CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
OLIVIA GROUNDED HIM. She smoothed his jagged edges and anchored him in the present when the ghosts of his past fought to control him. No one else did that for him. No one could. Respecting her and just generally wanting to be around her only added to how incredible their connection was. Throw in mind-blowing sex and a near-constant erection in her presence, and well, fuck, he was one hundred percent sure he’d never meet another woman who ticked all those boxes.
In thirty-nine years, she’d been the only one. Where would he find another?
So if she were about to tell him she’d decided to return to Chicago and her rich-as-fuck sugar daddy, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.
Not after he’d carved his heart out of his chest and handed it over to her.
He rolled to his back, letting go of her. The loss hit him hard. How was it possible to be so used to the feel of her against him so quickly? To need it as much as he liked it?
“What is it?” he asked as he fixated on the recently painted white ceiling. If he looked at her, he’d crack. Possibly beg her to choose him like some kind of pussy.
Her presence shrank. Olivia wasn’t small in personality. At first, he’d assumed it was narcissism or an overly inflated ego. Now, he suspected her outward confidence and standoffish behavior hid a world of hurt and insecurity. So to feel her deflate as he pulled away killed him.
“What?” he asked again, this time with a venom he couldn’t mask.
“Um.” She cleared her throat, then propped herself up on her elbow. The beautiful face he lov—liked so much stared down at him with agony in her eyes. “I’ve thought about this so much. What to say. And now I can’t figure out where to begin.”
He wouldn’t let those sad eyes pull him in. Not until he found out how deep she was about to drive the knife into his heart. “Just fucking say it. Cut to it.”
“Okay.” Pressing her lips together, she nodded. After a prolonged inhale and exhale, she spoke. “I left Chicago because I witnessed my fiancé on a security camera raping a woman in the garage of his office building. If you want all the details, I’ll tell you the whole story, but the bottom line is that she was drugged. He paid money for her, and she was in absolutely no position to consent to anything. He caught me. He knows I saw.”
What. The. Fuck!
Ice crystals formed in Scott’s bloodstream as his brain tried to catch up to her words.
She wrung her hands and stared at the mattress between them. “Uh, so, I ran. Literally. I ditched my phone, bought a crappy car, and emptied my accounts. I have money in a trust he wasn’t aware of, so I have security and sufficient funds to keep running, but he’s searching for me.”
“Jesus Christ.” She’d been dealing with this shit for weeks? He pushed her onto her back, then rolled on top of her, pinning her arms above her head. Nothing but trust shone in her eyes. “So you came to me because Deke told you I’d be here if you needed someone and he wasn’t around?”
Those beautiful green eyes held worry and uncertainty, but the trust remained. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. Normally, he’d find the move sexy and go in for a taste, but her story rendered his dick lifeless.
“And I treated you like shit.” Christ, he was a fucking asshole.
“No,” she rushed to say, squeezing his hands. “Scott, please don’t feel—”
He kissed the words right off her mouth. “Don’t defend me. Deke would’ve whooped my ass and rightfully so. Don’t fucking defend my shitty behavior.”
“It’s in the past. We’re past it,” she said with a hint of desperation as though she needed him to agree.
They’d moved beyond those first few weeks, but the shame of how he’d treated her would linger for a long time. “We’re past it.” He kissed her again. Fuck, he’d never get enough of those lips. “Doesn’t mean I can’t feel like an asshole for how I treated you.” But they had a more pressing issue than his piss-poor attitude. “What are the chances this motherfucker will find you here?”
Sagging into the mattress, she shook her head. “I don’t know. He somehow found my new phone number and has been texting me the past few days.”
“What?” He exploded off her body and ran to her purse. His swinging dick, still coated in her arousal, barely registered. “This fucker has been contacting you? Threatening you?”
“Uh, yes,” she squeaked.
He grabbed her phone from the tiny purse that probably cost more than everything he owned, not including his beloved boots. After thumbing it open with the passcode she’d shared the day before, he went straight for the text messages. Normally, he wouldn’t violate her privacy by reading her personal shit, but a rapist ex-fiancé changed the game.