Crashed (Entangled Indulgence)(56)

His jaw was granite, and when he looked down at her there was no warmth or affection in his hard gaze. He didn’t speak, not until they were in his apartment, after he’d dragged her into his bedroom. She stood on the opposite side while he tugged his shirt from his trousers, undid the first few buttons, and pulled it over his head, throwing it across the room.

“One man not enough for you, Alex?”

The emotion behind his words felt like a physical blow. Anger she could handle, though she sure as hell didn’t deserve it. But it wasn’t just anger radiating from him—no, there was pain as well. And the expression on his face twisted her up inside.

“I come down to find you with that asshole…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “After last… After what we…” He growled, shook his head.

After last night? Was that what he was going to say? She crossed her arms over her chest, more hurt and angry than she’d been in her life, which should be impossible, but there you go. How could he still doubt her? “I was not with that asshole, he followed me.”

“Yeah?” The raw emotion in his voice had not diminished, not even a fraction.

She moved closer to him, her own anger sailing over pissed and landing somewhere in the vicinity of rage. Deacon wasn’t the only one hurting. His opinion of her, as it turned out, wasn’t much better than that bastard downstairs. But despite her desire to lash out, to rail on him, she kept her voice controlled, even. “You get that in my line of work.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she moved in, so close her breasts brushed his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Whore, Deacon.” He visibly flinched, mouth opening, then closing. “Your friend downstairs wanted to know my hourly rate.”

A flush crept up from his neck, and he gritted his teeth. “What did you just say?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out? Here, maybe I should show you.” She yanked on his belt, pulling the leather free, unbuckling it to shove her hand inside. She was surprised when she found him hard as iron, cock pulsing in her hand.

“What are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly in his.

“I would have thought that was obvious. Services rendered and all that. Maybe you’d prefer my mouth?” She tried to drop to her knees in front of him, but he released her hands and gripped her upper arms, holding her immobile. “I thought you loved it when I sucked your cock?”

His nostrils flared, and the heat in his gaze sent her up in flames, but he didn’t release his hold, nor did the anger causing his body to shake diminish.

She tried to fight him, tried to drop down in front of him again. “Suddenly you’ve grown a conscience? What, don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Still her pulse raced, wanting to hear it, to hear that he actually gave a shit.

Instead he stood there like a damn robot, confusion and God only knew what else in his gaze, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. Oh, yeah, he knew the ugly truth as well as she did. They could never be together. They were from different worlds now. She’d momentarily forgotten that, had let her emotions cloud her better judgment. Convinced herself their feelings for each other would be enough to overcome their differences, that they were so much more than what they were.

What she was.

But even if Deacon had considered more, some kind of future together that didn’t include sneaking around—well, the reality of his neighbor soliciting sex from her would have knocked any stupid ideas from his head.

Having a girlfriend who could pass as a streetwalker? Not a good look for a corporate CEO.

She pulled out of his arms, and he let her. Let her pace to the other side of the room, away from him. Pain more acute than she thought possible gripped her heart.

“Alex…” He took a step toward her, then slammed on the brakes, shoved his fingers through his hair, and bit off several more curses.

I am such an idiot.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Goddammit, she would not fall apart in front of him. She darted through the closest door, into the bathroom, and shut herself in. Sucking down several deep breaths, she fought to keep her emotions in check. You knew this would happen, but you still opened your heart. This is your own damn fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Head bent, she stared at the floor, then her gaze landed on the trash basket. A shirt had been dumped in there, and she could see something pink smudged on it. Without thinking, she lifted it out and held it up.

Lipstick stained the front pocket and one side of the collar. Oh, God. She stood frozen. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. But it didn’t take a mind like Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the owner of the lipstick was, either.