Flesh: Part Eight (The Flesh Series Book 8) (2 page)

"No, but it
might make you feel better."

"It won't."

"I'm just going
to leave then," I sigh, realizing that, as usual, he's
completely shut down.

I stand, and he
gazes up at me with wounded eyes, big and round and oh so blue.
Wetness clings to his bottom lids, but there isn't any threat of more
tears.

"Don't go."

The desperation in
his voice tugs at my heartstrings. The woman in me wants to comfort
him. I know better though. I need to stop feeling sorry for him;
otherwise I'll never find the strength to leave. This is a new twist
on his manipulation. Isn't it? He's doing this on purpose, right?

"I'm sorry for
your loss." I look to the door, trying to will myself to move
towards it. "But I don't think we have anything left to
discuss." I muster up all of my resolve and start walking away.
The pain in my heart is unlike anything I could have expected. This
time though, I think it's more from the thought that he actually
needs me right now. He needs me, and I'm leaving him.

"Amy, stop."

I pause, glancing at
him over my shoulder.

"I'll tell you
what happened to her. Just come back." He motions back toward
him. His tone sounds more annoyed than defeated, which makes me
hesitate.

With a sigh, I find
myself returning to the bed. I sit beside him, refusing to make eye
contact. Looking at the picture is just as good as anything—looking
at Lucian's dead family. It's such a morbid thought, but knowing that
he's technically single does make me feel a little better about the
things we've done together.

"We were madly
in love," he begins, "but our marriage wasn't always
perfect. No marriage is. We had our fights, our stupid arguments. I
always thought they were trivial compared to what most couples fight
about. I'd end up on the couch for the night, or she'd leave. We'd be
mad at each other for a day or two, and then things would return to
normal." I can see his fingers pressing hard into the frame of
the picture, his hand trembling slightly. It seems like he's having a
really hard time talking about it.

I place my hand on
his forearm and rub it gently back and forth. "It's alright."

He cocks his head to
the side for a moment but doesn't look at me. "I don't even
remember what we argued about that morning. You'd think I would after
what happened. In hindsight, I don't think it mattered. We could have
argued about anything.

"She got mad,
took Issac, and went to the store to cool off for a little while.
They stopped at a gas station," his voice cracks, and I know
he's about to lose it.

"Go on," I
press.

He sniffles and
turns away from me, probably trying to hide the fact that he's
crying. "A man came in with a gun, wanting to rob the store for
drug money. He grabbed Isaac. Leigh began to panic, causing a scene.
The robber was waving his gun at her, trying to get her to be quiet,
and the gun accidentally went off. At least, that's what the robber
said.

"As soon as he
shot her, people started running. He put a bullet in Isaac's head and
then went on a killing spree. Four people died in the shooting."

I expect him to fall
completely apart, but by the end of the story, his tone is hollow.
I'm honestly not sure how to react or what to think. It's such a
tragic story. I don't even feel like I'm capable of comforting him.
And oddly, he doesn't really sound like he needs or expects it.

"Is that why
you tore yourself out of the photo, because the two of you fought
beforehand?" I ask, gesturing to the picture.

Lucian takes a deep
breath. "I was angry when I did it. I thought it was my fault
for arguing about something stupid. I blamed myself like most people
do. I didn't feel like I deserved her."

"But you know
it wasn't your fault, right?" I bend slightly to see if I can
catch his gaze. It works. He finally turns and looks at me.

"I know it
wasn't my fault. Even if we hadn't fought, she could have decided to
go to the store. She could have stopped at the wrong gas station. It
took me a really long time to believe that though."

"How long ago
did it happen?"

His jaw tenses. "A
little over two years ago."

I bite my bottom
lip, not knowing what else to say. It wasn't very long ago, so it's
understandable that he still has issues dealing with it. Still, I'm
surprised that he didn't completely put the pictures away if he
didn't want me seeing them. Surely, he expected that I'd eventually
ask questions if our relationship got beyond...whatever it has been
up to this point.

"You lie the
pictures face down because you didn't want me to see them, right?"

"Yeah." He
sets the picture back on his bedside table.

"Why not put
them away completely? You had to have realized I would eventually see
them."

"Do you know
that you're the first woman I've slept with in this house?" He
looks around the room.

"I didn't."
My cheeks instantly turn pink, and my heart skips a beat. For some
reason, it sounds like a romantic admission. I could be taking it all
wrong though. I'm certainly good at that.

"I've never had
to think about the picture thing before you because it never
mattered." His eyes dance from picture to picture before
circling back around to me.

"I'm not sure
if I should feel flattered or not." I brush a loose strand of
hair behind my ear shyly.

"You should,"
he exhales sharply, turning his attention back to the room. "This
house..."

I wait for him to
continue, but he doesn't. It feels like the air has grown thicker
somehow, and I'm not sure why.

"What about
this house?" I ask, following his gaze.

He turns back to me
and shakes his head. "Nothing."

"It sure didn't
seem like nothing." I arch an eyebrow.

"I turned down
the pictures instead of putting them away because I didn't want her
to think I had forgotten about her. I also didn't want her to
watch...well, you know." He bobs his head, and I can't help but
grin. For as vulgar as he is, this is the first time I've heard him
be squeamish about mentioning sex.

I nod slowly,
looking at Leigh's smiling face in so many pictures. "Well, I
don't think there are many secrets about what we've been doing at
this point."

"I know. I
just...It didn't feel right. I guess I wasn't ready." He rubs
the back of his neck. "And I honestly didn't think you'd be so
nosy."

My smile falters as
I remember why I came into Lucian's bedroom in the first place. I
wanted to see that he was cheating on...someone. That's not what I
found though. At least, not really. I open my mouth to tell him that
I need to leave, but then I feel his fingers on my face, gently
sweeping across my cheek. I turn to look at him, and his lips are
quirked into a soft grin.

"You remind me
so much of her," his voice is filled with such a sense of
honesty that I'm almost taken back by it. The way his eyes rove over
my face...He's looking at me in a way I've never seen before.

I bite back my
craving to give in to him and pull away, scooting over on the bed to
put distance between us. "You don't even know me."

"You're right,"
he admits, to my surprise. "I don't know you very well, but I do
feel like I know things about you."

"Like what?"
I huff.

"You're sweet.
You're dedicated. You wouldn't have put up with me for this long if
you weren't," he lets out a short laugh.

"I'm dedicated
to my job," I correct him, hoping he'll take it as a slight.

"That's what I
meant. You want that contract so badly," there's a touch of
mocking in his tone.

"It is
important to me. Not just me, but my company."

"I know. I
don't want to talk about that right now though. And I wish it wasn't
even a factor in what we have going on."

I wish it wasn't
too. Then it would have been easier to walk away from him a long time
ago. Having to see him on an almost daily basis makes things so much
more complicated. My attraction to him is almost palpable. His
gorgeous blue eyes, his chiseled body, the way that he takes what he
wants with no regrets. He's amazing in bed. Passionate, dominant. I
hate that I've allowed my lust to get in the way of my logic, that
I've let it pervert a relationship that should be strictly business.
Everything is a mess because I allowed things to go too far. You
can't take back the past though. You just have to deal with the
consequences of your mistakes.

"There's
nothing going on between us, Lucian," I say weakly.

"You never let
me finish telling you what I think about you." He doesn't even
seem phased by my rejection.

"I'm not
interested in what you think of me." It's a lie. A bold-faced
lie. I'm not even sure if I sound convincing. I desperately want to
know what he thinks of me, but I'm so afraid he'll tell me something
that will make me drop my guard, and I don't want that.

"You're sweet."
He ignores me again. "You're shy. You're beautiful." I feel
his hand on my thigh. When I try to brush it off, he doesn't budge.
Instead he just gives it a gentle squeeze, drawing my attention up to
this face. "You're beautiful, Amy," he repeats. "You
don't believe it, for whatever reason. Maybe men haven't treated you
as good as they should have in the past. Maybe you don't have any
sense of your own self-worth, but you're beautiful, both on the
inside and the outside."

My eyes begin to
water as I stare at him. His words are so earnest. They don't sound
like lines at all. He's making me think that he truly believes what
he's saying to me. I do think that he truly believes it.

"Lucian,"
I practically mewl, pulling out of his grasp and standing to make my
way toward the door. "I've got to go."

His arms are wrapped
around me in an instant. I'm his prisoner again, but things feel
different this time. He's holding me from behind, hugging me, his
face nuzzled against my hair.

"Please don't
go, Amy. Please don't leave me. Not tonight," there's such a
desperation in his tone that I feel my resolve cracking. Walls are
crumbling inside of me. I wrap my fingers around his hand to pry it
off of me, but instead I just clutch his hand, holding it against me.

“
Please,
Lucian.”
Please
what?
I
think I'm begging him to let me go, but I'm not even sure anymore.

“
You're
afraid of me. Of this. And that's okay because I'm scared too.”

He releases his grip
on me, and instead of continuing towards the door, I turn around.
Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

It's like a bomb was
thrown at my protective walls. The way he's looking at me, with such
an intensity. Not lust but something else. Adoration. Need. Honesty.

I let out a pathetic
little gasp as he draws me closer, my soft body pressing into a wall
of hard muscle. As a last line of defense, I drop my gaze. It lands
on his parted lips, and I feel a familiar hunger building inside of
me, pooling between my legs.

He tilts his head
ever so slightly—as if he's unsure if it's okay to kiss me—as
if he's silently asking for permission. Tears spill down my cheeks,
my body trembling as I close my eyes and just give in. His lips meet
mine, firm but gentle at the same time. There's no desperation in the
way that he kisses me, no urgency to strip me down and fuck me raw
before I try to run away.

I slide my hands up
the front of his body. They're meant to act as a barrier between us,
a way for me to separate us enough so that I can come back to my
senses. But as soon as I feel my fingers slide over his rippling
flesh, I'm lost.

I deepen the kiss.
Not him. Me.
I
seek entry into his mouth.
I
wrap my
arms around him and draw him closer, and he does the same, embracing
me while our mouths move together. Kissing and caressing. He feels
and smells so good. Tastes amazing. I'm drunk with affection from his
sweet words. I want to make all of his pain go away. I don't ever
want him to hurt again.

I'm falling. Oh so
hard. My greatest fear is finally realized.