Tempted Heir (The Heirs 7)
Something happened, and she’s not telling me. I can feel it deep in my gut.
My body shudders, and then I pull her back against my chest. I clench my jaw because, for the first time, I wish I had pulled the trigger myself.
DASH
A kiss isn’t sexual assault. Right?
Josh bathing me… it’s not sexual assault.
Right?
It’s nothing compared to the beatings. The starvation. The thirst.
It’s really nothing in comparison to the threat of death.
I push the feelings of disgust down as far as I can.
Knowing everyone’s waiting for me to break, that they’re worried about my mental stability, I force a smile to my face and lift my head. “I’m fine,” I answer Mom. “I really don’t want to talk to a stranger about what happened.”
“You need to talk to someone,” Mom argues.
“I will.” I swallow hard on the lie. “I just need time.”
I could never tell anyone about those four days. Living through them was hard enough.
I lean into Mom and give her a hug. It’s on the tip of my tongue like a lump of scorching coal to say I love you. Instead, I swallow the words down. “Thank you for everything.”
Mom pulls back and placing her hand on my cheek, she gives me a loving smile. “I’ll come by tomorrow. Okay?”
Nodding, I move toward my father. When his arms wrap around me, I snuggle closer to him. He holds me for the longest moment until I have to force myself to pull back. “Call if you need anything. Okay? I’ll be over in a flash.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
My throat begins to close up, and I have to force my legs to move. Christopher reaches for my hand, and when he links our fingers, I tighten my grip on him.
It feels as if we’ve gone back to being friends, and it only increases my anxiety.
Should I cancel the venue?
A deep ache spreads through my chest, and I try to breathe it away as I follow him out of my parents’ house.
Maybe he’s just waiting until I’m better before he tells me he’s changed his mind.
I mean… it’s understandable. Who would want to be with someone who’s… broken.
It was hard enough for me to believe he wanted more with me before the cabin. Now it’s an impossible thought.
When we’re in the car, Christopher places his hand on my thigh. “Are you sure about going home?”
Not wanting to give him a reason to worry, I nod quickly.
He starts the engine, and silence fills the car as he drives us back to the penthouse.
When we walk into the apartment, I feel uncomfortable like a visitor. It’s silly of me. I know. But I can’t get rid of the feeling. It’s like I’m an impostor, barging in on another woman’s life.
A woman who had the world at her feet. She was happy, living her dreams.
The woman I used to be.
I follow Christopher up the stairs to his bedroom, and when he sets the bags down on the bed, I open mine. I place the dirty clothes in the laundry basket and put everything back in its place.
It feels normal and gives me something to do. Walking back to the bed, I pick up the bag and taking it into the closet, I try to slide it in on the top shelf.
Christopher comes up behind me, and when he leans into me, pushing the bag into the spot it belongs, my body stiffens.
His movements slow until he keeps still behind me.
My anxiety spikes, and afraid that the memories will resurface, I spin around.
His eyes are sharp on me, scrutinizing for the slightest reaction, and it makes me force a smile on my face. “Home, sweet home,” I say, my voice sounding tense to my own ears.
Christopher lifts a hand, and my body instantly flinches. He freezes, and when he begins to pull back, I quickly say, “It’s just a stupid reaction. It’s not you.”
He moves even slower as he places his palm against my cheek. His thumb brushes over my skin, and then he begins to lean down.
My heartbeat begins to speed up, and my body tenses.
It’s Christopher.
His lips brush over the corner of my mouth and up to my ear, and then he asks, “Is this okay?”
I nod quickly, whispering, “Of course.”
He doesn’t kiss me but instead wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.
“Tell me what happened?” he asks again.
I begin to pull free from him, mumbling, “I already did.”
Christopher doesn’t let go, and ducking his head low, he tries to make eye-contact. “You didn’t tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing more to tell,” I say, my voice too tense. Again I try to step back, and when Christopher doesn’t let go, a deep chill spreads through me. Instantly I resort to begging, “Please. I’m sorry. Please.”
Christopher moves back until he’s on the other side of the closet. “That right there tells me you haven’t told me everything. What happened, Dash,” he asks, heartbreak making his voice hoarse. “Tell me so I can try to help you.”