Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) (14 page)

MELISSA

After I locked the bathroom door, I stripped down and tossed aside my clothes.  I stared at myself in the mirror.  Even fully nude, I didn’t feel very sexy.  I stretched my arms out above my head, making my breasts rise and fall.  Experimentally, hesitantly, I stroked my nipples and waited for a response.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes and imagined Danny’s hands on me. 

Worse than nothing; my skin crawled.

I climbed into the tub.  A brief soak wouldn’t hurt, and it would kill time, and hold off Danny and his questions.

The water was hot
and it lapped pleasantly at my skin.  I leaned back against the jets.  The bubbles shot into my muscles, easing some of the tension.  With slow determination, I ran my hands from my knees up my thighs, pausing at my hips.  I plunged my hands into the water between my legs, willing myself to be turned on.  Again, I pictured Danny.  My knees clenched together automatically.  I had to stop.

“I don’t want this,” I whispered.

Saying it out loud somehow made it seem more real.

I came to my feet quickly. Before I could change my mind, or talk myself out of it, I hopped from the tub.  I slipped into one of the hotel robes and flung open the bathroom door.  The room was dark, except for the flickering of a candle.

“Danny? You were right.” I wished my voice sounded more confident.

There was no answer, but
I only had a second to be puzzled.  A thick hand closed around my waist and dragged me toward the bed.  Logically I knew it was Danny. I panicked anyway – or maybe even
because
I knew it, I wasn’t entirely sure – and began kicking frantically.  The smell of Southern Comfort on his breath fueled my alarm.

“Stop!” I pleaded.

But he flung me to the bed and stood over me.  His eyes were completely glassy now, and when I glanced toward the night stand, I saw that half the liquor was gone from the bottle.  Danny leaned down and pushed his lips against mine.  His tongue, rough and somehow unfamiliar, ground around inside my mouth.  When he came up for air, I rolled away.  His arms didn’t release me, and we went flying off the bed together.  My mouth cracked against a floor lamp, and I felt blood trickle down my chin. 

Danny seemed completely unaware of my injury.  He continued his amorous pursuit.  One of his hands found my left breast, and he f
orced his mouth onto mine.  Now I tasted both the liquor and my own blood.  The combination made me gag.  I reacted instinctively, bringing my knee up into his crotch and jamming it in as hard as I could manage from my position on the floor.

Danny finally fell back.

I came to my feet and scrambled over the bed.  I wanted a safe distance between us when he recovered enough to talk.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time.

“You bitch!” he hollered.

His violent tone surprised me as much as his words.  In all of our three years together, I’d rarely hear
d him swear, and I’d never seen him lose his temper. 

He grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself up, still doubled over in a pain-filled way.  He clutched the bedspread and hobbled closer.  When he was almost near enough to touch me, I took a step back.

“Please don’t come any closer,” I whispered.

“What’re you going to do to me if I do?” Danny replied contemptuously as he straightened up.
“I know already you won’t call the police.”

“I think you’re drunk.”

“What difference does it make?”

He took a step in my direction, and too late, I realized I was cornered again
.  He grabbed a hold of my robe and yanked it open clumsily.  Then he leaned in to grab my ass.

“This is mine,” Danny said angrily. “That ring on your finger says so.
All I want to make it official before we get married.”

“Danny, my face is bleeding,” I pleaded. “I’m hurt. I don’t think this is good timing.”

“Stop fighting it, Mel.”

“I’m not fighting anything, Danny.”

His hands maintained their grip in my backside. “When?”

“What?”

“When
will
the timing be good, Mel? Because I think I’ve been pretty goddamned patient.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Are you?” he almost-sneered. “I’m reasonably sure you’re happy being the frigid bitch you are.”

I stared at him, struck by a sudden realization.  Danny wasn’t safe.  All he’d done was make me complacent.  For three years.  When I was with him, I did what I was
supposed to do, what everyone expected me to be.  I wasn’t who
I
wanted to be. 

I didn’t
even like this cardboard cut-out version of myself.

“I’m not a frigid bitch,” I replied, aware that my voice was ironically cold.

“No? Is that what the guy who
assaulted
you said? Because he hasn’t spent three years waiting for you to loosen up. To give some sign that you were ready.”

Danny grabbed my hands and pinned them down at my sides. 

“Please, Danny. We’ve waited this long. What’s another few months?”

He ignored my words and shoved me backwards, banging my head on the wall.  I cried out, but he ignored that, too, and he brought his lips down on mine one last time.  If I’d had been any less dazed, I would’ve fought back.  Bit his tongue, kicked him in the balls again, anything.  But all I could do was whimper.

“You wanna know something sick, Mel?” Danny asked against my mouth.

“No,” I replied.

“Fine. We’ll just keep doing
this
, then.”

Panic set in as his eyes narrowed and he leaned toward me again.

“Tell me,” I managed to get out.

“When you
said that guy assaulted you in the parking lot, I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t jealous. I was relieved. He touched you where I wouldn’t dare to. Because you’ve always been too pure to
be
touched. It was like…He opened the door for me.”

Danny pressed his mouth against mine once more, and I finally reacted properly.  I pushed him as hard as I could, and he stumbled away. 

“Get out!” he yelled suddenly, and his voice was as full of hurt as it was of anger.

I blinked, then ran for the door before he could change his mind.  I forced my way into the hall, and collapsed on the floor, where
I let myself dissolve into a heap of sobs.

CUTTER

When I turned up the hall and pulled out my key card, I was startled to see a white-covered figure huddled on the floor just outside the room beside mine.  I got a bit closer, and the figure moved.  It wasn’t until I had the card poised to open the door that I recognized that not only was it a woman, it was
her
. 

For a second,
I thought she was a hallucination, brought on by the combination of no food, and two hours’ worth of beers, followed by two hours’ worth of coffee.  When I blinked, and she didn’t disappear, I finally admitted she was real.

Melissa.

Wearing nothing but a robe.  Her hair was damp and tied back in the goddamned ponytail again.  Even though she was looking down at her hands, I could see that her pretty blues eyes were dripping with makeup.  She looked small, fragile, and somehow still infinitely fuckable.

What the hell is she doing at this hotel and why is she so insistently fucking sexy?

Shit.  My judgment was obviously clouded.  For three long seconds I stared, then snapped my attention back to the key card.

“You can stop pretending you don’t see me.” Her voice was deeper than usual and a little raw.

I forced myself to turn back toward her. “You following me, baby-doll?”

Melissa sat up
straighter and pulled her robe a little tighter.  It still ballooned at the top, exposing her ample cleavage.

“Don’t kid yourself,” she said. “I’m here with someone else.”

Jealousy, fast and hard, shot through me.  I pushed it aside forcefully.  Why the fuck was I jealous?  She stared me down as if she was daring me to call her bluff, to deny his existence as I had the last few times she’d brought up her elusive boyfriend.  I refused to take the bait.  No way was I playing her fucking game tonight.

“How’s that working out for you?” I asked scornfully as I looked away.

“Not so well,” she admitted, and looked back down at her hands. “He’s passed out in our room, and when I came to get some ice, I locked myself out.”

I laughed. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed. “It’s hilarious.”

My eyes skimmed her again.  There was something in her expression that made me wonder what she was covering up
.  She wasn’t quite looking at me, not straight-on, anyway.  She held her head tipped to one side, and gripped her ponytail tightly.  She glanced my way, then into her lap.  What was wrong with her?

Get a fucking grip, Cutter.

I didn’t need to let myself be taken in by the flash of hurt in her eyes.

“Goodnight,
baby-doll,” I said coolly.

“Wait,” she called.

I paused. “What?”

“Could you just…”

“Just what, Melissa?”

“Invite me in to your room?”

“And why the hell would I do that?” I replied.

“Because somehow…This is your fault.”

“What?”

She nodded. “Ever since you showed up, my life has been a royal fuck up.”

“Are you serious? I mean, I know I’ve had a few too many tonight, but I can’t possibly have heard you right.”

“I used to know exactly what I wanted and who I was
now
and who I was going to be even ten years down the road,” she replied. “But since I met you, all of that is out the window.”

She
was
serious.  I sighed.

“
Blame the tea,” I said.

“What?”

“I spilled it on you. The chai? At the college?”

Her face was blank.

“Goddamn it,” I said.
“You could at least
pretend
you knew it was me.”

She
looked puzzled.  A cute crease that I really fucking resented formed between her eyes.

“Is that why you came after me with your truck? Because I didn’t recognize you? If you knew what kind of week I’d had…”

The last thing I wanted was to get into my own personal psychosis about pretty, rich girls and their supposedly shitty weeks.

“Forget it,” I muttered.

She let it go. “Can I come in? Please?”

“Five fucking minutes
,” I told her. “It’s is all I’m willing to give you right now. Come in, call your super hero, and get out.”

I slipped the key card through the door and swung it open.  She followed me in, startling me speechless when she immediately dove under the covers on one side of my bed.  I stood over her, trying not to notice the way her ponytail looked, halfway on what would be my pillow.
If we were sharing the bed, that is.  My eyes sought her face instead, and it was at that moment that I noticed the thin trail of dried blood.  It ran along just under her lips and followed down to her chin.

Worry and fury pooled in my stomach, travelled up through my chest, and exploded in a heated growl.  I fought for control.  In an effort to calm myself, I made my way to the bathroom, wet a cloth, squeezed it dry violently, and then brought it back to her.

“What happened, baby-doll?”

Melissa’s face crumpled, and tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes, then trailed down her face.

“I didn’t lock myself out of the hotel room,” she confessed. “Danny kicked me out.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Do you really want to know? Or are you just going to use it to screw me over in some way in the very near future?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, careful stay on my side.

“I really want to know,” I said.
Mostly so I have a valid reason for kicking his ass.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away, almost violently.  She flashed me a look, somehow wary and apologetic at the same time.

Jesus. What did the guy do to her?

A memory of my sister, small and broken and a
lone, assaulted me.  Fiona had a similar expression in her face after the assholes – Juice-now-Josh included – had left her there on the side of the road.  No one could touch her without that same flinch. 

Bile rose in my throat.

“What did that motherfucker do to you, Melissa?”

“I’m okay.”

I ran a hand through my hair hard enough to hurt. “I can tell the difference between okay and not-okay, baby-doll. He hurt you.”

“I should never have come here with hi
m. Then he started drinking and – “ She cut herself off. “Let’s just say I wasn’t in the mood, and he didn’t like it one bit.”

“Did he…?” I trailed off, afraid to put into words what was going on in my mind.

“No,” she replied quickly.

I examined her face.  I was almost positive she was telling me the truth.  It didn’t even matter, though.  Whatever he
had
done was enough.  The asshole needed to pray to God he never met me in a dark alley.

“Cutter?” Melissa’s voice was hesitant.

I knew my face must be dark as hell, and I tried to keep my reply even-toned. “Yeah, baby-doll?”

“I’m freezing cold.”

Her eyes held an invitation.

Fuck.

I couldn’t crawl into bed with a girl who’d just been assaulted.  Or near-to-assaulted.  Could I?  Even if she
was
asking me to.

I forced a light tone. “If I get in there with you, and you touch me inappropriately…”

Her little smile, breaking through her otherwise cloudy face, was all the encouragement I needed.  I slipped the blanket up, and she drew in a sharp breath as the cool air hit her, then sighed thankfully when my body slid up against hers.  She wriggled a little, backing her ass into my crotch.

Double fuck.

“Just until you warm up,” I muttered.

Very carefully, I put an arm over her waist.

“He called me a frigid bitch,” she announced, her voice full of hurt and doubt.

I tried to cover a spontaneous chuckle with a cough, but couldn’t quite manage it.  Melissa stiffened.

“You think it’s funny?” she demanded.

“Not in the least.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

I couldn’t think of a delicate way of telling her how un-frigid she’d been at every turn – at least with me.  She rolled over, and as she did, the blanket twisted, driving us even closer together.  Melissa tilted her head up, exposing those too-kissable lips and fixing her drown-in-me, blue eyes on mine.

“Your boyfriend isn’t only a first-class asshole, he’s an idiot, too.”

In all my fucking life, I’d never wanted to simultaneously knock the sense into someone a
s badly as I wanted to thank him.  At that moment, I was filled with hatred, resentment, and abject fury, all directed toward her jackass boyfriend.  I was also ever-so-fucking-grateful, because if he
wasn’t
such a tool, she might still be in his bed instead of mine.

Slowly but purposefully, I placed my palm
overtop of the back of her hand and threaded our fingers together.  Heat, electric and startling, shot through me.  She must’ve felt it, too, because she gasped and shivered against me.  I dragged our hands to her thigh and rested them there, just above her knee.

“What are you doing?” Melissa gasped.

“Holding your hand,” I teased.

She sighed softly.  She was quiet, and her breathing was even, and after a few minutes, I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep.  Damned if there was any chance of
me
falling asleep with her curves pressed into every inch of my body.

Then she spoke, her voice muffled by the covers. “Could you talk to me for a bit?”

“About what?”

“Anything. I don’t think I can handle the silence right now.”

Maybe I blurted it out because I’d just seen Fiona a few hours earlier, and she was fresh in my mind.  Maybe it was Melissa’s situation.  Most likely, it was a combination of the two.

“Five years ago, my little sister went out with her boyfriend and his friends. They got high. Really fucking high, and raped her.”

Melissa drew in a sharp breath. “Jesus.”

“She called me, and she kept saying ‘They just took it from me. I said no. They must’ve thought I meant yes’. Repeating it, like it was her fucking mantra. It took me forty-five minutes to get her to tell me where they left her. When I finally picked her up and I took her to the hospital, she refused to talk to the police. She was so fucked up, she kept calling me Dad, screaming at me to leave her alone, saying that they hadn’t really meant it.
Then she starting
defending
them. It killed me. Broke my heart. I waited until she came down, and tried to reason with her, thinking if she was sober, she might be able to see how bad things really were.”

I closed my eyes, remembering,
and the fucking burn in my chest as real now as it was then.

“She didn’t change her mind, though.
Not even after we brought her home. And when I pressured her, she kicked me out of her life.”

I didn’t recount the rest.  I’d already said more about it in the last five minutes than I’d said in the last five years.

Melissa unthreaded her fingers from mine and put a warm hand on my cheek.  I opened my eyes and met her gaze.  I was surprised to see something fiercer than sympathy in her baby-blues.

“I’m sorry,” she said with apologetic vehemence. “The other day at the restaurant…I accused you of not being able to tell when a girl was saying no. It was out of line, and not true, and –“

I put the tips of my fingers over her lips, both to silence her and to stop myself from driving my mouth into hers in an attempt to bury the hurt I felt.  She brought her hand up to mine.  She pulled it sideways and up so that I was cupping her face.

“You were right,” she whispered. “I wasn’t saying no. And I know you would never take anything from me I wasn’t giving up freely.”

Guilt hit me.  She was utterly fucking sincere.  I could see it in her eyes.  Only I
had
taken something from her without her permission, in the country club, and again at the lumber yard.

Her boyfriend wasn’t the only complete tool in her life.

Melissa leaned forward, lips parted, eyes half-closed.  I let my mouth graze hers, then pulled away. 

“I’m not going to take anything else from you,” I said softly. “Not even a kiss.”

Her face crumpled. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Fuck, no. But there’s plenty wrong with me.”

I couldn’t stand the thought that she felt so down on herself.  I threaded our fingers back together, and fought to find the words to explain the ache in my heart.  I was out of practice at expressing myself.  I didn’t want her to think she was anything less than she was, which was about as un-fucking-frigid, un-fucking-messed-up, and un-fucking-believably perfect as they came.

“Melissa, I’d like your permission to prove a few things to you,” I growled. “To help you prove them to yourself.”