Villain (Hero 1.50)

We strode off together down the hall and I glanced back at Henry.

Love.

There was nothing but love in his eyes.

But something else too.

Longing.

And you could only long for something you didn’t think you really had.

You have me, Henry, I wanted to reassure him.

But will you still want me when you know me? Really know me.

Instead of reassuring him, I faced forward and walked away.

Henry had been gone on a business trip for four days and although we’d talked, I missed him. I missed him so much that I thought for sure when I saw him, those three words he was waiting on me to say would burst out of me.

He was returning on a Sunday, my day off work, so I had plenty of time to ravish the heck out of him when we reunited. I was supposed to be going to his apartment but that morning, there was a knock on my door. When I looked through the peephole, Henry was on the other side.

I threw open the door and jumped him.

To his credit, he caught me and didn’t even groan at the weight of me hitting him. Instead he wrapped one arm around my waist and the other under my ass and walked into the apartment like I weighed nothing.

He laughed while I peppered his lips and face with kisses. “If this.” Kiss. “Is how.” Kiss. “You’re going.” Kiss. “To greet me.” Kiss. “Every time I come back.” Kiss. “From business.” Kiss. “I might do it more often.”

My head snapped back. “Don’t you dare. Ahhh!” I squealed as he pushed us over the edge of the couch and fell on top of me, catching his weight at the last minute.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He kissed me long and hard until I was panting for breath when he finally let me up for air.

I hugged him hard, every part of me giddy and happy to have him home. “I missed you so much.” God, I loved his face. I loved his nose. His eyes. His smile. I loved, loved his smile.

We cuddled and petted and kissed each other, talking quietly about his business trip and about my week at work until his words grew slower, sleepier.

Lying side by side on my couch, I’d curled my leg around his hip to stop him falling off the narrow space. As he stroked my collarbone, I took note of the dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Handsome, you’re so tired,” I whispered.

He smiled wearily. “I am.”

“You should have gone straight to your bed.”

“I wanted to see you first.”

I kissed him softly, grateful for him more than I could say. The truth was that these last weeks with Henry had been the first time in a very long time that I hadn’t felt lonely. Not even a little. “Let me take care of you,” I said, caressing his unshaven cheek. “If you could have anything right now, what would it be? Nonsexual,” I hurried to add.

He smirked, his eyes glazing with exhaustion. “Sunshine, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I’ve been craving banana bread from Flour,” he mumbled, snuggling into me.

I grinned against his ear. Banana bread was not what I’d been expecting but the bakery was only a twenty-minute walk from my apartment in Lower Roxbury. “I’ll go get you some.”

“You don’t have to.”

I kissed behind his ear. “I want to.”

“Okay. That’d be nice.”

How could this man be so sexy and yet so adorable? I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and climbed over him to get off the couch. He was so out of it, he rolled into the space I’d left. As always, I was overwhelmed by the sheer affection I felt for him. To stop myself from bursting into tears like the emotional watering pot I’d become lately, I dragged the throw off the back of the couch and covered him. Then I removed his shoes and placed them on the floor by the couch.

Less than five minutes later, I was walking out of my apartment on a mission to get Henry’s banana bread.

Cool fall wind whipped my hair behind me and I shrugged the collar of my coat up around my neck. We were having a particularly cold October this year, something my viewers were not happy to hear. They were tweeting me during the show, some pleading with me to give them good news, others cursing me like it was my fault our fall weather was off to a crappy start.

To be honest, I didn’t mind the cold. I hated the wind and the rain but I liked the dry, crisp, cold mornings. Especially if the sun was out like it was today.

At Flour, I was lucky to get the last of the banana bread and I threw in some cinnamon crème brioche for myself, even though I wouldn’t have time to go to the gym today to work them off. Grabbing coffees to go, I could only describe my mood as blissfully content. I was having one of those days where every negative thought was banished under the naïve belief that things could really stay in a suspended state of “fucking great.”

I think I could have gotten through the entire day on that feeling.

But someone else had other plans.

Daydreaming about future Sundays with Henry, I was jolted into reality when I turned the corner off Washington and walked into a solidly built male.

The coffee I was carrying was knocked out of my hands, hitting the ground and splashing over both our shoes and calves. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I gasped, as we both instinctively jumped back.

And then I looked up into his face to apologize again. Fear froze the words in my throat.

Quentin James was frowning down at his shoes and trousers.

He looked up, irritation mixed with something akin to smugness. “Not exactly how I was planning for us to meet.”

“What are you doing here?”

The loud buzz of traffic blared behind me, drawing his annoyed gaze. “Let’s walk.”

“Let’s not.” I stepped back. “Move out of my way.”

“Is that any way to greet an old lover?” He smirked.

Staring into his dark eyes, I wondered how I could have been so naïve as to once think he had the eyes of a poet. Dear God, I was such an idiot. Once upon a time, I’d thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen with his perfect thick hair waved back from his face and full mouth like a sullen male model’s. His irresponsible lifestyle seemed to have caught up with him, however, because there were deep lines in his face that hadn’t been there before, and his hair was almost completely gray.

He used to have a year-round smooth tan; now he was pale, and his cheekbones looked hollow, like he’d lost quite a bit of weight.

“I thought when you stopped calling and sending me flowers that you’d finally gotten the message than I’m not interested in talking with you ever, let alone reconciling.”

“Oh, we’re past that,” he narrowed his eyes on me, “since you started spreading for someone higher up the food chain.”

Rage coursed through me. “It was never about that for me, you son of a bitch.”

He tsked. “I wouldn’t piss me off, darling. I hold all your dreams of marrying a Lexington in my hands.”

As quickly as I’d flushed with anger, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. “What do you want?”

Quentin scowled. “I’m in a bit of financial bother. Some gambling debts.”

I waited, a knot tightening in my stomach.

“I saw how well you were doing for yourself and thought maybe you might have the money to help me, but you aren’t the doe-eyed girl I remember. So I found the money elsewhere.”

Revulsion that I’d slept with this man, a man who had chased me down after years only to get money out of me, rolled through my stomach. “What the hell are you doing here now?”

“I’m in trouble again. And apparently, you’re practically engaged to one of the wealthiest men on the East Coast.”

A ringing sounded in my ears. Astonishment. Disbelief. What the fuck? “Seriously?”

“Let’s not make a scene.”

God, he was such a smarmy, sleazy asshole! How could it be possible that his grimy hands had touched me?

“I hate you.”

“I couldn’t give a damn.” He sighed impatiently. “I’m just going to lay it out for you. I need fifty thousand dollars. You’re going to return to that crappy little apartment of yours and tell the man who is currently inside of it that you’re in trouble and need the money. If you don’t, I will tell him who you really are and what you’re really capable of.”

He’d been watching me. Us. Nausea surged and only my anger kept it at bay. “I didn’t do anything.”

Hatred burned out of his eyes. “We both know that’s not true. You ruined lives. Why should you get to ride off into a fairy tale while the rest of us are destroyed?”

Furious tears stung my nose and eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m resourceful. There’s a difference.” He stepped to the side, gesturing for me to pass. “You’ve got forty-eight hours until I knock on your door.”

Shooting him one last murderous glare, I hurried past, needing to put as much distance between us as possible. I spent the rest of the walk back to my apartment alternating between looking over my shoulder and screaming inside my own head.

I didn’t know what to do.

What the hell did I do?