She’d called herself a whore. He’d made her feel that way. She doubted his feelings for her. Had no clue how he felt. That knowledge had rendered him speechless. And so fucking ashamed of the way he’d treated her, the things he’d said. Buried in his own petty jealousy, he had struggled with what he could possibly do or say to make it right.

So he’d done fucking nothing.

He’d messed up.

God, her face—he’d literally seen her pulling away from him, shutting down, and he’d imploded. Too many emotions warring to take front and center. In the end, he’d been unable to convey anything but anger. Furious with that asshole, and furious with himself for causing her to doubt her feelings for him, feelings she hadn’t been able to hide the night before when he’d made love to her.

But what pissed him off most of all was that he’d allowed his past to get in the way of what he could have with Alex. Instead of helping her work through her fears, he’d allowed his own, his fear of losing her, to take over. He’d messed things up. Again.

So much so, he’d managed to obliterate any progress he’d made with her, the trust he’d worked so hard to gain.

And she’d run from him.

He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and shoved the door open. Screw it. He was supposed to attend a business meeting tonight with Alex, but he’d cancel. He needed time with her alone, to try to repair the damage he’d done.

Did she truly believe he saw her as nothing but a whore? Jesus, the idea made him ill. Yeah, he’d told her the agreement between them would only ever be physical, but that was so he could make her accept the truth, accept the way they felt about each other. Without expectations, without letting her fear of attachment get in the way. He shoved his hands in his hair. But it wasn’t her issues threatening to destroy their relationship before it began. It was him. His petty jealousy. His possessiveness. His inability to trust.

The two women in his life he should have been able to count on most, his mother and his wife, had lied and cheated. And he was now realizing the full effect those betrayals had had on him. How it had messed him up. That because of it, he didn’t trust his own damn judgment, when he knew Alex would never do that to him.

If he didn’t sort his shit out, he’d ruin everything. He’d lose Alex for good.

He shouldn’t have let her walk out his apartment door. He should have held on to her and made her understand.

“Deacon?”

He turned to find Emily standing by her car. So preoccupied with Alex, he hadn’t even seen it when he drove in. “What are you doing here?”

Her lip quivered. “I—I need to talk to you. Please don’t tell me to go.”

“We have nothing to discuss. Not a damned thing.”

He turned away, but she rushed after him and grabbed his arm. “Please. I’m not doing so well, Deacon. I—I think I might do something stupid.” A tear streaked down her perfectly made-up face. “I miss you so much. Seeing you with…” Her face twisted. “With her.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear it.”

“What do you think you might do, Emily?” She shook her head again, and he grabbed her upper arms. “Answer me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face against his chest.

He had no choice but to hold her while she cried, when all he wanted to do was shake the shit out of her, beg her to leave him the fuck alone. This woman had screwed with his life, made him fucking miserable, and he was trapped, chained to her in a way that had him waking up at night in a cold sweat. He sure as hell wouldn’t let her kill herself over him. That was something he could never live with. But no matter how many doctors and psychiatrists she saw, it always came back to this. Her obsession with him.

“Why aren’t you with Steve?”

“He’s away on business.” She brushed her tears away.

“How would he feel if he knew you were here?”

She sucked in a breath and looked away. “I doubt he’d care.” Her eyes, round and liquid, stared up at him. “He’s not you.”

Jesus Christ. “Come upstairs.” She gave him a wobbly smile and clutched his hand like a lifeline. The thought made him want to throw up.

Emily had been doing great for the last eighteen months. It seemed like she’d finally moved on. Could he trust this? This sudden relapse? She’d manipulated him more times than he could remember. But then, how could he risk not believing her?

If he ignored her cry for help and something happened…

Shit.

He took her up to his apartment and let her in. “Take a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

So fucking polite, so normal. Have some nice, soothing tea while you emotionally blackmail me, while you keep me away from the only woman I’ve ever loved.

He leaned against the counter and took several steadying breaths. Jesus, could he be any more of an asshole? For all he knew, Emily was suffering some kind of emotional breakdown. It wouldn’t be the first he’d ridden out with her—but it sure as hell needed to be the last. He couldn’t be her crutch, not anymore. He needed to talk her into getting help.

He pulled out the cups and glanced at his watch. Dammit.

There was no way he’d make his dinner meeting tonight, but more frustrating, he doubted he’d get to see Alex. He quickly called about dinner, made his apologies, and rescheduled, then scrolled down to Alex’s name. The phone rang for so long he started to think she wouldn’t answer.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice went a long way to soothing the stress and anxiety he always felt when Emily was like this. “Hey.”

The pause before she spoke, that hint of wariness, fucking twisted him up inside. “Worried I’m not coming?”

“No, I—”

“We have a deal, right?”

Deal. It wasn’t a fucking deal, not to him. And as much as she tried to deny it, she knew it, too. “Alex…”

“We still have a deal, don’t we, Deacon?” There was an acerbic bite to her voice—her tone damn near gave him frostbite. He knew she was still angry after the way he’d behaved this morning—she had every right to be—but he got the feeling this was something more.

He held the phone tighter to his ear. “Talk to me, Alex. I know I—”

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll head over to your place when I’m ready.”

Her voice was still cold, but she’d dropped the quietly controlled anger. Now she just sounded emotionless, distant. Fuck. She was holding back, keeping her feelings locked down, and he hated it.

“Deacon?” Emily’s voice drifted in from the hall and, he was positive, bounced off the kitchen cabinets and right down the goddamn receiver to Alex.

“You still at work?” Alex asked.

“Look, something’s come up. I, ah…I have to cancel our plans for tonight.” He wanted to say more, so much more, but Emily chose that moment to walk into the kitchen.

Alex was silent for several seconds, then she laughed, the sound forced, distant. “Jesus. You’re so damn predictable.”

Goddammit. “No. Listen to me—”

Emily’s face crumpled. “Are you…are you talking to her?”

After the way things had been left between them, this was the last thing he needed. Alex barely trusted him as it was. With the scratches and the confrontation in the store… She’d jump to the wrong conclusion without doubt. His little viper would use it as another way to protect herself, an excuse to push him away, and he couldn’t have that. He was doing a good enough job of that on his own.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell her about Emily—all of it, the lies, the betrayal—but the memory of his ex sitting in the bathtub the day after he’d found her in bed with another man, a blade to her wrist and swearing she’d cut her vein wide open if he exposed her, if he told her family and friends what she’d done to keep him—stopped him cold. She couldn’t bear the humiliation. All she had left was her position in society. She’d lost him, if she lost that, too…