Page 38 of Ruthless Game

I twisted my head to look at him. Really look at him. “Why, so you can do it again and do it worse? Tell me: What’s your end game here, Lawson? How far do you want to go? How destroyed do I need to be before you get what you came for and leave me in peace? When do I get to go back to England?”

I meant it. I needed to know, to be able to track somehow when this would end. I’d be left in pieces, but at least I’d know when I could try to put them back together.

He was quiet for a minute, and I felt a small measure of ugly satisfaction in having stumped him.

Then he pulled me tighter against him and murmured, “There’s no end point, Angel. There’s no bottom to how much I want you and how angry I still am at you. These past few years have been nothing, I’ve felt like nothing. Now that you’re back, I feel alive again, and I’m not giving that up, or letting you go—no matter how much it hurts both of us.”

His words made me ache, and another tear found its way down my face. How he knew, I wasn’t sure, but he did, because he caught it with his thumb and licked it up.

“As sweet as your tears taste, I still hate it when you cry,” he said.

“You can’t have it both ways,” I said, quiet but fierce. “You can’t say things meant to wound and then expect me not to react. You can’t stab me with your words and then be mad you left scars. Your actions have consequences, Lawson. Deal with them.”

He covered my mouth then, and, angry and afraid, I bit his palm, hard. And suddenly, he was shifting his body, rolling on top of me, holding me down with his hips, wrapping his legs around my thighs, grabbing my wrists and pushing them above my head.

Oh. This was it.

This was when he fucked me, when he took my virginity, found out how wrong he was.

This was when he left.

I prepared myself for that sick mix of pleasure and pain only he could bring me. So he shocked me when he kissed me instead, soft, lips closed, trailing kisses from my mouth to my cheeks to my forehead and back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “You make me lose my mind, lose control, lose everything. Part of me wants to be a better man, but I don’t know who that is anymore. Just let me hold you for tonight, Angel. Please, I can’t—” his voice caught. “Ever since Oxford, I can’t sleep without you in my arms. I know that’s fucked up, given everything I’ve done. And I know that I could just force you to lie here and take it. But I’m asking, Emma. Please. Just for tonight, and we’ll see where we’re at in the morning.”

I should’ve said no. Should’ve kicked him out. Hell, I should’ve screamed for my parents, to hell with our deal. But I could hear the boy he’d been in the man he’d become, and I’d never, ever been able to say no to that boy. Not then, and not now.

Despite myself, I kissed him back, lost in the taste of him. “Truce for the night. Tomorrow, it’s back to our war.”

He rolled us both on the bed, until he was underneath me and I was tucked into his arms, my head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Tomorrow.”

I settled into his arms, as that sweet ache spread, as I tried to pretend this was what we would’ve been. He must have been thinking the same thing, because after a while, he said on a tired yawn, “We could’ve had this, Emma. We could’ve had this always.”

If you’d listened to me.

If you’d believed me.

If you’d really loved me.

“Max—” I started, only to be interrupted by a soft snore.

He was already asleep.

13

Emma

(Then)

“You ready for this?” Max asked.

I glanced up at him. Max held my hand tightly in his as we sat on the porch swing, waiting for my parents and Jeffrey to get home from Jeffrey’s hockey game. Lawson had practice for his own team, and I’d said I was tired, but the truth was we’d wanted to be alone together, so we could make out until we were dizzy—and plan how to tell my family we were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Are you ready?” I asked him. Max looked pale. He was nervous, probably more nervous than I was. After all, even though I was adopted, I mostly doubted that my parents would kick me out. Mostly. But Max wasn’t their actual son, and I had no idea how they’d react to the fact that we’d been secretly dating each other for months. I’d told him multiple times we should wait until we graduated, not wanting to risk it, but Max was adamant that was I the most important thing to him, and he wasn’t going to let me go, not even for hockey, not even if he got kicked out of my parents house and had to figure out somewhere else to live.

“I mean, no,” he laughed, rubbing his face. “Not even close. But we’re going to have to be, because their car is pulling up now.”