because of this.
Dealing with these idiotic, angst-filled emotions aren’t his forte. And I don’t blame him. I hate the fact I’ve waited around for his call. I hate myself for caring about anything other than finding justice for my sister.
I don’t have the right to be angry that a woman he’s probably known for a very long time—seeing as when I googled him, he’s almost never in a picture with the same woman twice—walked into his penthouse. Generally, when he is photographed with the same women, they’re labeled as his girlfriend. Everyone else is just the flavor of the month. They’re replaceable. But the girls he’s been pictured with more times than not apparently have something that makes him want to keep them around.