Jesus, she had to get the hell out of there.
She stumbled to her feet and lurched for the door. Thankfully, she’d brought her pickup. Racing from the office, she dressed quickly, hands shaking, heart pounding, afraid he’d come back before she could leave. He’d see how much he’d hurt her, and she couldn’t bear that.
Slamming the door shut behind her, she climbed into her truck and fired up the engine, peeling out of there a moment later as fast as she could.
She fought down the pain in her chest, the hurt, the disbelief, the utter devastation that threatened to pull her under, and focused on the anger because the rest of it wasn’t real. How could it be when she was the only one that felt anything? When she was the only one stupid enough to let her feelings get tangled up with a man who could fuck her, pretend he cared, all for his own gain. What did that make her?
Shaking her head, she tried not to let the pain take over, even as hot, angry tears ran down her cheeks.
She squeezed the steering wheel tight, tight enough her knuckles ached. Once he got home, and he realized she’d seen the contract, that she knew—that would be the end of it.
She’d never see him again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anticipation thrummed through Reid as he pulled up outside his house. Going into work was a pain in the ass and had taken a lot longer than he’d expected. The last thing he’d wanted to do this morning was leave Rusty. She had been wet and willing, looking sexy as hell in nothing but one of his tees.
But it wasn’t just the way she looked that made her irresistible. There was so much more. He’d never met anyone like her. She might love it when he took control in bed, but she was no pushover. All she had to do was bat her damn lashes, and he was chasing his tail to please her. He wanted to please her. She had that effect on him, though she never asked for a damn thing. No, all she wanted was reassurance that she could trust him, that he would never let her down the way he had ever again.
Yeah, she was back in his bed, but he’d hurt her, and he knew, could see it in the depths of that vibrant soul, that he would have to work to gain her full trust again. And he would. He’d do whatever the hell he had to, give her whatever she needed to earn that back. To be the man she showed him he could be.
Grabbing the bakery bag filled with sandwiches and chocolate cream cake, he headed for the door. Though the chances of eating lunch before he had her at least once was slim. The thought of her here, waiting for him, hot and needy, had driven him crazy all morning.
Unlocking the door, he strode inside. “I have food.”
He moved through the open kitchen to the living room. No sign of her. The TV was off, which meant she hadn’t been down here. He walked to the foot of the stairs. “Yo, Rusty!”
No reply came. He headed up, taking the stairs two at a time. A grin lifted the corners of his mouth as he headed to his room. Images of how he’d find her there, waiting for him, flashing through his head. But when he walked in, she wasn’t in there, either. Dumping the bags he was still carrying on the dresser, he checked the bathroom. Empty.
He called her name again, doing a quick search of his place. Then it hit him, her pickup hadn’t been there when he pulled in, had it? Walking to the rear bedroom, he checked out the window and, sure enough, her pickup was missing.
Weird. She’d promised to wait. Maybe she’d gotten hungry and headed out to get lunch on her own. Moving out to the hall, he noticed the door to his office open and walked in, pulling out his phone to call her.
Scrolling to her name, he hit the call button.
That’s when he spotted it, the contract, sitting on his desk in full view. A mug lay on its side by his laptop, coffee spilled across the surface of his desk.
The phone, still held to his ear, stopped ringing suddenly and clicked over to voicemail, Rusty’s voice coming down the line asking him to leave a message.
He didn’t—he fired the fucker across the room.
She’d seen the contract. She’d seen it and run.
He’d lost her.
I’ve ruined fucking everything.
With a roar, Reid swiped his arms across his desk, sending the neat stacks of paper and his laptop flying, crashing to the floor. Breathing hard, hard enough he thought he might be hyperventilating, he went to his knees, searching for his phone.
Finally, he found it. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. He tried her number again. It rang a few times, then clicked to voicemail. She’d cut off his call.
He couldn’t blame her.
You should have told her yourself. Instead he’d come up with excuses, telling himself that keeping the truth from her was for her own good. That since he no longer intended on going through with it, it really didn’t matter. Anything to avoid facing the shitty thing he’d planned to do.