Bound Temptations: Stories of Temptation and Submission (17 page)

Taking
her
life
.

And she’d known him—trusted
him…

“
Oh God,” she whispered,
swiping the tears away. “This has to get better. It has
to…”

But so far, it wasn’t. There
were days, sure, when she could get by without thinking of him,
thinking of that night. The attack. But all it took was a certain
touch, or for a man to look at her in a certain way. Or even a
glimpse of a picture…

Sadly, even looking at her
wedding picture was enough.

She liked her sex kinky and
rough sometimes, and she’d been lucky enough to marry a guy who’d
liked to give it to her kinky and rough.

Losing him, that other half
of her, had been brutal. The year that followed had been awful, but
she’d been dealing with it. Adjusting.

Kent, though, he hadn’t
coped with his twin’s loss well.

Beg me,
bitch. Don’t try to act like you don’t want it
…

“
No,” she whispered,
pressing her face into the pillow and shuddering.

She swallowed a sob as tears
leaked out of her eyes. Fought back the ugly, hated memories. And
wondered what it was going to take for her to get her life
back.

She shuffled into the
kitchen less than two hours later, feeling like she’d been
battered. Her head ached, her eyes were gritty and her throat was
raw from crying.

She was spending today the
same way she’d spent it a year ago, trying to cope and just get
through it. She didn’t want to, but damn it, she didn’t know how to
stop this ugly cycle in her head either, didn’t know how to block
out the image of Kent’s face—so like Kyle’s…

A moan rose in her throat
and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Stop it,” she muttered.
“Just stop.”

Shoving a hand through her
hair, she muttered, “Coffee. Get coffee. Turn on the damn TV. Watch
a movie.”

She was going to make it
through the day. She promised herself that.

Five
minutes later, she had her coffee. She had a movie picked out. She
was almost
calm
,
even. For her, considering what day it was.

It took only a phone call to
shatter it all.

She was walking past the
phone when it rang.

Tania froze, staring at it.
Icy sweat broke out over her flesh when she saw the
number.

It was a cellular number,
one she’d known for years—the number she’d ignored
yesterday.

And here she was, calling
again today.

Because her hand was shaking
so hard, she set her coffee cup down. Hand curled into a fist, she
stared at her ringing phone.

“
I’m not answering,” she
whispered. “I’m not.”

After the
fourth ring, Gail Sinclair’s voice rang in the air. “You’re awake,
Tania. I know you are. I see your lights.” There was a pause, then
a soft, shaking breath. “I know today is as hard on you as it is on
me—well, maybe not as hard. After all, you only lost your husband.
I lost both of my sons. You
took
both
of them from me. But I know it’s
difficult for you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be
awake.”

Tania didn’t have to wonder
how Gail could see her lights.

The woman
must be sitting in her car out in front of Tania’s house. Damn it,
had Kyle been the only
sane
person in that family?

Swallowing, she closed her
eyes. Told herself to walk away.

“
You’ll never heal as long
as you hide from what happened. I know I won’t get justice for what
happened to Kent. But you need to come clean, Tania. Otherwise,
you’ll still be doing this next January 5. Awake, sobbing,
crying…living with the guilt as it eats you alive.”

“
It’s
already doing that,” Tania muttered. “But it’s not
guilt
that’s eating me up,
damn it.”

“
My son
was no
rapist
,”
Gail said, her voice breaking. “How could you tell such ugly lies?
Why won’t you just tell the truth? Why—”

The phone
disconnected.

The
truth
.

Tania laughed, an ugly,
broken sound even to her own ears.

Guilt…
She shook her head. Did she deal
with guilt? She had some, to an extent, she supposed, but it was so
lost in the pain, in the misery—she only
wished
her main problem was guilt. She
was too busy trying to function with the rest of it, with
the
fear
, with
the
anger
, with the
desperate desire to just
get her life
back
…

Tania only wished her one
problem was guilt.

She could cope with
guilt.

Because
she knew, at the end of it all, if she had to do it again, she
would. She’d killed a man before he could hurt her again—that was
it, plain and simple. And she didn’t regret
that
. She also didn’t regret knowing
that Kent would
never
do that to another woman.

No, what
she regretted was not having the clarity to reach for her gun
sooner. Not having the strength to get away from him and stop
him
before
.

Swallowing, she shook her
head and whispered, “It’s not guilt that’s killing me,
Gail.”

Did Gail
really want the damn
truth
?

Well, Gail…here’s the truth.
I like rough sex. I like kinky sex. Your good son—the one I was
married to? He had the same tastes and we use to act out all these
nasty games where he would pretend to rape me, where I would
pretend to fight him. We loved it.

At some
point, he told his brother about it—the stupid jerk.
Oh, there was some guilt there. She was pissed off
at the husband she’d adored—mad at him for sharing something so
private. Yeah,
there
was some guilt.

So Kent
comes home from Iraq and he’s messed up from the war, messed up
from losing his brother and I don’t know, but somehow, he decides
what
he
needs to do
is step into his brother’s shoes—except I
didn’t want him to!
When I told him
no, I meant it, but he wouldn’t stop it!

Tania laughed again, but it
felt and sounded more like a sob. She stumbled, caught herself on
the counter. Leaning forward, she slammed her head into the oak
cabinet in front of her, welcomed the pain. Abruptly, she swung
out, punched it with her closed fist. It hurt—gloriously. More
pain—

She hit it again, again,
again.

It wasn’t until she saw the
bright red splatter that she realized she was bleeding.

Shaken,
she stared at the back of her hand. Swollen and bloody, the
knuckles torn, and now that she was aware of it, it
hurt
. A
lot.

“
Aw, shit,” she
muttered.

That was it.

Things were going to change,
damn it.

She was taking her life
back.

Taking her
memories…taking
herself
back.

Although he couldn’t say he
minded, Drake wasn’t exactly planning on seeing Tania here
today.

Not that
he
minded
. No,
Drake always considered his days better for seeing her. He hadn’t
ever let her know that—her or anybody else.

Especially not Kyle. He
figured it couldn’t ever be a good idea to let your best friend
know you had a thing for his wife.

The poor bastard. Drake
wished he was still here—their lives would have been so much
easier, so much better if the man hadn’t died. Tania’s for certain.
Even Drake’s, not that it had ever sat well with him for him to be
dreaming over Tania—which he had done for years.

Hell, he still dreamed about
her. Still longed for her, still wanted her.

Still had the same damn
reaction, a very visceral, very basic reaction when he saw Tania
Sinclair. A very immediate one. One that had been the same for
going on five years now—he got hard as a damn pike.

Seeing her saunter into his
garage on that cold January day made him ache even as it made him
smile. Even as it made him grieve. Even as he searched her face for
signs of a sleepless night, for signs of misery, for signs of
restlessness.

He couldn’t see her without
thinking about Kyle, and he couldn’t think about her without
remembering a day when he’d seen far more of that woman than a guy
should ever see of his best friend’s wife.

Now his widow.

He shoved up off the ground
and grinned at her. “Hey, beautiful. How are you?”

“
I’m good, Drake. And you?”
The solemn smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her
eyes.

He shrugged. “Can’t
complain, I guess.” He studied her dark brown eyes, hating the
shadows he saw there. “Have to say, my day is always better for
seeing you. Did you sleep okay?”

“
Well enough, considering.”
She shrugged.

He knew she wasn’t talking
about the margaritas. Nodding, he said, “That’s good.”

She gave him a tight smile
and glanced away. “Ah, well. I was wondering. Maybe you could come
over for dinner. A way to say thanks.”

“
You don’t need to thank me,
Tania,” he said gruffly.

“
I know.” Nibbling on her
lip, she paused, then added, “Actually, I just…well. I like
spending time with you, talking with you.”

If she’d
popped him in the nose, he didn’t think he would have been any more
surprised. Was she asking him on a date? Then he wanted to kick
himself—she wouldn’t be asking him on a date. Hell, even if
she
was
attracted
to him, and he wasn’t exactly expecting that, but even if she was,
she wouldn’t be doing it today.

But he couldn’t say no to
Tania.

“
Sure,” he said, feigning a
casualness he didn’t quite feel. “When were you
planning?”

“
Tonight?” She blurted it
out like she had to make herself say it, and the stress he saw in
her eyes was like a fist around his heart. “I mean, if you don’t
have plans? I know it’s Friday, but…”

“
Nah. No plans. Just tell me
what time.”

“
Seven. Nothing fancy.” She
gave him another solemn smile. And then, to his surprise, she moved
closer and pressed her lips to his cheek.

He wanted, more than
anything, to turn his head and capture her mouth with
his.

But he held still, gave her
another friendly, easy smile.

One he held until she was
out of his garage. It wasn’t until he saw her drive off that he let
himself collapse back against the car behind him.

“
Fuck,” he muttered, wincing
as he pressed his hand against the swollen ridge of his cock. He
hoped the coveralls he wore had camouflaged it. The last thing that
woman needed was to know he had to fight the urge to mentally
undress her every time he saw her.

After what that bastard Kent
had done to her, she probably couldn’t stand the thought of sex
anymore.

One more thing the monster
should rot in hell for—he had a whole list of sins, Drake knew, but
what he’d done to Tania…

He shoved off the car,
started to pace. Absently, he reached up, rubbing the back of his
neck. Almost everybody who’d known Kent had been in shock after his
death—after what he’d done, after Tania had shot him in
self-defense— but Drake hadn’t. They didn’t want to believe what
they heard, despite how battered she’d been.

Drake hadn’t had any trouble
believing it. He knew too many things about Kent. Fuck, if he’d
known that bastard had a thing for her, he would have been camping
out on her doorstep, watching over her.

And not just because she’d
been Kyle’s wife, not just because she was his best friend’s widow
and he owed Kyle that.

Not just because he’d been
obsessing over her ever since that day five years ago, not even
just because he’d been in love with her for longer than
that.

Although that day—that day
five years ago…

She acted like she’d
forgotten. He wondered if she had.

Five years ago

The last thing Drake had
expected to hear when he used his key to let himself into their
house was that low, husky voice, Tania’s voice, all but
shouting.

All but begging.

“
Please don’t. I’ll do
whatever you want, just don’t hurt me again…”