He smiled back, disarming me with what I would have thought was genuine affection. But now it seemed like a smokescreen for something else.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Morocco it is then. We’ll disappear just you and me.”

Disappear.

I pressed my lips down to stop them from trembling.

If I went anywhere with him, I’d disappear forever.

Chapter Twenty-Two

You’re mine.

That evening he took me to Kings Park, located on the business edge of the city. We walked hand in hand across the botanical gardens, and I got lost in the scenery. It was peaceful and isolated. There were enough people around that I didn’t feel nervous to be alone with him.

And how crazy was that? I was scared to be alone with Ben.

Unbelievable.

I saw him from a different perspective. The way he glared at any man that checked my body out. The way he possessively kept me close by to him, always making sure I was an arm’s length away. The way he touched my scars repeatedly, staring at my face with a look of awe and lust. The way he told me countless times in that gruff voice how exquisite he thought I was.

I’d have loved it all before. And I still wished I did. I wished that what I was tricked into believing was real, because my emotions were still the same.

And that was the cruel thing about love. You couldn’t turn it off. You couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist because it was outside logic’s control. It had its own selfish agenda, and it lived to cloud your judgment and to trick you into believing there was more than what you were told.

We went to his apartment, and he took me straight into his bedroom. I couldn’t put off sex, even though I wanted to. That would have been a dead giveaway.

“I want you in my bed,” he said to me, pushing me to climb on to it. “I want to fuck you ‘til you can’t breathe. I haven’t been inside of you in forever and I’m losing my mind.”

I told myself to breathe, because being intimate with him scared me. The mattress dipped behind me, and my being became acutely aware of him.

“You want it from behind, beauty?” he said in that hard voice.

I nodded. My throat was too thick for words. I just wanted this over and done with.

And yet, when his hand touched my body, it soared. Fucking soared for him. How could that be? How could it yearn to be felt by a man that hurt me?

But it didn’t care, and all at once everything around me blurred. I could hardly breathe or make sense of it.

My emotions and thoughts clashed.

I loved him.

I loathed him.

I wanted to bring him close, and I wanted to push him away.

The warring of emotions inside of me made me feel like I was caught up in a whirlwind of hate and love. But which was overpowering the other?

He pressed my face down against the mattress as he swiftly undid his belt. I shook with need and cried with desperation. If I could only just look at him again… I’d choose ignorance over truth, if only I could look at him the way I used to.

He threw my skirt up over my hips and took me hard and fast. My mouth opened and my eyes glazed over as the feeling of pleasure swept me away into a place I’d reserved deep inside of me. A place where, once upon a time, he made me feel cherished and loved.

Tears burned down my face.

The truth.

That disgusting bitch of a thing called truth.

I’d do anything to hide from it. Because its grip was cold as death around my neck, and it was choking the life right out of me.

He was going to be the death of me.

Yet he took me there. He brought me to the precipice of pleasure, and I let myself fall. Let myself believe in his lies.

When he finished, he collapsed next to me and tucked me into his side. He fell asleep, completely oblivious to the woman against him – the woman that hated herself for enjoying what he just did to her.

*****

“Open your eyes,” he told me.

I opened them and saw his face looking back at me. He was on his side, facing me, and he had the brightest smile on his face. Anger swirled in my chest at the sight of it. How could a monster look so genuine?

“I have something for you,” he claimed.

“And what’s that?” I garbled out.

“It’s something very pretty.”

I tried to stir the deadness inside of me alive, but this morning it was particularly stubborn. So if he wanted excitement, I couldn’t offer it.

“Okay,” I said simply, “show me.”

“First, tell me you love me.”

I swallowed hard. “I love you.”

He couldn’t question that. I was telling the truth, and it killed me to do it.

Those grey eyes warmed. He leaned into me and kissed me lightly. “It’s under your pillow.”

I reached under my pillow and felt a long, thin box. I pulled it out. It was wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper, and when I raised a brow and looked at him, he said, “I couldn’t wait another week. I needed to see a real smile on your face now.”

“What do you mean ‘real smile’?” I asked him curiously.

“You’ve been out of sorts, and you haven’t been open about it.”

“I told you I’ve been feeling a bit sick –”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” His face fell and he stared gravely at me. “You’ve hidden yourself from me. Don’t think I can’t read you, because I can, beauty. Probably better than you can read yourself.”

I was lost for words. I looked away from those penetrating eyes and stared at the box.

Stick as far to the truth as possible, I told myself.

“I just feel like this is too good to be true,” I explained quietly. “Like I’m somehow your plaything until you get tired of me. And maybe everything you’ve ever told me has been said to others before me. I’ve been hurt a lot, but you’re going to hurt me the most.”

I took a deep breath before I looked at him again. He stared incredulously at me, and that hurt look made me cry. I covered my face with one hand and set the box down. I sat up and turned away from him. I was sure I’d blown my cover. He probably knew I was on to him. I’d said too much, but it was the closest thing I could say without fully telling him everything outright.

But his arms wrapped around me quickly, and his chest pressed against my back.

“Claire,” he said hastily, “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you feel like that –”