Temptation’s Edge (32 page)

She had to get out of Seattle. Had to get as far away from Connor as she could.

Connor.

Her chest surged with emotions, everything tangled up into one razor-sharp ball of pain: love and rage, fear and a terrible, tearing sadness. Love.

Love…

Fuck.

She cursed the damn tears that squeezed from her eyes as the cab made its way to the airport. The sun was setting, the gray sky lighting for a while with a wash of pale silver, and as they left the city proper, left Connor Galloway behind, it began to rain.

But the truth was,
he
had left
her.
Left her alone without so much as a note, a call, a good-bye. Left her with nothing.

She had to clench her fists until her short, red-lacquered nails bit into her palms, had to grind her jaw against the pain that slammed into her like a wall. She bit back the tears, her throat aching, burning.

She had no idea how she was going to endure this. She almost wanted to call Evie and ask her how she’d survived this. But she knew from a lifetime of experience that Evie had no coping tools other than checking out. She’d put on a pretty dress, search out some drum circle or art festival where she could meet the flaky artist and musician types she was always drawn to—the supposedly spiritual types, which was a joke—and she’d forget herself in a new man’s arms.

Mischa didn’t want anyone else. And she knew damn well that wasn’t a fix for this.

She’d simply have to find a way to get through this. To survive her first heartbreak.

She swore it would be her last.

Sweat rolled down Connor’s forehead as he pressed the barbell up, his jaw ground tight. He tried one more rep, barely made it, and with a groan he jerked the weight back onto the bar. Four hundred pounds on the bench press was his normal weight, but he’d been spending most of his time at the gym the last four days, working out until his muscles screamed. Until he was so exhausted he’d go home and fall into bed after a brief hot shower. Now he was drained, plain and simple. He knew he’d pushed his body too far.

He sat up, wiped his face with a towel, breathing hard, nausea roiling in his gut.

He couldn’t stand to stay in the shower long enough to soak out the pain in his muscles. It made him think too much of
her
. Hell, everything did. Which was why he was practically living at the gym. It was the only place he could go where there were no reminders of her.

Except that he was there, and he was still thinking of her, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t take any more working out tonight. His body was done. He had to go home.

He grabbed his water bottle and sipped slowly, waiting for the nausea to calm before he stood and headed out to the parking garage. After the heat of the gym the Seattle cold hit his sweat-soaked skin like a small shock, making him shiver.

He was turning into one hell of a pansy. But it was more than the fact that he’d maxed out at the gym. That he was feeling the cold down to his bones. It was that he’d never felt like such a coward, so damn weak, in his life. Not since the last foolish wall-punching episode. And he’d been young enough then to have some sliver of an excuse.

He got into his Hummer and turned the engine over, his gaze on the stark gray concrete wall in front of him. But it was no help. He saw her in his mind’s eye every time he got into his car. The way she’d go so still and quiet in the plush seat, as if the size of the vehicle itself sent her down into subspace. Maybe it did. He’d seen it happen with other women.

He didn’t want to think about other women. He hadn’t wanted to since the minute he’d laid eyes on Mischa.

Don’t think her name, damn it. Don’t do it.

His cell phone buzzed and he cursed as he hit the answer button, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t talking to anyone, that he hadn’t since he’d crept out of Dylan’s apartment like some thief, leaving Mischa behind, four days earlier. Fucking four and a half, if anyone was counting, which he was, apparently.

“Who’s calling?” he growled.

“Jesus, Connor. Someone piss on your parade?”

“Alec.”

“Yeah. Should I even ask how you’re doing?”

Connor rubbed at the back of his neck. He hadn’t intended to talk to anyone, but Alec was on the phone and he had to say something, didn’t he? “Not so good, to be honest. Which is something I haven’t done much of lately.”

“What’s going on? I’ve been calling you since Monday. Not to go grandma on you, but you sound like shit, brother.”

“Feel like shit.”

“Want to tell me about it?” Alec asked.

“No, not really.”

“Let me guess that it has something to do with Mischa taking off back to San Francisco Sunday night?”

“What? She left?”

“She hasn’t talked to Dylan about it. I assume that means you two haven’t talked, either.”

“You’d assume right.” Connor couldn’t keep another growl out of his tone.

“And,” Alec continued, “I assume that’s why you’re in such a shitty mood.”

“Shitty mood doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Alec was quiet a moment. “I know we’re not all about sharing our feelings, Connor, but tell me what the hell happened. And before you tell me you’d rather not, that’s already obvious. Do it, anyway.”

Alec was right. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about anything. How he’d been ignoring work. How he’d been brooding like a kicked puppy. He didn’t want to talk about the fucking
weather
. But he couldn’t stand feeling like he was about to explode every single waking moment of the day.

“I left her.” His stomach tightened into a hard knot, his free hand gripping the steering wheel. “And I didn’t do it right. I didn’t
check in with her. I didn’t make sure she was okay. I didn’t do any of the things we’ve been trained to do. That
I’ve
been trained to do. Totally fucking gutless and irresponsible, I know it.”

“You left after you played her,” Alec said. It was a statement, not a question.

“I did.” He could rake himself over the coals again for it, but he was too damn tired.

Another long pause on the other end of the phone. “We’ll talk about that part later. What else? And don’t make me pull it out of you. Spill.”

“She called me a few times. I didn’t pick up. Never called her back.”

“Because?”

“Because I fucking can’t, Alec! I can’t do it. Can’t talk to her. Can’t see her again.”

“You’re making a hell of a big deal out of this, Connor. In the past you would have just sent the girl home, whoever she was. End of story. You told me before that things were different with Mischa. So what happened with her that made you act like such a God damn jerk?”

“I know it. So…” He paused, ran a hand over his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I love the girl. I think she loves me back.”

“Are you fucking crazy, Connor?”

“Probably. Yeah, I’m thinking I am.”

“Why the hell would you leave like that if you love her? Did you two have a fight?”

“No, no fight. I don’t know. No. I do know. She’s better off. I have my reasons, Alec.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe your reasons are bullshit? Mine were, back when I didn’t think I could be with Dylan.”

“I don’t know…” But his mind was churning. What if Alec was right?

“Something to think about. That’s all I’m saying.”

“So I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Let me know how things work out.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

They hung up quickly. He liked that about Alec—that he knew when a conversation was done. And he had other things to do. Right now.

He dialed Mischa’s number, his head reeling as he waited for her to pick up. What the hell would he even say to her? But after a few rings it went to voice mail.

“Hey, Mischa, it’s me, Connor. Look, I know I owe you a damn big apology. Let me make it. Call me.”

He hung up, feeling like a fool. That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say. What needed to be said. Not by a long shot. But he couldn’t say it to her voice mail. He had to talk to her.

Fuck.

He gunned the engine, drove out of the garage and headed toward home. If she wouldn’t answer his call, he’d have to find another way.

Mischa glanced at her cell phone’s caller ID.

She picked it up. “Hi, Greyson.”

“Mischa, what’s up? I thought we had a phone conference set up at four with the attorney.”

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Grey. I forgot. I was at the shop today and I…I’m sorry,” she said again. “I just forgot.”

“Everything okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.” She sat down in the overstuffed red velvet
chair in the living room of her Victorian apartment. “No. Not really.”

“Tell me you’re not having second thoughts about going into business this late in the game, Mischa.”

“What? Of course not. Do you really believe I’d do that?”

“Nope. So, you want to tell me what’s really up? Does this have something to do with why you left Seattle early and canceled this meeting with the lawyer in person with no explanation? Because I know you. If it was a family emergency or something with Thirteen Roses you would have told me instead of sending me that vague text telling me you needed to reschedule the talk with the lawyer by phone from San Francisco.”

“Grey, I’m just…I needed to leave. I needed to get my head together.”

“It’s that guy Connor, isn’t it?”

She sighed, pushed her hair from her face. “Yes.”

“Do I need to hire a hit man?”

She laughed a little, the first time she’d even cracked a smile in the five days since she’d been back in San Francisco. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“All right. But tell me if you change your mind. I can always use the cash I have stashed away for 1st Avenue Ink.”

Smiling hurt a little, but she couldn’t help it. “Thanks, Grey. You’re a real friend.”

His tone sobered. “I am, you know.”

“I know.”

“So…this talking about feelings stuff is new territory for us, other than bitching about our families or work, but if you need me, I’m here.”

“I appreciate it. I really do.”

“But you’re not going to tell me about what happened with you and Connor.”

She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I can’t right now. I’m mad. And I’m…
hurt
. And I just can’t talk about it yet.”

Even admitting that much out loud was like having a hot poker driven into her chest, and she had to take a slow, steadying breath.

“Well, I’m here,” Greyson said again.

“Thank you. And thanks for not drilling me about it.”

“Any time.”

After they’d rescheduled the phone conference with their attorney and hung up she stood and went to the window. Her apartment was on a quiet street in North Beach, one of a long row of gorgeously detailed Victorians. The sun was just setting, the last rays of the day touching the scrolling gingerbread work of the homes across the street with a pale winter light.

She hated this time of day lately. Ever since she’d returned from Seattle. The nights were endless, and as pretty as she’d always found the setting sun, now it was nothing more than the harbinger of the long, dark night ahead.

She’d tried to stay busy, to stay as late as possible at the shop, but today she’d had nothing booked later than three. She’d attempted to hang out, finding busywork, but eventually she’d had to leave—it wasn’t enough to distract her, and she knew she was driving her employees crazy. Working on a tattoo was the only time she was really able to lose herself enough that the constant, drumming pain faded away.

Some ridiculous part of her, she now realized, had thought that if she just came home everything would be okay. But it wasn’t. This had been the longest five days of her life.

Damn it, Connor.

Her body was going hot all over. Not with lust, but with a simmering rage. How could he do this to her? How could she have let it happen?

Need to slow down.

She pulled in a long breath, then another. Flattened her palm against the cool window. But once the anger had dissipated all that was left was the part that hurt so badly she could barely breathe.

A short sob escaped her and she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold it in. Trying to get the pain under control. But that was the problem. Connor had opened her up, and her emotions were something over which she no longer
had
control. Her safety net was gone, the one thing that had held her together most of her life. All those years when she’d had to be the adult instead of a child. Control was what had carried her through life, had helped her
make
a life.

She shook her head, willing the fear and confusion and grief away. It didn’t work, of course. She had to do
something
. Maybe a long hot shower would help. It would ease some of the tension from her tight shoulders, anyway. They felt like they were made of solid granite, hardened from all these days of holding back the tears with a steel-hard grip.

She turned from the window and made her way down the narrow hall to her bedroom. It was normally her haven, with its white iron bed piled high with pillows and its fluffy lavender down comforter, the highboy dresser she’d found in an antiques shop across the Golden Gate Bridge in Sausalito, the black-and-white fleur-de-lis print curtains she’d had custom made from her own design. But now what was once her favorite room seemed nothing more than an empty space. She’d spent every night since her return on the velvet sofa in the living room. Which didn’t make sense. He’d never been with her in her own bed, yet she couldn’t stand to sleep in it alone.