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Nash
“I’m exhausted,” Aya said, rising to her feet. “I’ll head to a hotel and—”
“No, don’t.” Letting her out of my sight meant losing her. I clung to her hand. “Stay.”
She blinked at me.
“In the house, Ay. I have four bedrooms. Or you can have my room, and I’ll go to one of the others…”
She shook her head. “No way am I staying in your room.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong with my room? You’ve never even seen it.”
She fidgeted and turned away, her cheeks flaming. “This was a mistake.”
Anger washed over me.“What are you talking about? You’d throw what we could have away because of—”
She whirled to face me, her eyes wide, wild, and wet. My anger dissipated as I realized just how close she was to losing control. Whatever went through her mind when I mentioned my room hit her hard.
“I’ve had sex with one man in my life,” she snapped. “So you’ll have to forgive my disinterest in being one of your...thousands.” The last word dripped venom.
“What about Alistair?” Vicious jealousy clawed at me. Before I registered the action, my fist plowed through the painting and wall next to me. Probably a good thing I split the canvas first because the drywall still cut into my skin.
I heard Aya’s strangled gasp. But I stood with my back to her, chest heaving. I was losing her. “I’ve never had a woman in my bed. Here or anywhere else.”
“N-never?”
I yanked my hand from the wall, gritting my teeth against the throbbing in my knuckles. “Never. If it couldn’t be you…”
I dropped my gaze to my feet. Bits of plaster dotted my feet. I frowned. I’d thought I’d bared my soul to her already. I knew other men had held her, kissed and caressed her.
Fuck. I hated them. My hands clenched, but the ache radiating up my arm kept me from punching the wall again.
“But our last time together…” She trailed off. “That was years ago.”
“And as much as I hate that memory, I love it, too. Because I was with you.”
I worried, belatedly, that I’d broken my hand. I ran my other hand down my face as I forced my feet to shuffle around. I faced her. “I freaked out after you told me you loved me,” I said. “Each time, I had these panic attacks even as I waited, desperate to hear you say it.”
She kept her gaze trained on me. I moved toward the kitchen. Regardless of the extent of my hand’s injury, ice would help. I tugged a dishcloth from the drawer and threw it over my shoulder as I continued to the huge, glass-fronted freezer unit. I opened the door with my good hand and pulled out a bag of peas. After some finagling, I managed to wrap the peas in the towel and set it over my swollen hand.
“Will you come in here? Sit at the table? I’ll get you some tea.”
“I’ll get the tea,” she said, voice soft. “Ice, too, if you’ll let me.”
She looked haggard, as if this night had gone on for years. Mascara streaked her cheeks, and her hair was a mess from my fingers.
“I’ve got frozen veggies. They’ll work fine.”
I moved around the space, giving her ample room as I collected mugs and the tin of British teas I’d bought—in case Aya ever visited.
I couldn’t even muster a smile when I realized my dream had come true.
“Nash, how could you not have… I saw you with that woman in your band.” Aya’s entire body tensed, and I wasn’t sure if she was rejecting my statement as a lie or working to reorient her belief about me.
I pulled out a chair and leaned my head back against it as I sat. “You know what it was like with my parents. They weaponized sex. And my d—Brad liked to give those big, elaborate speeches about how much he loved my mother, how she was the shining light of his life…”
