“Whoa, El…” He wrapped his arms around her, catching her before she hit the floor. “Holy shit.”
His voice confirmed her dreaded realization.
Frustration, hurt, anger bubbled up inside her in something that felt a lot like hysteria. But everything was spinning and fading. Her limbs weren't working. And the fear kept rising like a tide, rolling in on wave after wave until it overwhelmed her.
Her chest squeezed so tight, she couldn't draw enough air. Her throat thickened until she thought it would close. She clutched at his jacket sleeves, as if having that fabric fisted in her hands would help her breathe.
From there, everything took on a dark haze. She had a vague notion of being moved, of being lowered to the floor, of someone speaking to her, but a buzz filled her ears, along with her every breath, her every heartbeat. Her brain remained soaked in panic and darkness. She didn't
know how long. Didn't remember the what, where, why, or who of it all.
When the buzz finally quieted, a voice reached her. “You're okay. You're safe. Use your breathing, El. One, two, three…”
Her lungs responded as if they'd been trained to voice commands, and in the amount of time it took to snap fingers, air filled her lungs to his count of eight. Her head cleared. Her nerves smoothed.
“There you go,” he said, his voice calm, warm, soothing. “Open those pretty eyes for me, Ellie.”
Ellie. The name brought so much pleasure, her ribs ached.
She forced her lids up and blinked to focus into beautiful chocolaty brown eyes.
Troy's eyes.
Her heart flooded with emotion-love, longing, loss.
He smiled, showing a perfect row of bright white teeth and small lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Neither of which he'd had last time she'd seen him.
Seven years ago.
She sat up too fast, and her brain spiraled. She slammed her eyes shut and covered them with her hand, groaning a curse.
“You scared the shit out of me, El,” he said before pulling her into the circle of his arms.
She wanted nothing more than to stay there, safe and warm and close to him. Oh, how long she'd craved the feeling of his arms around her again. Her mind seemed to stretch and expand, reaching for something. For time and place. For some sort of explanation.
And it all came back in a rush. The club. The devil. Troy.
“Oh shit,” she rasped, scrambling away. The cold tile beneath her made her glance around, and a whole different reality hit her-she was in the bathroom of the banquet room, with a hundred people upstairs.
Her past, her present, and her future slammed together in the worst possible way.
“Good God.” She rolled to her knees, and her head swayed. Squeezing her eyes closed against the spin, she steadied herself with a hand against the wall.
“Ellie, don't try to stand yet.”
A sound bubbled from her throat, half attempt to speak, half denial. “Troy, what…? Why…? How…?”
Every syllable seemed to hammer another sliver of reality into her head, and it rattled her brain so hard, she felt it all the way to her teeth.
Holy mother of God. She'd fucked him.
A sob escaped her, and she covered her mouth with both hands. Tears swelled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Thoughts raced through her brain, but nothing escaped but sounds of dread and dismay. It was too much. All too much. She forced herself to her feet and used the counter to keep her there.
Someone tried to push into the bathroom, and the door hit Troy's back. Fear hit Giselle like ice water. She grabbed paper towels and pressed them over her mouth, stifling another sob.
“Sorry,” he called through the door. “We just need a minute.” Then to Giselle, “I'm really sorry, El. I never expected-”
She cut a look at him in the mirror that stopped his words. But she couldn't begin to come up with anything coherent to say from the mess inside. She spun and lifted her hands, fighting to keep her voice down, half-pleading, half-demanding, “What the hell, Troy?”