Shane was numb.
All the way home, both hands on the wheel and his gaze fixed on the road ahead, he didn’t feel a thing. He didn’t even know where to start—should he be hurt? Ashamed? Angry at her hypocrisy?
Her dismissal had pissed him off and cut him deep at the same time, but as he drove, he was glad he’d left when he did. Another minute of her thinly veiled—and hypocritical—contempt, and he’d have…hell, he didn’t even know. Broken down? Walked out?
Either way, he was out of there now, the emphatic click of the dead bolt still echoing in his ears, and even though he wanted nothing more than to be in her arms again as if everything were still the same, he also wanted to be as far from her as possible right now. Worse, though he wasn’t even sure if it was real or his imagination, he was sure her scent was on his clothes. On his skin. And it was driving him insane, but not like it had since the day they met—he didn’t want to think about her. Couldn’t stop, of course, but tasting her every time he breathed wasn’t helping.
Only one thing to do, then. The second he walked through the door, he went straight into the master bathroom and into the bathroom, stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.
As the hot water poured over him, he replayed the evening in his mind. Was it a good thing they’d finally gotten everything out on the table so the chips could fall where they would? Or should they have kept those cards up their sleeves a little longer?
He sighed, scrubbing a wet hand over his face. There was no black-and-white answer. He was angry with her for waiting so long to tell him and felt guilty as hell because he’d waited so long to tell her.
He’d known as soon as they’d gotten into bed the very first time that this wasn’t going to end well. But no amount of knowing it was inevitable could stop him from hurting when the reality sank in that she no longer looked at him the same way. Seeing her that tense, that nervous, because of him—fuck. That left a slime of self-loathing on his skin that this shower would never be hot enough to burn away.
He didn’t know how to feel—angry? Hurt? Afraid she’d never want to see him again? Like he never wanted to see her again?
And did he want to see her again? Shane was no saint, and he had the criminal record to prove it. But relationships had always been a minefield for him, even before his wayward youth had gotten out of control. He got in too deep and had his heart stomped on for his trouble. Assuming Alyssa would ever speak to him again, did he want to risk a relationship with someone who’d wrecked her marriage like that? Who’d cheated on a man who’d trusted her to stop cheating? It wasn’t like she’d been straying from a casual relationship. They must have had something, at least in the beginning, that led to them getting married, and led to him forgiving her multiple times.
So what was to stop her from doing it again?
And what’s to stop you from knocking over a convenience store again?
Shane cringed. He knew he’d never again cross the lines that had landed him in prison, but Alyssa couldn’t know that any more than he could know she’d never cheat again. They had to take each other on faith, and he was equally frustrated with his inability to make that leap for her as he was that she wouldn’t make it for him.
Sighing, he tilted his head forward, letting the water run through his hair and over his face. He should’ve known this was too good to be true. Hell, he did, but he’d gone into it anyway because he just couldn’t resist her. They were too compatible in the bedroom. Way too synced on way too many wavelengths. Something was bound to go catastrophically wrong. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it was the past—his as well as hers—that had come in and fucked everything up?
Goddammit. The shame had cut deep long before she’d come along to twist the knife. He’d hated himself for years after his conviction, after he’d finally turned himself around and realized how far the consequences would follow him.
Had he really thought for a second that Alyssa would be okay with him being an ex-con? He’d known all along she wouldn’t be, and could he really blame her? Of course not. But goddammit, don’t be such a hypocrite. She’d never hurt anyone like he had, never committed a crime like he had, but she knew more than anyone in the world what it was like to have a past mistake follow her around for the rest of her life.
No wonder she hadn’t wanted to talk about it after that first night.
After that hot, mind-blowing first night.
Against his will, his body responded to the thought of the way he’d had her in that motel room, and then the nights after that. The way they’d fucked in the passenger seat of his car, oblivious to everyone watching them. How it was a rare night when they made it to a bedroom before he was rock hard, and how many times they’d made each other come before they’d even gotten their clothes off.
Damn it. Regardless of all the bullshit from their pasts coming to haunt him, he couldn’t keep himself from hardening at the thought of tying her. Flogging her. Fucking her. Kissing her. Just holding her against him while they caught their breaths before starting all over again.
If only to avoid the hurt and his guilty conscience for a little while, he closed his eyes and let the mental image of her carry him away. He braced against the wall, squeezed his eyes shut and pumped his cock with his tight fist. The fantasies—memories, really—wouldn’t stop, so he didn’t try to stop them, and he surrendered to the images of himself in bed with Alyssa. Her gorgeous body. The way she could be so submissive or so aggressive, how she never held back when they were fucking or playing.
Not until tonight, anyway.
And now he doubted she’d ever let him lay a hand on her again.
She didn’t trust him. There was a good possibility she was afraid of him.
Shame and sadness both tamped down his arousal. His hand stopped. His eyes opened. As tonight’s argument overshadowed the hot nights they’d had before, his hard-on didn’t stand a chance.
“Fuck,” he whispered over the hiss of the shower. He flattened his palms against the wall. Eyes stinging, Shane let the water rush over his face.
It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. They were supposed to have sex, enjoy the nights together and not get too close to each other’s present, past or future. He should’ve listened to his gut the first morning together, when she’d insisted on not discussing the past. He should’ve known it meant that whatever cards she was hiding would be difficult for him to accept, and that this would only end in disaster when he finally showed his own cards.
And he’d just had to wait to play his hand until he’d gotten more attached to her than he had any business doing. Now…what a mess. One day, they were insatiably hot for each other. The next, they couldn’t get far enough apart.
Wasn’t it just poetic too? He’d fucked up his life to the point most women balked at the idea of a relationship with him, and now he was getting the side-eye and the no, thank you from a woman who’d willfully and repeatedly torpedoed her own marriage.
Though, to be fair, he didn’t have much of a moral advantage here. The convicted felon versus the serial adulterer—not much high ground on either side. Two completely different sins, both fucked up in their own ways, and in no position to judge each other.
The worst part was realizing how close he’d come to making another confession. When they’d played that little game earlier in the evening, it had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d held back. He’d pulled her close, made love to her, and let his confession go unspoken, and now he didn’t know if that was a mistake or not.
They’d agreed not to go there. Not to take this deeper than sex and maybe friendship. But some things were out of his hands. Despite his best effort, some things—some emotions—simply were.
Shane couldn’t change the fact that he was a convicted felon.
Alyssa couldn’t change the fact that her son was the product of an affair.
And, goddammit, he couldn’t change the fact that he was in love with her.