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What a stupid thing to say.
We should absolutely bullshit our way through this if we wanted to come out unscathed.
But I was a weak man who sorely needed to get laid, because the sight of her neck was causing a life-threatening loss of blood flow to my head. It was all going straight between my legs, where I was so bloody hard it was a miracle I could still stand up straight.
But instead of taking back the prompt for honesty, I let it dangle in the air.
One more second and I might have succeeded in my last grasp for sanity. But then she answered, and when she did ... I was so bloody fucked.
“I haven’t been touched like this in a really long time,” she whispered. “Years, really. It feels ...”
My jaw clenched tight because I desperately wanted to know what she was going to say next.
“Incredible,” she whispered.
It was entirely possible that I’d lost the ability to breathe. I definitely couldn’t swallow. My heart might’ve stopped cold in my chest.
“Which is silly, if you think about it,” she continued. “Because I get hugs from Mira. And Rosa. But something like this ...” Her voice trailed off, and I fought the urge to tighten my hands on her skin until she finished. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. “I’m not sure Charles ever rubbed my neck the entire time we were married.”
“Yeah, well, Charles was a prick.”
I hated thinking about him. So I told her that too.
Zoe laughed. “Indeed. You pegged him right off the bat.”
I grunted.
She laughed again. “You’d have every right to gloat, you know. I was fully expecting you to.”
I slowly sucked in a breath through my nose. “It’s not a fun thing to gloat about, really. I fucking hated seeing you marry a twat like that.” My voice deepened, rough with emotion. “The longer you stayed with him, the worse it got.”
The words hit the room like a bomb, silence descending in an immediate vacuum. My hands slowed as I frantically tried to think of something, anything, to say.
But there was nothing there.
Stupid fucking whiskey. Fucking Chris stowing his fucking alcohol in a spot where anyone could find it in a moment of weakness.
My chest was tight, my pulse racing wildly. Fuck, I’d probably stroke out if I didn’t find a way to salvage this. The peace was gone, obliterated at the turn that our conversation had taken.
“No bullshit?” she asked in a whisper.
I pinched my eyes shut, my hands slowing even more, the tips of my fingers tracing those delicate little knots of bone under her impossibly soft skin.
Now the words came easily. Because of fucking course they did.
“I wanted to tear him apart that first night,” I said, voice dark and full of violent promises. “He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone take you home, take you to bed, have you for his own.”
Careful,that screaming voice in my head cautioned.Careful now.
I was treading on glass-thin ice, hairline cracks spreading out as far as the eye could see.
Zoe took a massive breath, her entire frame expanding. “Do you know what I hated?” she said.
I didn’t answer.
I was too fucking busy. My thumbs absently trailed up the length of her neck until those hairs hit my skin again. I wound one around my finger, testing the softness of it.
Fuck the alcohol—I was getting drunk on touching her. My head swam dangerously, my pulse feral and far too fast for anyone to sustain.
