Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) (17 page)

He could see right through Blake Matthews. He was a leech. He bastardized his position, using it to get himself laid. There wasn’t anything honorable about him. His egotism made him as transparent as a bad vein, only his clients suffered the occlusion. He infused them with the buzzwords and gifts that would assure a good flow from their pockets to his. Maybe he was a good guy at one time but now he was different. He was an overconfident douchebag—and if he touched Paige again he’d be dead.

It wasn’t unlikely that Blake wanted a woman like her, any man would. There were many things to admire about her but, after seeing her body, he saw her scars as a source of inner strength that he admired. That kind of power called out to a place inside him that marked her as a warrior. She might not see herself that way, but he felt that strength in her long before he ever saw her scars. So why was she so weak when it came to demanding the justice she deserved?

He banged his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. No amount of scotch could quench his thirst for justice. What she needed was for someone to sit her ass down and educate her about where the line was drawn between someone being an asshole or a criminal. His gut raged contemplating whether or not he should be that person. She needed to know the truth about perfection—there was none—not in anything or any person. Perfectionism exposes hollow pride, while imperfection has room for love to fill the void.

Falcon took a deep breath as he fought the urge to march back over to her room, but he knew what she needed.
Time.
That was something he could give her because he was still too pissed off to trust what he would say. In his current state of mind he’d call her out and confront her with the truth of last night, and what she decided would determine how he would see her—friend or lover. There wasn’t any place in between. Until he calmed down enough to do that in the right way, all he could do was bide his time savoring the sweet memories of the evening, before and after Blake. He was convinced that they made a good match and, after his fifth scotch, he savored more pleasant memories from the mountains.

She leaned against the doorway. A dark-haired angel illuminated by the ethereal glow of candlelight. Her arms were crossed; one casually across her hip, the other holding a glass of wine. The twinkle in her eye invited him with a reason to celebrate a holiday he cynically took for granted. She changed all that because, the minute he saw her, she made him appreciate Christmas and the God who sent her for the holiday. When she looked at him he sucked in a breath. She made him as excited as when he was a kid and found a present he really wanted under the tree. Her eyes were soft, her expression warm, and her hair was pulled over one shoulder where it cascaded in thick waves. But it was her smile. Not pretentious or fake, but genuine. It was something so rare that it slayed him. Her lips were plump, but not too much. She was a perfect cocktail of adorable and sexy. He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as sweet as she looked and he desperately looked for mistletoe.

She extended her hand. Her eyes were warm milk chocolate with flecks of butterscotch rum and he became intoxicated. He extended his hand to introduce himself. The moment they touched he felt a spark. Literally.

“Ow!” She pulled back, and then grinned. “I’m so sorry.”

“Falcon Grey,” he said introducing himself. “And your apology’s accepted.”

He opened his eyes. He didn’t know what to do for her but he needed to make some sense out of everything that happened. For now, the thing he needed most was sleep.

A
fter my insightful conversation with Liz, I was somewhat convinced that it would be better to talk to Falcon than to believe the damning voices in my head. I knew she was right but I wasn’t ready to talk to him. My acting skills were good but somehow I knew he’d see right through me if I weren’t honest. So I went back to my room. I spent hours contemplating my next move. I revisited everything that had happened, not just from that night, but all the time we spent together. My plan to remain aloof and noncommittal had, obviously, crashed and burned. The realization of how deep into myself I’d gone thoroughly exhausted me. I slept most of the day.

Once I had slept for several hours I focused on the future. I knew I’d been a victim long enough. My brain had finally calmed down enough for me to think rationally. I had to talk to him. I had to explain. Really explain. About everything. He deserved that much. I wasn’t even going to worry about him agreeing to see me after Vegas because I told myself that almost everything that happened here was superficial or make-believe, even if it was the most real relationship I’d ever had. I just wanted the chance to clarify that my experiences with facing up to people like Blake were jaded.

The scenario from the day before had never been part of my plans. I had something completely different in mind, especially since I blatantly tried to seduce him. I had it all planned before we even went out. I even had a brilliant thought that, if he stayed the night, I would have the memory I wanted and he wouldn’t notice the marks on me as long as I kept the lights turned off. Either he would leave or I would get dressed before morning. It was a win-win, or so I thought.

I wanted it to be different with him. I wanted it to
feel
different. For just one night of my life, I wanted more than human contact. I wanted it to be more than simply a scratch for an itch. As much as I hated to admit it, I had let myself feel more for Falcon than I’d felt for anyone else before. For one night I wanted the fairytale. I wanted more. I’d earned it.
Didn’t I?

Then everything happened with Blake. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was never destined for a fairytale. Princesses are the beautiful ones and I, most certainly, was not. I’d been lying to myself. It made me feel better. Then Falcon came to the rescue. He really was a white knight and he deserved much better than what I could give to him. I thought—I hoped—that if I could justify my actions, or enlighten him as to what my true reasons were for letting Blake get away with what he had done to me so that, maybe, Falcon and I could at least walk away from this as friends. My heart ached from wanting more than that and I remembered the pain of wanting to be like the other girls. Those other girls could survive a man like Falcon. He was more than just a warm body. That night he was my caretaker and protector, a combination that proved to be dangerous to my carefully guarded heart. I was kidding myself by hoping for a three-dimensional memory to comfort me when I returned to my two-dimensional life. I somehow got caught up in my own fantasy and I was hurting for it. Feelings that I had never felt fused with my happiness. I was still utterly conflicted by the emotions he had awakened in me. I shouldn’t have let my guard down, but he made loving him too easy because he made me feel beautiful.

I had to talk to him. At the very least, he deserved an explanation before it got messy and before we went home. I couldn’t let my hopeful mistake complicate the relationships we had back there. So I prepared. I slept, showered, and put on my favorite disguise; a competent woman who had it all under control.

I had walked from my hotel to his. I needed the air to prepare. I was so preoccupied that I couldn’t remember noticing anything the entire distance that I walked. Before I knew it I had arrived. As I stood in front of his door, I took several deep breaths and then I knocked.

Perspiration bit my skin with prickly teeth and I struggled for oxygen, which, because of my anxiety, seemed to be in short supply. I moved to the side of the door so he wouldn’t see me if he looked out. It felt like an eternity and I counted the seconds off to the beating of my heart. I tried to steady my hands when I heard a click and then saw the handle turn.

When he opened the door my breath caught in my throat. Just the sight of him sliced through my façade and vaporized the character I’d prepared. The determination I’d arrived with melted away. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me. It was painfully obvious that I was the last person that he expected to see. I heard the tinkling of my heart as it shattered into a million pieces.

He left the door open in silent invitation. When he walked back into the room, I lusted after the man I desired but couldn’t touch. His jeans hung provocatively low and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His room was stunning and the lighting showcased tanned skin and broad shoulders. His arms were thick and hard and I very much wanted to be held by them. He turned toward me and I froze. He may have thought it was because I was uncomfortable but it was really because I wanted to remember how beautiful he was. I couldn’t keep my eyes from roaming his solid chest and chiseled torso. The only thing about him that didn’t look right was his expression. It was hard and tight and I knew that it was me that made it that way. I looked down. My gaze caught the arched lines of the V that traveled from his hips and down into the fabric and I ached because I would never be able to touch him. No other man had ever affected me the way Falcon did and I vehemently hated how my body betrayed me. He just stood there, observing me. Somehow, I managed a weak smile.

“Can we please talk?” My voice was low and hoarse and my mouth was dry. I stood nervously in the uncomfortable silence and I wondered if he could hear my stomach turning. Finally, he motioned with his head for me to sit while he disappeared into another room. I had nothing else to distract my racing mind except to enjoy the exquisite decor.

It was massive, which made me feel very small. Heavily veined, marble tile covered all of the floors. On top of them were rugs so plush that they looked as deep as the ocean color they were dyed. The furniture was bold and heavy and blended in complimentary colors of the blackest blue and gray. A huge, mirrored bar framed in thick mahogany anchored the room. It was stocked and I suddenly wished Falcon would offer me a drink to wet my mouth and wash away my suddenly decomposed confidence. If I hadn’t been so uncomfortable I would have enjoyed its sophistication, but instead I decided to use it as fodder to break the ice for the serious conversation I hoped to have with him. My attention was drawn to the bedroom door as he returned fully dressed.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

His tone was stiff. He was making me pay a penance by being cold to me when all I wanted to do was repent for my shortsightedness and move on. He sat down across from me and, after what seemed like an eternity, he leaned in.

“What are you doing here, Paige?” His voice was neither compassionate nor accusing, simply monotone, and I wondered if his feelings for me were as flat as his voice. I shifted uneasily in the chair.

“Wow.” The word came out with a rush of air. I looked him dead in the face. “You’re not going to make this easy are you?” He answered with silence. That said more than words ever could. “I wanted to thank you for last night.” His raised brows mocked me. It was obvious he doubted my sincerity. “You deserve an explanation.” His eyes never left me but he relaxed a little and eased back in the chair. “Fal...look…I know what Blake did wasn’t right. I also know he would have done a whole lot more damage if you hadn’t shown up. You could have left when you saw me…saw the condition I was in when I was alone in the room, but you didn’t. Instead you took care of me. I can’t imagine what you think of me because I know what you saw, my scars and my pulling. I wish you hadn’t, but you did.” My throat was thick with embarrassment and shame.

His expression softened. I took a deep breath and, rushing forward, stared at the floor.

“Lots of people have scars, Paige. Inside and out.”

I waited for him to say more and was surprised when he didn’t. I couldn’t tell if he was genuine.
What was he doing? Trying to be nice by acting like it was no big deal?
I had a personal memory bank catalogued with reactions from various people so I knew that he thought something. What did he have to gain by acting like it didn’t matter? Things were already tense between us and I didn’t need him sugarcoating the issue. Whatever thoughts he had couldn’t be anything more corrosive than what I’d heard all my life.

“I know what my scars look like. I look at them every day. I’ve lived with them forever. I don’t even have to open my eyes to see them. Their images are burned into my brain. Just spit it out. I can take it.” A thin wash of indignation washed through my voice.

He studied me intently before shaking his head. His expression was one of disbelief. He brought both hands up and covered his face before he wiped over it. A look of concern etched his handsome features.

“You know Paige, if you were anyone else, I’d think you were fishing for someone to coddle you, but I can tell you really do believe that your scars, and whatever caused them, should make a difference to me. Well, they do, but not the way you think. What you see is totally different from what I do. From what you say, I can tell that you see yourself as a victim and I see you as a survivor. They’re just marks; it’s just skin. Whatever the story behind them is it’s yours to tell—and you don’t have to share it with me. As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to tell me simply because it matters more to you than it does to me. By presuming that I would care more about how you look than I do about you, your pretty much accusing me of being shallow. That really pisses me off because, the truth is, I didn’t think less of you when I saw them, I thought more.”