Sweet Deception (32 page)

“The night of the Christmas party, I told you my fears. I admitted the reason that I hadn't let anyone close—because after what happened to my parents and then your brother, it seemed easier to cut myself off than risk losing someone I loved again. But despite that, I opened up to you.” He took a deep breath, and then said, “And that's because I love you, Charlotte.” I looked up at him, shocked. It was the last thing I'd expected him to say. A rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So help me, I do.”

His words were lovely. They were everything that any woman would want to hear. However, he was speaking them with regret rather than the passion that usually accompanied such a declaration. His eyes were sad, and I could sense a “but” coming.

“But”—and there it was—“I can't keep watching you destroy yourself like this. So I'm giving you an ultimatum. You either come with me now, or I walk away. Because I
can't stand by and watch you ruin your life any longer.”

“Seriously?” This felt like more familiar territory. A chance to start a fight. It was easier than letting him know how hurt I felt. “You're threatening me now?”

“No.” Richard's voice was firm but even. “At least, that's not what I'm trying to do. I'm asking nicely, even though I don't have to.” He cast a glance around the room, and gave a rueful smile. “I could punch out these guys and throw you over my shoulder, and force you to leave, if I really wanted. But what would be the point in that? This needs to be your decision. You either want to move on or you don't. I've tried to help these past few months, because I could see you going down a bad path, and I cared about you enough to want to help. But there's only so much I can do. This needs to be your choice. That's the only way it will ever work.

“But equally I need to make a choice for myself, too. You're self-destructive, which makes you the worst person for someone like me to be with. But still I've tried to make this work. Even though I knew it was in my best interests to stay away from you, I couldn't. Because I'm in love with you. But there's only so far that can take us.”

His handsome face was distorted with raw pain. I couldn't hold his gaze. I felt too ashamed that I was the one to cause him such distress.

“I want to be with you,” he went on, “but you need to want to be with me too—at least enough to stop acting out
like this. Because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I won't put myself through that.”

He stood then, and held out his hand.

“So, Charlotte, what's it going to be? Are you coming with me, or staying here? Because the choice is yours.”

I looked from his hand to his face and then back again as I considered my answer.

I continued to stare at the hand that Richard held out to me. It was as though everyone else in the room had faded into the background, and all that remained was us, and the choice he was asking me to make. I wanted so much to reach out and slip my hand into his, to let him lead me out of here. But for some reason I couldn't.

I folded my arms around me. As much as I wanted to go with him, it just seemed too hard. All I could think about was the conversation we needed to have about what had happened to me, and how I'd then have to deal with his reaction. He'd never be able to look at me in the same way again—to him I would always be a victim. And I couldn't stand the thought of that.

I looked up at Richard. My hesitation said it all. He must have seen the decision on my face, and I watched as his expression turned from hope to resignation. His hand closed
into a fist and dropped to his side.

“All right, then.” He sighed wearily. “If this is what you want.”

I dropped my eyes to the beer-stained carpet, unable to watch as he turned and walked towards the door, away from me and out of my life forever. I felt a wave of emptiness wash over me, a loneliness that was almost palpable. I could feel my heartbeat speeding up, as panic engulfed me.

“You ready to get out of here?” The voice intruded on my thoughts. I looked up to see Gavin standing above me, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. He swayed a little, clearly half-cut. I knew exactly what he was offering me: a night of drunken, meaningless sex. Safe in its familiarity.

And then it struck me—what the hell was I doing? Was I really so damaged that I was prepared to settle for a lifetime of empty nights over the chance of something real with someone who cared about me? Because if I let Richard walk away now, wasn't that like allowing Toby to win again? Did I really want him to continue having that power over me?

As Richard had said, this was my choice.

“Wait.” My voice rang out across the bar, over the music and the chatter. As I got to my feet, customers sitting nearby stopped talking and turned to look at me. Richard reached for the handle of the door, appearing not to have heard me. “Richard, wait.”

He paused. I was already running towards him as he turned back. I saw his eyes light up as he realised that I'd changed my mind. A split second later, I flung myself at him. His arms closed around me, lifting me clean off the floor as he swept me up in his embrace. I buried my face into his broad shoulder, as he kissed the top of my head. And behind us, I heard the pub burst into a round of applause.

*  *  *

Richard drove us back to his apartment. He called my parents before we set off to let them know that he'd found me and I was safe, but after that, we didn't speak. It was as though he realised that whatever we had to say to each other, it wasn't something that could be discussed in the car.

At his place, Richard made coffee, while I perched on the edge of the couch. I knew I should be using this time to come up with a good way to tell him about Toby, but somehow the exact words were eluding me. How did you tell someone something like that? My only experience so far had been with my sister, and look how well that had turned out. What if Richard rejected me too?

But it was too late to worry about that now, I realised, as Richard carried over two mugs of steaming coffee, and set them on the low table.

“So,” he said, as he joined me on the sofa, “are you ready to tell me what all that was about tonight?”

I took a long sip of coffee, as he left his untouched. Finally I set the mug down on the table. I was aware of Richard studying me, waiting for me to speak. In coming with him tonight, I'd made an implicit decision to be up front with him. There was no stalling any longer.

“Yes,” I said finally. “Yes, I am ready to tell you about tonight.” I raised my eyes to meet his. “I just hope you're ready to hear it.”

*  *  *

It was easier telling the story this time around. Richard listened silently as I spoke. I started at the beginning, and ran through all the events of that summer seven years ago, like I had done with Dr. Milton, so he could understand exactly what had happened in the lead up to the night of Kate's twenty-first birthday.

As I started to talk about meeting Toby in the barn, I could see his face begin to darken, as it slowly dawned on him what had happened to me. As I reached the part where Toby had held me down, he got up from the couch, and started to pace the floor like a caged animal, cracking his knuckles in a primal way that seemed almost alien compared with his usually composed self.

“And you told your sister this tonight?” he asked, once I'd finished. I nodded in confirmation. “And she didn't believe you?” I nodded again, and he swore loudly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn't realise you knew words like that.”

But he didn't appear to hear me. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

I frowned up at him. “What're you doing?” I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

“I'm going through my contact list.” Richard spoke with quiet deliberation, but I could hear the fury beneath his carefully controlled words. “I'm going to call that piece of scum and find out where he is. And then I'm going to end him.”

My heart began to pound in my chest. That was the last thing I wanted. As much as I liked the fact that he hadn't questioned my story, had accepted every word I said as true and was primed to avenge me, that wasn't what I wanted right now. Whatever I decided to do about Toby, I knew I needed to give it some thought.

“No, Richard.” I spoke forcefully enough that he stopped what he was doing and looked over at me. I got up from the couch and walked to him. Reaching up, I placed my hands on either side of his face, holding him fast, so that he was forced to look directly at me. “That's not what I want.”

He frowned down at me, his eyes searching mine, as he seemed to be trying to process what it was I was asking of him. I could feel the tension in his body, his instinctive reaction to what I'd told him. But I kept hold of him, my gaze
remaining locked on his as I silently pleaded with him to do as I asked. Gradually his breathing began to ease.

“All right,” he said finally. He slipped his phone back in his pocket, and reached up and covered my hands with his own, gently pulling them away from his face. “What do you want from me, then? Because I'll do anything you ask.”

I smiled softly at that. I'd worried about how he would react to hearing that I'd been raped—that he might pity me, or feel embarrassed, or no longer know how to act around me. But instead he was just offering to be whatever I needed right now.

And I already knew what that was.

“I want us to finish what we started last Saturday night,” I said.

Hearing those words, Richard's body went very still. His brow furrowed as he fully digested what I meant. “Are you sure that's such a good idea? After everything you'd gone through tonight, maybe you should take a few days to think things through. Because, believe me, you've got nothing to prove—”

“I know that. But it's what I want. In fact, it's what I need,” I corrected myself.

I'd realised that tonight. My best revenge on Toby would be to prove to myself that I could move past what he'd done—that I could be with someone I cared about, and who cared about me.

I looked up at Richard from lowered lashes. “Right now I need you to help me forget everything. Do you think you can do that?”

Richard didn't answer. It took me a moment to figure out why. As I met his eyes, I saw the doubt there. He didn't want to deny my request, but he also didn't believe I meant it. He feared it was too soon. While he would never say no, he wasn't going to make the first move either. It was up to me to show him how much I wanted this.

I took a step towards him. He eyed me warily. His lips parted a little, and I almost expected him to voice his objection. But he didn't say anything. Instead he stood there, as still as possible, waiting for me to take the lead.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, wanting to feel the solidness of him in the hope that it might ground me, and then I tilted my chin up and began to kiss him.

My lips were soft and light against his, almost tentative. For all my bravado, even I wasn't sure whether this was a good idea. But as his mouth opened to me, I felt something
unexpected—warmth flooded my belly, and a sudden desire for more seized me. My kiss deepened, but even as Richard responded, I noticed that his hands stayed firmly by his sides. He was leaving this to me, making sure I was comfortable with everything, and I felt a surge of affection for this man who cared so much.

I pulled away a little, determined to take things slow, so I wouldn't ruin the moment this time. I felt in complete control as I ran my hands over his strong shoulders and down over his biceps. And still he didn't move so much as a muscle. Emboldened, I began to unbutton his shirt. My hands shook a little as I pulled it open to reveal his ripped chest. I remembered exactly what he looked like from that time I'd walked in on him in his office. He still had that perfectly defined six-pack, like a model in an underwear advert. And then I froze, as I spotted something I hadn't been expecting. Across the left side of his chest, over his heart, he had a tattoo—black ink letters that were written in a script I didn't recognise.

I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed the markings before when I'd seen him in his office—but then he'd had a towel thrown around his shoulders, which must have hidden the writing.

I raised my eyes to his. “What does it mean?”

“
Beauty for ashes.
It's a Hebrew saying, promising that out of pain and suffering will come happiness. I got it after my
parents died.” He gave a wry smile. “Kit was there when I had it done. It hurt like hell, but you know how competitive we were. I didn't dare let out so much as a whimper, because he'd never have let me hear the end of it.”

Beauty for ashes.
I liked that—the idea that good things could come from bad. I thought of the withered rose that I had on my shoulder. I'd got it after what had happened with Toby, when I'd wanted a permanent reminder of how rotten I was—the kind of person who infected everyone and everything with her poisonous behaviour. Knowing what I did now, I wished I hadn't permanently marked myself with something so negative. Richard's memento of the greatest tragedy in his life was so much more constructive.

I ran my hands across the letters etched on his chest, feeling his heart race under my fingertips, and he drew a sharp intake of breath at my touch.

I raised my eyes. His jaw was clenched, his hands at his side, balled into fists. He was doing everything he could to hold himself back.

“I'm worried you're not ready,” he said quietly.

“I am. I promise.”

“And what if you're not, and you run away again?”

“I can't keep living my life in fear, and neither should you. So forget the past. Stop worrying about the future. And just kiss me already, will you?”