around her and kissed the top of her head, realizing how easy it had been to let her in.
Sex had always been just a physical thing, a momentary gratification of getting his rocks off and easing the tension. Then he walked away.
He’d always walked away. And never once looked back, because he’d never cared. Of course, neither had the women. He’d always chosen women who weren’t in it for a relationship, who only wanted sex. It worked well for both of them that way. They both got what they wanted. Scratch an itch and move on.
It was different with Angie, and he couldn’t deny that everything since the beginning had been different with her.
For a guy who’d spent his entire adult life steeling himself against emotional connection, he was doing a piss-poor job avoiding it with Angelique. It was as if he didn’t have a choice with her. She was embedded, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
The odd thing was, he didn’t want to change anything. Dammit, he was enjoying this contact with her, needed it like basic sustenance.
Ryder was a realist. There was no point pretending the emotion didn’t exist. It did; he had to accept it.
He cared about her.
But he’d never love her. He knew the limitations, understood just how far he could go. He’d never subject a woman to what his mother had gone through.
And he didn’t trust himself enough. He wasn’t confident enough to say he wouldn’t end up just like his father.
He owed Angie more than that. She deserved more than that.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going, or are we going to continue driving aimlessly around the coast?” she asked.
He smiled. That’s exactly what he’d been doing. Trying to get his bearings and stay one step ahead of the demons until he figured out a game plan. “You’re too damn perceptive. You’re not psychic like Shay, are you?”
She rolled off him and sat up, a satisfied smile gracing her face. “Hardly. So what are we going to do?”
He pushed the pillow up against the headboard again. “I’m going to contact Lou, then Dalton. We’ll figure out the next step. What the hell time is it, anyway?”
“About five in the morning.”
He shrugged. “A little early.”
“We could get breakfast first.”
“We could. But right now I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”
She looked down between his legs, then met his gaze again, her eyes going smoky. “Now that’s an invitation I can’t refuse.”
“You’re insatiable. You’re going to wear me out. I’ll be worthless.”
She slid off the bed and stretched, thrusting her breasts at him. Maybe she was a demon-a succubus sent to tempt him into selling his soul.
It was working.
“Somehow I think you can handle it, tough guy. I’ll go turn on the shower.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isabelle couldn’t breathe as Dalton held her mother’s diary in his hand. The secrets, the things he now knew about her. .
The pain was so raw it tore through her lungs, her heart. Embarrassment, rage, and utter terror burned within her. She could barely form words; she didn’t know where to start.
She’d been had. Dalton looked back at her, his face a mask revealing nothing. Tense seconds had ticked by and so far he hadn’t replied to her question, so she asked him again.
“Who
Anger was a shield, so much better than dissolving into tears and crumpling on the floor. She wanted to die. Or wanted to run into his arms and beg him to help her understand what he’d read in her mother’s diary.
He couldn’t help her, though. No one could.
He stood and picked up the diary but didn’t move toward her. She wanted to snatch her mother’s journal from his hand and jump off the boat, do anything she could to get away from him. But instead she stood her ground, firmly refusing to budge. She had to know.
“Isabelle, don’t panic. Don’t be angry.”
She let out a laugh, though the situation was anything but funny. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve telling me how to act or feel. You stole what was mine. Something private. You read my diary, Dalton! Is that even your name?”
“Yes.”
At least he had the decency to look ashamed, though it gave her little comfort. “Is that the only thing you told me that’s the truth?”
He leaned back against the desk. “Yeah, pretty much.”
