The Bad Guy

“I’ll always be there for you.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Whatever you need, I’m there.”

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“All this time that we’ve been together, I’ve never given you all of me.” She glanced at the bed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” My cock hardened, very much interested in where this was going.

“And now, I’ve sort of looked at it through a different lens. I leaned on you but kept you at arm’s length. Maybe that was because I wasn’t sure about us, you know?” She pinned her thumbnail between her teeth. “The more I think about it, the more I realize how unfair that was of me.”

Fuck yes it was. “No, you weren’t ready yet. I understand. And I think I know where you’re going with this.”

Her eyebrows fell, and she cocked her head. “You do?”

I nodded. “I’m already one step ahead, babe. I feel the same way.”

Her nose crinkled. “I’m not sure if I’m being clear—”

“I know exactly what you’re saying.” Here it was, my moment. I dropped to the floor, hitting one knee as I turned to face her. “You are the one for me, Camille. Living without you isn’t an option anymore.” I pulled the ring box from my pocket and opened it.

She paled, her hand going to her mouth. Fuck yes, I’d just shocked and awed her panties right off. I could feel it.

“Will you marry me?”

46

Camille

“You just left him hanging?” Veronica’s voice came through in a screech.

I’d called her as soon as Link had left my house. No one else could walk me through the sinking pit of emotion I was mired in.

I gripped the phone far harder than necessary. “No. I mean, sort of. I told him I needed to think about it.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“No.” I fell back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. He seemed disappointed, but still hopeful?”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. Worse.”

“Worse than what?”

“I wanted to tell him that I needed some time to myself. You know, to decompress from the trip and to sort things out. Not exactly breaking up with him, I guess. More like doing a trial separation so I could clear my head. But then he got on one knee and proposed, and I sort of panicked.”

When he’d asked me to marry him, my first impulse had been dread. I should have been flattered, maybe even happy. But I didn’t understand myself anymore. There was only one constant in my mind—Sebastian. Thoughts of him pervaded every breath I took. What was he doing now? I glanced to the light overhead where Timothy had removed a tiny camera and microphone. Sebastian couldn’t watch me anymore, but indelible hints of him remained. Not in the light, or his coat, or in anything tangible—he’d gotten inside me. Even though I was free, some part of me was still bound to him.

“—Camille, you there?”

“Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

“You know I’m not big Link fan, right?”

“Yeah.” I was fairly certain Veronica wanted to kill him during the first month we were together.

“But you went on this trip, and now, suddenly, you want to separate? It’s not like you. And I’m thinking maybe you need more time to sort out how you’re feeling.” She hummed for a second. “If you still want to get rid of him after the cool down period, I’m all for it.”

The urge to tell her the truth about my “trip” rampaged through my skull but stopped before it reached my tongue. If I told her about Sebastian, she’d do something about it—call the police, march down to his office and confront him, set his house on fire—all options were on the table where she was concerned. Though I was angry with him for what he’d done to me, I didn’t want to see him behind bars. Maybe it was the Stockholm Syndrome kicking back in, but the thought of him in an institution made my insides twist.

“You’re probably right.” I glanced to Sebastian’s coat. “I need to sleep on it, at the very least. Oh, how’s your mom?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Not good. She’s still got a sharp tongue, I can verify. I’ve heard all about how I’m not eating right, dress like a floozy, and need to find a good man to take care of me.”

I laughed. “She’s just the older version of you.”

“Sicker, too.”

Here I was yapping on about my messed-up life while her mother was dying. Guilt sprinkled on top of my other emotions like poison pellets. “I’m sorry.” I wished I could have hugged her. “Is there anything—”

“No, but thanks. You’ve helped me keep my mind off it. All this worrying that you’d been kidnapped by a drug cartel and forced into sex slavery kept me occupied for the last week. Promise me you’ll tell me all about your trip over a bottle or three of red when I get back.”