Page 88 of Heart Over Heels

Something in me, the part informed by empathy rather than fear, faltered.

The toilet paper crumpled in my hand as I crossed back to the bed. Mercer’s eyes tracked me until I perched on the edge of the mattress beside him. The sheets rustled as I reached out, brushing my fingertips over his shoulder then down his arm to rest on top of his hand.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said quietly. “You were… perfect, actually.”

His mouth bent into a frown. “You took off so fast. I thought?—”

“Habit.” I gave a rueful smile. “I’m used to leaving before I get told to. You know the saying.”

He raised a brow.

I glanced at the tissue still clutched in my free hand. “You don’t pay a prostitute to come; you pay them to go.”

His head shook, stern and decisive. “You aren’t that to me. You’re not a slut or a whore either. Those are ugly words, and Darby?”

I cocked my head toward him, and he met my eyes before concluding quietly.

“You’resovery pretty.”

My throat closed around a dozen things I couldn’t say, and my whole body itched. I wanted to claw at myself, to tear awaythe vulnerable parts, but I knew that would only leave me more exposed.

“Please don’t do this,” I managed at last.

His frown deepened. “Do what?”

Don’t hurt me.

The plea screamed through my head, but my mouth wouldn’t shape it. I’d already asked him for enough.

In the strangling silence, he asked me instead, “Will you stay?”

I didn’t answer, but I felt my head nodding.

Setting the tissue on the bedside table, I slid under the covers beside him. He rolled onto his side so we faced each other, and the moment I was near enough, he looped an arm around and pulled me in.

He cradled me close, and the tension that had overtaken me gradually relaxed. I nestled in, warm and held and maybe a little bit loved.

Entangled as we were, I couldn’t help but feel him relax too. He exhaled a breath that must have emptied his lungs, and if I’d been able to see his face, I imagined he would have looked peaceful.

Still raw, still healing, but not alone in it.

And lying there, close enough to feel his heartbeat, I wasn’t either.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Mercer

That night at the club was not so different from every night before. Darby flitted through the VIP rooms like a glitter-dusted sprite, laughing with clients, touching and teasing. His stage routine ended with the floor carpeted in bills, and he rolled across them like he was born to be worshipped—arms spread, heels kicking, and white hair gleaming under the lights.

I would’ve sworn everyone on Perv Row fell in love right then, and with that realization came the certainty that I was falling too.

I was a moth drawn to the flame of Darby’s attention, and it was becoming an occupational hazard.

It was almost a relief to switch to door duty. There were less distractions outside, and the night air kept my mind sharp. Plus, standing in place would let me rest my knee, which had been spasming for hours, signaling impending rain.

When I stepped out to relieve Colette, she passed me the tally counter then clapped a hand between my shoulder blades.