He drops his fork and laughs. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious,” I answer.
The muscles in his jaw clench, and he shakes his head. “I know you were drunk last night, but I didn’t think it was like that.”
The truth is, I don’t remember much after Talent and I returned to our table after we had sex in the alleyway. There’s a vague recollection of sitting on his lap until the band wrapped up their set, we ordered food, and we kissed until the bar thinned out and it was time to go. Then it’s dark. My next coherent thought was when I woke up in my bed this morning.
Talent’s face relaxes with my silence, and he says, “I didn’t want you taking a taxi alone at three in the morning, so you agreed to share one with me. You fell asleep as soon as we got in the cab. The driver needed your address, and when I asked for it, you tossed your purse on my lap and said to look at your driver’s license.”
Closing my eyes as tears threaten to spill, I hold my breath to keep from screaming. If he knows my address, then he knows my last name, too.
He comes around the kitchen counter and stands six feet in front of me to explain, “When we got here, I offered to help you to the door, and you agreed.”
As he says this, I remember dropping my keys twice trying to unlock the door. We laughed at my clumsiness.
“You need to leave,” I manage to say. The last thing I want is for Talent to see me cry, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this frustration bottled up.
“Don’t make me,” he whispers.
The softness in his tone is enough to flip my frustration to fury.
Tilting my head and narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What’s your deal, Talent? If you want to fuck me, then fuck me. I’m a prostitute—there’s no need to wine and dine me to get between my legs. Pay up and we’re good.”
Scratching the back of his neck, he chuckles and says, “I have fucked you. Twice. And I didn’t pay a cent.”
“Get out.”
How the tables have turned. Our first encounter ended by him throwing me out of his office, and now our last ends with me kicking him out of my apartment. He knows my real name and where I live, and I know he had sex with a hooker. With both of our necks on the line, I’d say we’re even and free to live our lives now.
“No,” he insists.
Hearing damage. An alternate universe. Madness. Whatever the explanation, Talent Ridge is wild, and I’ve reached the threshold of my patience. Surely, he didn’t just refuse to leave my apartment and expect me to accept it. I don’t feel safe anywhere, but my apartment is my only sanctuary, and no one’s allowed to threaten what little peace I’m afforded.
Talent stares back with a sharp glare, hacking the wall I’ve put in between us to protect myself from more bullshit. He’s steadfast in his attempt to cut through my resolve, gripping the edge of the counter and squaring his shoulders for a long fight. He shows no hint of leaving without dragging this out first, but he’s never met someone like me. I’m made out of the fight, and I’ve lived with disappointment my entire life. The anger and anguish brewing beneath my skin are constant companions.
“If you have a hero complex, I’m not your damsel in distress. I don’t need saving or pity. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
My defensive wall’s flawed, not nearly as tall or strong as it was before I met Talent, and small signs of distress leak through the cracks. Talent’s shoulders fall as my eyes fill with tears, and my hands tremble at my sides. The show of weakness softens him up, but it only pisses me off. Balling my hands into fists to keep from shaking, I blink away tears and dig deep to reinforce my protective barrier with everything I have.
I’m thrown back into a place so unemotional and void of richness, I nearly gasp at the loss of warmth I didn’t realize I’ve become accustomed to. But it’s what I need to stand up to Talent.
Talent pushes away from the kitchen counter and scrubs his hands down his face. “I don’t think either one of us has the energy for this, Lydia. Can we drop it and eat our meal?”
Suddenly I’m in front of him, and with one swipe of my hand, I knock the box of lo mein off the countertop. I shove my hands into Talent’s chest and say, “Leave or I’ll call the cops. Unless you want your face on the front of the newspaper tomorrow morning, you won’t make me say it again.”
His dark eyes follow the mess of food on the floor, unconcerned with my assault or threat. The corner of his mouth bends into a condescending smirk, and instead of prolonging our standoff, I make good on my promise and head to the couch where I left my phone.
I don’t take more than a few steps when Talent rushes forward and captures my elbow. He turns me around in his arms and guides me back until I collide with the back of the couch. Any trace of patience is erased from his features, replaced with furrowed eyebrows and gritted teeth.
“What are you going to tell them, Cara?” He emphasizes my professional name. The implication hits harder than if he’d called me a whore because Cara implies that I have something to lose, too. If I call the cops to have him removed from my apartment, my face will end up on the newspaper right beside his and we both know it.
A whirlwind of awakening and rage churns inside me as his nearness soaks into my skin, with the realization that any kind of wall I thought I’d put between us was nothing but wishful thinking. I stomp on his shoes with my bare feet and struggle against his hold on my body, but it’s no good. He bulldozed through my boundaries, and I’m helpless.
“I don’t want to save you,” he says. “I just wanted to eat my fucking dinner.”
The absurdity of this makes me laugh out loud. “Eat. And then go.”
Talent captures my wrist with one hand and hooks the other around my waist, pressing into me until the couch shifts forward. I lift onto the tips of my toes, perching on the back of the couch. The man is ruthless and drives himself between my legs, where nothing but a pair of cotton underwear and his pants keep us apart.
I gasp, and he asks, “Why can’t I stay away from you?”
Circling my hips against him, I smile seductively and say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ridge. Plenty of men pay good money for my pussy.”
His nostrils flare and he swallows hard, tightening his grasp until my hand tingles from loss of circulation. It’s semi-sweet pain—a rush and panic all at once. I see it in Talent, too. He knows he’s better than me in every way that counts, and the last thing he should do is trap an escort he never invited into his life in her own apartment. Our bodies call for each other, and it’s left us unrecognizable.
I’m glad it’s not only me.
The allure sparks and ignites between us, and I’m dizzy from breathing it in. I give up the fight as my defensive wall turns to ash in the fire. Rebuilding it, if only with him, is impossible. The way blood flows through my veins and warms my skin when I’m with Talent has me feeling more alive than ever, and it’s not a sensation I can forget. It’s as if my heart beats for the first time.
“Pay for it?” he asks. Talent lowers his lips to my ear, pressing himself totally against me. “You begged me to fuck you last night. You cried for it. Lydia, you fucking pleaded for it.”