Wild Sexy Hurt (Wild Sexy 3)

I started walking—fast.

“Daphne.” I heard a car door slam then his steps as he hurried toward me. I didn’t slow my pace, but he caught up and stopped in front of me, blocking me with the massive breadth of his body. “Daphne, please wait. I just want to talk.”

It wasn’t fair on my senses to have to deal with being so close to him. It wasn’t fair that my nose was filled with his scent, that even though I hadn’t lifted my gaze, my eyes had to deal with the sight of his body in front of me, clad in one of his superbly tailored bespoke suits.

I had a hard time raising my gaze to his. I had a hard time looking at the face I had come to love. I felt like I was breaking into pieces. Everything beautiful about him was painful to see—his dark hair that had been home to my fingers so many times that even now, I could practically feel the texture on my fingertips like a sensual, tactile memory, his firm lips, his piercing eyes, gray like a dark overcast sky—his perfection was like knives ripping at my heart. I was in pieces, and he looked like a god.

“Get out of my way,” I hissed through my teeth.

“We need to talk.” His voice was steady and soft, and it washed over me like a comfortable blanket. “Daphne.” He reached for me, and I flinched, almost stumbling backward in my desperation to avoid his touch.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His hands dropped to his sides, and his chest rose as he inhaled deeply. There were lines of strain around his eyes, and on closer inspection, I noticed his face was drawn and tired.

Not that I cared.

“I can explain,” he said softly.

“Jason,” I replied, spitting out his name like it tasted bitter on my tongue. “I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.”

A few people glanced at us as they walked past. I didn’t care. I’d make a spectacle of myself before I let him lie to me again.

Jason ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know you’re angry, Christ! You have every reason to be, but I deserve a chance to explain, at least. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Oh no, Jason.” My laugh was scornful and bitter. “We can’t go somewhere to talk, because I’d rather tear my eardrums out than listen to you.”

His eyes were pleading. “Don’t do this,” he said.

“Do what?” I exclaimed. “Fuck you, Jason. Fuck you. What more do you want? You’ve proven your sick point. Even a nun would break her vows for you—that’s how hot you are. You nailed the girl who was supposed to be staying away from sex. Hurray! Now go on to your next conquest.”

He took a step toward me. “Daphne, you know it wasn’t like that.”

I never wanted you to be alone again.

I snorted. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“So, you’re really going to throw away what we have because you’re pissed about something I said before I even met you?” He sounded incredulous, like I was overreacting, like he wasn’t the one who had betrayed my trust.

I let out a short laugh. “First of all, we have nothing. Second, I’m not pissed about what you said. I’m pissed about who you are, and how I thought even for a second that maybe you were different.”

“Daphne…”

“No.” I pulled in a sharp breath and met his gaze even though looking into the storm in his eyes intensified the stabbing pains in my heart. “I never want to see you again, Jason. You’ve done enough. Thanks for showing me that instead of worrying about being alone, I should have been more concerned about running into an emotionally empty liar like you.”

“I didn’t lie to you about how I feel.” His voice was strained, urging me to believe him. “I wasn’t playing a game with you. I want to be with you and nothing I’ve done or said to you since I met you had anything to do with what I said to Amy a long time ago.”

My lips curled. “Lucky me.”

“I’m not lying, Daphne.” His eyes raked my face, looking almost desperate. “Look at me. You’re not a game to me.”

I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. I couldn’t even bring myself to really listen to what he was saying. He’d hurt me, and I just couldn’t bear to be around him anymore. “Leave me alone, Jason. Please.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, his chest contracting as he exhaled. Looking at him reminded me how safe and happy I’d felt in his arms, how I’d believed I’d found my home. It hurt like hell. “Just go away,” I whispered. “And stay away.”

He held my gaze, his eyes clouded by something that looked like pain. “You know I can’t.”

Why did he look so sincere, so earnest? He’d gotten what he wanted. Why did he even care anymore?