Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
I can’t breathe. I’m panicking. I can’t help it. Years of insecurities don’t just up and go after a few weeks of tentative friendship and rising lust. I am falling too hard and fast. If I have sex with Macon, I will be all in, open and vulnerable in every way. When it comes to this man, I have only ever experienced disappointment and hurt. Truly letting him in terrifies me so much I feel light headed, struck mute.
He shakes his head once like he’s trying to dislodge the truth. “You keep resisting my offer to dissolve our agreement. Why? Why did you make it in the first place? Was it really all about Sam? Or was it something more?”
Macon watches me like a hawk, ready to pounce.
Panic surges. It rings in my ears and turns my lips numb.
I cut a hand through the air. “This discussion is over.” It has to be.
He narrows his eyes, his chin jutting up. “I don’t agree.”
“Too bad.” I turn on my heel and head for the stairs.
His voice follows, irate and hard. “I never thought you were a coward.”
The words hurt because he isn’t wrong. “Now you know better.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Macon
I pushed too hard, said too much. Maybe I shouldn’t have touched her, but in all that happened today, it is the one thing that didn’t feel wrong. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I have wanted to know how it would feel to be kissed by Delilah Baker for as long as I can remember.
To be kissed by her. There’s a distinction in that. It meant she looked past all the animosity, all the misunderstandings and fuckups, and wanted me anyway. It meant that she forgave me. I can only laugh at myself for being a fool. She might have wanted me in the moment—that heady, mindless moment of unadulterated lust—but the second her sense returned, she looked at me in horror.
Not great.
North comes to help me up the stairs. The fact that Delilah obviously sent him both chafes and amuses me. Neither of us says a word, and North leaves me once we get inside the house. I’m grateful for his silence; it can’t have escaped his notice that both Delilah and I are covered in wet sand.
Alone, I head for my office and take a seat. Delilah needs space, and I want to give it to her. I could have gone to my room and showered off, something I desperately need to do, but we might have run into each other again. Awkward as fuck.
Maybe she’s right. If we give in to this desire and things go wrong, we’ll be stuck together in a fresh sort of hell. Stupid hubris. I should never have taken her offer. It’s trapped us both. But if I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here. Delilah would have remained a past regret, a break that hadn’t healed right. As it is, she is more like a Ghost of Christmas Past now, reminding me of all the ways I’ve fucked up. I should end this. But I can’t. I fucking can’t.
With a sigh, I rest my head against the chairback and wince as pain slices along my spine. Yep. Definitely pulled something.
The sound of Delilah’s bedroom door slamming shut grabs my attention. Right then. Stay away from the angry woman. Fuck it. I don’t need her. I had a life before Delilah. A good life.
Flipping through my phone, I read a bunch of texts for work.
Carl, my director, is looking forward to getting back to work: translation—are you up for this, Macon?
Timothy wants to know if I want another date with Anya. No thanks, Tim.
A couple of my costars want to know if I’ve heard any rumors about the new script. Unless a character’s death is imminent, which affects our contracts, we’re kept in the dark as to what will happen each season. The producers don’t want to take any chances that a spoiler will get out. They don’t need to worry about me; I don’t have anyone to tell.
And that’s when it hits me. I don’t have anyone.
North is my friend. But we are both kind of closed off. It isn’t the sort of deep connection that makes me feel like I have an anchor.
I’ve never had someone whom I could turn to in the dark of night, when the world feels a little too empty and cold, and find comfort.
Sitting here sticky and wet with sand and ocean muck, I realize that the one person who might fill that empty space has just given me the brush-off, convinced we can’t work.
A grim smile pulls at my mouth.
Delilah might be right. We might be a disaster. We might live to regret it. But she’s completely off her nut if she thinks I’m going to let this go without a fight. Because if there is one thing I know to be true, it’s that everything worth having in my life is worth fighting for.