But he balled it up and stuck it in his pocket. To put away later, maybe. Or to wrap around my throat when tired of the conversation. Wrap it tight and pull, watching my eyes as my life flickered away.
Except I didn’t really believe he’d do that. Not to me. It was gut instinct with no basis in fact.
As for Missy, I didn’t know what I believed. “I think I was pretty open-minded to say I didn’t know, but you wanted me to automatically defend you?”
“Yes. I did. It doesn’t seem like an unreasonable request to think the woman I’m sleeping with would be on my side. Excuse me for not thinking to include it on the list of expectations I gave you before we got here.”
The comment stung so unexpectedly that I almost regretted the answer I’d given earlier.
Then I looked at the bigger picture, and no way. That wasn’t happening. No regret. I would submit and demure to a lot, almost anything, but I would not give in on this.
And with that clarity, I was inflamed. “You can’t be serious.” He had his back to me, unbuttoning his shirt. “You can’t possibly expect me to know whether you’re innocent or not. When you’ve alluded to being dangerous. When you’ve perpetuated that image. You’ve wanted me to be afraid of you. Now you expect me to just assume you’d never really do something terrible? That’s not what you led me to believe.”
“I didn’t lead you anywhere you didn’t want to go.”
“You think I want to believe that you killed someone?” I was as mad that he kept his back to me as I was with the things he was saying.
“At the very least you want to think that I could have.”
He was right. That was my flaw, and I was seconds from readily admitting it. Then I thought better of it, because though I was willing to share that with him, this moment was about something else.
So I addressed that instead. “I do think you could have.” I was calmer now, but my hands still shook with emotion. “Whether you actually did it or not, I don’t know.”
He turned to face me. His shirt draped open and his hands worked his belt. “Yes. I could have.” He stepped toward me slowly. “I don’t just mean that I have the money and the resources to kill a person, but I could do it. I could end a life without a second thought – if it was the right life.” Another step. “A life that deserved it.” Another step. “A life that had crossed me.”
He had a tie in his pocket and his belt now in his hands. It wasn’t the time to provoke him.
And yet I did. “Did Missy cross you? Was she the right life?” Was Amber the right life? Was I?
It was a split second that passed without an answer, but it was a heavy second. One where I understood that these were the answers I’d been searching for since I met him and once he gave them, I’d have to make decisions that I didn’t want to make. I’d have to decide if I believed him when he said no. Or decide if I cared when he said yes. I’d have to decide if I’d stay.
And if I had to decide, I’d rather decide when I didn’t know. I’d rather decide to leave when it was only possible that he was a killer than stay when I knew he was one. Because I was afraid that would be how it would happen, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to live with myself when I did.
So I decided to run.
“Never mind,” I said already out the door. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” I whisked toward my bedroom, my mind set.
Reeve was on my heels. “Why? Because if you find out that I didn’t, you might no longer find me interesting?”
He was so close to understanding me and yet so far. It felt like being thirsty and being offered a glass of sand. He was trying to understand, in his alpha, tyrannical way, and that touched me. But he missed.
I flicked the light on in my room and went straight for the bed. “There’s no reason for me to answer, is there?” I pulled my suitcase from underneath and laid it open on top of the covers. “Since that’s what you’ve decided. Talk about people who make up their mind without caring.” My back was to the door, so I glanced back to see he’d stopped at the threshold.
“Don’t do that, Emily. Don’t try to egg me on.” The edge in his words said he was past warning. Said he was ready to act.
“I’m not egging you on. And that’s exactly my point.” I crossed to the dresser and gathered my T-shirts, not bothering with keeping them folded. “You’ve decided what my motives are. What I think. What I feel. You care as little to know what’s real about me as you do to share anything real about you.”
I was egging him on. Taunting him. Because as much as I didn’t want to know who he really was, I was compelled to ask. One last-ditch effort to find out the truth about Amber. About me.
“That was always the arrangement between us. Don’t act like —” He stopped short. “What are you doing?”
I threw my shirts in the suitcase. “I’m packing.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why?”
“I’ve suddenly realized that there isn’t any point to all of this.” I gathered all my underwear.
“Stop packing.”
“No point to our ‘arrangement.’” I headed back to the bed.
“Stop packing. You’re not leaving.” He’d stepped into the room, but hadn’t come in far enough to be an obstacle.
I paused, facing him. “Are you going to make me?”
When he didn’t make any indication that he was, I continued to the suitcase.