“It looks like the little head does the thinking after all,” I mocked.
He looked away, infuriated at his participation in our mano a mano. “You’re a nasty piece of work, Paisley Benton.”
He was right, but I wanted to slap him all the same. “I think you like it nasty,” I sneered, staring pointedly at his crotch. “I think you’re tired of boring and tasteless. You’re starving for flavour and thirsty for my personal favourite—a long, hard screw up against the wall.”
James’s pitying look made me want to graduate my slap to a jaw-breaking punch.
“Throwing yourself at unavailable men only says you’re desperate and have no class.”
I looked away. Kissing him had proved that I was indeed the slutty little sister. I didn’t want his opinion of me to hurt but it did. Then the hurt turned into anger. Who did James think he was to judge me? He had participated just as much I had, hadn’t he? Kissed me like he couldn’t get enough and rubbed against me like he meant business. So what did that make him?
I jutted my chin. “I wouldn’t say it’s classy to feel up your fiancée’s sister.”
He cursed, advanced a step then drew back. “What you—what we did was despicable.”
I imitated his expression and shot it back at him. Not for the first time I thanked my bizarre gift. Oh, he meant what he said, all righty—most of it. Paisley Benton repulsed him.
But he wanted her anyway.
“And that really bothers you, doesn’t it?” I said derisively. “That somebody like me can make you hot around your expensive Italian collar. Who’s the hypocrite now? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
“Don’t push me.”
“Or you’ll push into me right? Want to put it to the test?”
I grabbed my robe and considered flashing him to prove my point. Quick as a panther, he lunged. I yelped in surprised pain as his fingers dug into my arms. My body leapt in response and I wanted...I wanted... Well, I didn’t know what I wanted but I knew I wanted him to give it to me.#p#分页标题#e#
He lowered his mouth to my ear, his lips parting to shape themselves around calm, controlled words. “Maybe one day you’ll find a man who doesn’t mind settling for what you offer, but even if I didn’t love Caroline you wouldn’t meet my standards, regardless of how long it’s been since I’ve had a screw up against the wall.”
I recoiled, struck by the truth in his eyes. He released me, setting me aside and shutting the bathroom door in my face with a dismissive click. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the chipped paint before I ran to my bedroom and flung myself on the bed, trembling with a mixture of fury, shame and unfulfilled desire.
Chapter Three
A Common Glass of Water
I heard Caroline and James leave the house about a half an hour later. With my parents at the Radomskys’ I was free to drink my Absolut without worrying about getting caught. They usually came home in the early hours of the morning. Nevertheless, I waited a good ten minutes before I indulged. No juice and no fizzy stuff to dull the hit, just like Manuel had taught me.
I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to push away the image of my uncle’s dark, handsome face. Remembering everything else he’d taught me would hurtle me over the brink so I drank the vodka thirstily, using it to push down the memories.
But not low enough.
I shuddered and took another swallow. Only a few streets down, flat 27B would have what I really wanted. There was a twenty-pound note in my mother’s drawer and all I had to do was pinch it and head out. I got up, sat back down and forced myself to stay put.
My hand shook as I lifted the Absolut to my lips. Some of it dribbled down my chin and I cursed my clumsiness. I cursed myself for a lot of other things also, including kissing James. His pitying look was imprinted on my memory, as were his words. The bastard was right and I hated him for it. I was more damaged and more twisted than he could ever guess, not to mention all my other faults.
A junkie.
A sponger.
A pregnant virgin who’d kissed her sister’s man in a fit of pique.
My hand flew to my abdomen. Marcia had phoned me after her shift and the first thing she’d done was forbid me to drink. I’d promised not to but I couldn’t help it. She didn’t understand that I needed it to keep me sane. It was either drink the vodka or raid my mother’s drawer and knock on that door. Even now, with plans to fill my veins with so much Absolut my blood became transparent, I craved the hit. Just the once—the last hit—would help ease my transition into a junk-free life, and then I’d stop.