Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

"Es nofa goo dea," I say.

"Not a good idea?" he translates.

I nod and swallow. "Really not. We're going to be working close together on this one, and with the compressed time frame, we'll be working late hours, too."

"Interesting," he says, then reaches for another donut.

I frown. "What is?"

He's chewing, so he simply shr

ugs. And since he's not as uncouth as me, I have to wait for him to swallow.

"I didn't realize you had so little self-control," he says. "Or is Noah the one who doesn't have a handle on himself?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just surprised to learn that you both have so little self-control that you're afraid you'll end up going at it like bunnies on the copy machine if you even suggest to each other that you're interested in that way."

"Ares . . ."

"Don't say my name that way."

"What way?"

"As if I'm being unreasonable or unfair."

I cross my arms and sit back in my chair. I know I'm being huffy, but I feel justified. "Fine. I'm listening."

"Look, all I'm saying is that you slept with the guy, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"And then you went out with him and had a good time."

I can hardly deny it.

"And you told me that you flirted with him, so in the--what?--thirty-six hours since you guys boinked like bunnies, you haven't lost interest. I mean, he still gets you hot."

"What is it with you and bunnies?"

He stares me down, and I sit back, my hands raised in surrender. "Yes. Still attracted." Understatement, much? That, however, I don't say out loud.

"And so I ask again, what's the problem?"

I try to think of what to say. Some magical words that will make Ares understand. Except he already understands--I know he does. He's known me all of my adult life. So I tell him the truth. "I don't think I can survive the hurt when he leaves again."

"How do you know he will?" His voice is gentle, and that makes it worse. Because he's being nice, and I just want to run from everything he's saying.

"Look," he continues, when I remain silent, "I get what you're afraid of. I do. And, yeah. Maybe you were dealt a shit hand. But your dad didn't leave you. He left your mom."

"Bullshit," I say. "He divorced my mom, sure. But I'm the one he left. Regular visits from the time I was four until I was seven, and then he remarries and I never see him again. Just Christmas and birthday cards, and even those stopped when Mom remarried. With my mother at least, he did it the way you're supposed to, with a judge and a court order and all that. With me, he just crept off into the shadows."

"You're right," Ares says. "I'm sorry. But he's the asshole. Don't let him paint your life."

I swallow. "Maybe so. But I seem to be a magnet for assholes. Look at Cameron's dad. And my mom, for that matter."

My mother remarried when I was nine, and Cam was born when I was ten. His father--my stepdad--left before Cam's first birthday, sneaking out in the middle of the night with only a note for my mother and not even a hug for me, even though he'd always been great to me before that. Taking me to parks, talking to me, promising me that he was my daddy now.