She's Got It Bad. Sarah Mayberry
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guess I should thank you,” she said. “You said I would, one day. It might just have been worth waiting twelve years, after all.”
He slid free from her and turned away to take care of the condom, wrapping it and throwing it in the waste bin. The small piece of business gave him an excuse not to look at her. There was something so desolate in her eyes, so empty and sad that it made him want to punch something.
He slid his zipper closed and buttoned his jeans. Zoe pulled her bra back up, then started to unclip her stockings from her red garters.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said.
“Neither did I, believe it or not. But it turned out to be a pretty good idea, don’t you think?”
She rolled her stockings down her legs and toed off her stilettos.
He looked away when she slid her thong down, forcing his gaze from the narrow strip of hair between her thighs. She was bare between them, he knew now. Smooth and so damned hot she’d blown his mind.
She stepped into a clean pair of panties then reached for her jeans.
“Can we go somewhere? To talk?” he asked as she dragged them on and tightened the leather laces that held them closed.
“I told you, I don’t want or need your help, Liam. You just gave me all I’ll ever want from you.”
Her gaze was steady as she pulled on her tank top.
She meant it. Which left him with nowhere to go, nothing to offer.
“How long have you been singing?” he asked. Mostly because he figured it was a neutral question and he needed to buy time to get his head together.
“Five years now. Three years as Vixen. She makes it a lot more fun.”
She moved to stand in front of the mirror, reaching for a tub of face cream. Her gaze found his in the mirror.
“What about you, Mr. Do-Gooder. What do you do for a crust?”
“I build custom motorbikes. Mostly choppers.”
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and smoothed cream over her face, closing her eyes as she cleansed her eye makeup.
“Figures. You were always fiddling in the garage, tinkering with something or other.”
She wiped her face with a tissue. Pink skin replaced black and white. When she opened her eyes again he found himself looking at the old Zoe, the girl he’d known so long ago. No heavy kohl, no mask of makeup—just naturally long lashes and clear green eyes and pale skin.
She reached for a mascara tube and his hand shot out.
“No.”
“She frowned. “Sorry?”
“You look better without it.”
She shook him off and leaned forward to stroke on fresh mascara.
“I think you’d better go. Thanks for looking me up. It was…interesting,” she said, her eyes never leaving her own reflection.
He stared at her in the mirror, and she finally looked at him, cocking an eyebrow.
“What? You want more? Okay, thanks for the sex. You rocked my world more than anyone has in a long time. Happy?”
Not by a long shot, but he was beginning to realize that there was no way he was going to get through her defenses tonight. She’d bite her tongue off before she asked for help.
Without another word he turned for the door. He heard her close it behind him as he walked down the corridor. He walked out into rain and an overwhelming sense of guilt.
He’d stood against the bar tonight watching the men around him wanting her, and he’d wanted to hurt every single one of them. Then he’d gone backstage and hammered himself into her as though she really was nothing more than a hot body.
He spat in the gutter but it didn’t take away the bad taste in his mouth.
He’d lost control. She’d gone out of her way to provoke him, sure, but it was no excuse. He revved the Mustang hard and left rubber on the road as he pulled into the street. He’d wanted to help her, and instead he’d let his cock do the thinking.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
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