Same with women.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt them. But it wasn’t all because he was some damn hero. It was because he hadn’t wanted to be hurt.
But he hurt now.
Abbi had been right.
He’d meant to be nothing more than a dumb jock for her. Good for fun and fucking. So easy and achievable, and in the process he’d boost her confidence and play out an old school fantasy.
She wasn’t supposed to rip him open and hold his most deeply buried fear up in front of him. She wasn’t supposed to make him want more from her. She wasn’t supposed to make him want everything he’d sworn he didn’t need.
Yeah, now he realized what he really wanted. Honesty. Emotion. Trust.
Security.
Not financial. But warmth. The comfort of knowing he was loved and cared for and wanted.
By her. Only Abbi.
He wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to turn to him on anything or everything. He hated being shut out.
Sure, he’d fallen for her body—he’d dived right in and feasted on every succulent inch of her flesh. But while her body might have captured his cock, it was her personality that had imprisoned his heart. His head. His whole damn mind was devoted to her, like she was queen of some cult.
And it hurt like fuck. Because he’d pushed her away. He’d turned his back on what she might have offered—because what she’d offered had scared the crap out of him.
Only now did he realize what he’d done.
He stayed in his apartment all the next day, pacing, pretending to do paperwork. But all the while his distress built. He hated himself for being so cruel to her. He stared at his phone. It rang. He didn’t answer. There was only one person he wanted to talk to and she wasn’t calling. She never would.
It was down to him to fix it. Only he had no idea how. He, who’d never chased a woman, now had the hunt of his life on.
Finally, in the evening, he touched her name on his contacts screen. A minute later he ended the call. No point leaving a message. He’d go for face-to-face.
Twenty minutes later he was on her doorstep waiting for her to open the door. But there was silence. No light on inside.
No answer.
He tensed. Rapped his knuckles hard on her door again. She’d always been home the other nights he’d come around. She’d always been there for him when he’d wanted her.
Now she wasn’t. Not physically or emotionally.
So where the hell was she?
His blood ran cold. It was Friday night. Was she out on a date already? Was she off doing more research for her app? Possibly not. Probably not. Because the app was done.
Damn. Of course that’s where she was. At that freaking party. Beautiful. On her mission. Fully prepared. All weapons—skills—at the ready.
In his tormented, self-flagellating state, he imagined the worst. Abbi with another guy. Abbi sharing all that enthusiasm and laughter and soft generosity with someone else.
Bile flooded his mouth.
No.
That is not what he wanted. He wanted to be her guy. He wanted her.
Now it really fucking hit him. What he wanted was so much more than just to talk to her. To be friends. To bury himself in her wet heat.
He wanted all of her. For all the time. He didn’t want to go back to how his life had been. Because it had been empty before her. And he’d only just realized it.
He’d been such an arrogant ass. To think he had it all sorted out? Spending his life being Mr. Successful, going from fling to fling—one woman to another. It had been so easy to keep them at a distance. But not Abbi.
He ached for the warmth she brought. He’d liked caring for her. Thinking about what she’d like. Putting someone—her—first.
And she’d let him. At least in the bedroom for a time.
Yeah, she was right, he was a total coward. He’d cut people from his life—those who’d gotten too close. Those with the power to hurt. He’d told himself it was in their best interests. But it wasn’t—it was in his. Protective. So maybe he needed to try what she’d suggested. Reach out. Try to connect.
His palms were damp as he fished for his phone again. All these years he’d kept his sister’s number—kidding himself it was because he could never be bothered to go through and clear up his contacts list. But Brooke’s name was there. Brooke’s number.
She’d be his test run. If he could talk to her, then maybe he’d be brave enough to hunt down Abbi.
…
Abbi had been damn determined not to let her misery interfere with her work and thought she’d succeeded quite well. All she’d done was work. For hours. All through the night. She’d crashed at Nadia’s apartment, showered, and continued with all the party prep. They’d turned the downstairs studio and meeting rooms into a mock palace. Over the top. Decadent.