Inside

An argument over nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Peyton focused on her purpose. “Why not leave, go and get Laurel, disappear?”

“Because it’s not that easy—not without resources. And, in case you haven’t noticed, a man doesn’t build up a lot of resources in prison.”

“You’re sticking it out to get your compensation money?”

“No. Considering all the red tape, I don’t have much chance of getting that money. I’m doing it because life on the run is not what I want for my sister or her children. Someone who’s always lived in an ivory tower wouldn’t understand, but—”

“Excuse me?” she broke in. “I’ve never lived in an ivory tower.”

“You’ve never lived the way I have, either.”

“I work in the same kind of place.”

“By choice. You get to leave at the end of each day and pick up a hefty paycheck for your trouble. I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m only trying to help.”

“And I don’t need your help. I’ve told you that before. Quit treating me like some sort of…pity project. I’ll make it on my own.”

Feeling as if he’d just slapped her, she tensed. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m doing the best I can to protect the people I care about, okay? If it works, Laurel will have a new identity. She’ll be able to remarry and live the rest of her life without fear and without running. I owe her that.”

“You do? Why?” she challenged. “Did you ask for this?”

He hadn’t expected that question. It took him off guard—she could tell—but he quickly rallied. “She’s the only person who’s ever been there for me.”

“When are you going to be there for you?”

He scowled. “You’re not making a damn bit of sense.”

“Then let me be clearer. I don’t want to see you hurt!”

He rolled his eyes. “Come off it. At least be honest. What happens to me has no bearing on you. We’re not even friends.”

Virgil had plenty of reason to be upset. But his responses were more personal and much harsher than Peyton had foreseen, and she wasn’t willing to put up with it any longer.

“Forget I ever came here.” Grabbing her coat, she turned to go, but he moved up behind her and put a hand on the door, holding it closed.

“Let me out,” she said, but only halfheartedly. She didn’t really want to leave. She wished she could lean into him, that he’d be as tender with her as he’d been last night.

But what he was feeling didn’t even resemble tenderness. She knew that when he spoke. His voice was low, grating. “I thought you didn’t date anyone who worked at the prison.”

Now he was looking for something else to fuel his anger. “I don’t.”

“Then what was John doing at your house?”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer. You have no say over what I do or who I see.”

“Did he bring a keepsake for your cabinet?” he asked, his lips brushing her ear.

She held the door handle in a death grip but didn’t turn it. “He brought me dinner, okay? That’s it. Now please let me go.”

“You just told me you turn him down whenever he asks you out.”

“I do.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you turned him down tonight.” Taking her coat, he threw it on the chair, but she didn’t face him. She wasn’t sure how their clash of wills would play out if she did.

She rested her forehead against the wood panel. “He’d already brought dinner. I didn’t have the heart to send him packing. He’s recently divorced, lonely. I think he’s looking for a friend.”

He slid his hand up under her T-shirt, leaving a swath of gooseflesh as he skimmed his fingers along her bare skin. When she didn’t resist, he changed direction and slipped his hand into her jeans, where his touch became far more intimate.

Get out of here before it’s too late. He was no longer holding the door. She could go. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind for this kind of contact, and neither was she. But knowing tonight was probably the last time she’d see him before he was incarcerated, she hoped for a better parting, one that would allow them to feel okay when they assumed their respective roles.

“Friendship isn’t what he’s trying to get from you,” he murmured. “He wants this.” His tongue plunged into her ear as two fingers claimed her with enough force to make her cry out. But it didn’t hurt. Pleasure burned through her veins.

“How do you know?” she breathed.

“Because I want it, too.”

Scarcely able to speak above the racket of her heart, Peyton squeezed her eyes shut. “We can’t…make this mistake again.” She wasn’t sure who she was talking to. That comment hadn’t really been directed at him. She was just grasping for a way to hold on to her resolve. But he answered.

“You’ve already given it to me once. What’s one more time?”

“It’s one more time.”

“Good thing you’re too nice to say no.”

She wanted to correct him. She wasn’t going along with this because she was “nice.” Nice had nothing to do with it—or him. Especially right now. She could sense his anger, but she didn’t complain, even when he peeled down her jeans and took her from behind without ceremony or foreplay.

Although she’d never been treated this roughly, feeling Virgil unleash his frustrations gave their coupling an eroticism that caused every nerve to quiver. He made sure she knew he was the one in control, but she felt safe with him at the same time. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, she hadn’t felt safe from the beginning.

The rhythm of their lovemaking escalated so fast they were out of breath within seconds. Then it was over as suddenly as it had begun and he withdrew as if he didn’t care any more about her than if he’d used a blow-up doll.

Stunned by such intensity followed by…nothing, she fixed her clothes while waiting to see if he’d say anything. Or kiss her. Or hold her. Or coax her to the bed.

He didn’t. He went into the bathroom without so much as a “thanks for the quick piece of ass” and closed the door.

He’d done this on purpose, she realized. He wanted her to hate him. And, in that moment, she did.

What the hell had he just done?

Cringing as the outside door banged shut, Virgil stared at the haggard image looking back at him in the bathroom mirror. He wanted to go after Peyton, to apologize, even beg her forgiveness. But he wouldn’t let himself. He deserved to have her go, would deserve it if she never spoke to him again. There wasn’t any point in pursuing her, anyway. She couldn’t possibly want him in her life, especially now. He’d acted no better than the other inmates he’d served time with—which, in a perverse way, was exactly what he’d been aiming for. He didn’t have anything to offer her. He needed to understand that and so did she.

He’d made his point. But he felt terrible about it.

“You’re a complete asshole, like she said,” he muttered, and splashed some water on his face before slumping against the wall. Did he really think that little power play could diminish her, make her any less than she was? That the harshness of his actions could obliterate how he’d begun to feel about her?

Not really. He didn’t want Peyton to matter as much as she did, so he’d taken steps to ensure that she stayed out of his life. It wasn’t fair to encounter someone like her when he was at such a loss, not after everything he’d been through. He wished he could relegate her to a different part of his brain or scare her away entirely. When he was bucking against her, telling himself he’d been using her from the start, it seemed to be working. He lost himself in lust and anger, had actually believed, for a few seconds, that he’d stamped out every other thought or feeling.

But in that final moment, he’d reached for her breast and felt something else, as well—something that let him know he hadn’t won the battle he was waging. The regret that’d washed over him then had left him feeling worse than ever.