I don’t know which one will win out at this stage but I’m rooting for violence since I loathe the thought of crying for this guy. Again. Ever.
We pull in through the massive gates a few minutes later and Ry and Day dash inside before the car has even fully stopped, leaving me to accept help from Devon and lean heavily on him as he pulls me from the car and steers me into the house.
No preliminaries follow after he pulls me into his office and closes the door. He just leans down, getting in my face and snarls at me.
“I did not sleep with Gia.”
Huh. Okay.
I snort and shake my head, waddling over to the sofa and falling down with a groan. My freaking feet, back, legs-my whole bloody body-hurt like I’ve just escaped a meat grinder and my vag isn’t feeling its usual self either.
I’m really hoping it’s not what I think it is because seriously, if I start gushing amniotic fluid and having labour pains I’m going to be worse off than I already am.
“Look Devon, we spoke on the phone. You can’t unsay what you said and from where I’m sitting you were so saying you were having an extra slice of cake while still intending to nibble at my pie.” I huff, running a hand over my belly and trying to get into a comfortable position.
That makes him growl and I realize I’ve seriously overshot the sneer factor when he plants his hands beside my head and gets all up in my face, his breath billowing over my lips, making me uncomfortably aware of his nearness.
Is it wrong to be totally turnedon by his dominance right now? My mind screams yes! Totally wrong, but the rest of me is still on snail mail and rearing to go.
“Let me say this again and more clearly so that you understand. I did not touch Gia. She came to me and asked for help with her father’s business. He passed away and she has no clue how to keep the business afloat. I put her in touch with someone and that was the end of that.”
I feel like a total moron when he pulls away and stalks to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink while those eagle sharp blues drill a hole into me.
Okay, so maybe I jumped-
“Nahah! You said-”
“We were at cross purposes Rebecca! You thought that I was confessing to sleeping with her and I-”
“What? What could you possibly have thought I was talking about? Up till a day ago I was happy, okay maybe I was also a little nervous waiting for the other shoe to drop and-”
“See?” he roars and I sit back with a squeak when he hurls the glass at the wall, the sound of shattering glass ripping through the silence. “This is the problem. You are continuously looking for things to throw at me.”
Oh God, he’s scrubbing at his hair and neck, never a good sign because it means he’s so angry he doesn’t know what to do with himself, a totally non Devon occurrence.
“No I’m-”
“Yes you are. We made love at your brother’s wedding and fine; I deserved your anger when I pulled a runner but I came back and begged forgiveness. I’ve spent months trying to prove myself to you and all I ever get are snide remarks and the odd smile. Jesus, I went without sex for months trying to prove to you how much I wanted you and you think I’m stupid enough to risk it all now on a meaningless fuck with a woman I can’t stand!”
I want to listen to him, especially now that I’m pretty darn positive he’s telling the truth and we’d been at mixed buggers, but the thing is, I am so totally sure I’m in labour right now.
I can’t tell him though because as much as I want to I am not so into a lecture the whole time I’m in labour. Maybe I can hold out till he stops ranting and pretend to go lie down?
I could sneak out of the house and get to the hospital and my epidural before he finds me. Just thinking of the drugs I have schedule for the birth makes me euphoric and I grit my teeth against the pressure curling tightly through my hips.
“The thing is that I am so fucking tired of all this. I take one step forward and you push me four back. It’s a waste isn’t it Rebecca, me thinking that you will finally start trying?”
He’s calling me Rebecca? This is bad.
The pain is not unbearable as yet but the more I breathe the tighter that vice clamps lower in my abdomen.
“I told you I love you.” I grit out, taking quiet breaths through my nose.
“Yeah, but that’s it isn’t it. It’s not loving that you have trouble with its trust.”
“That’s bullshit!” I yell, covering a whimper with the anger he’s evoking.
Trust? He thinks I have trust issues? I’m not the freaking one who refused to even have a normal relationship because of some floozy who’d rejected me and my family.