Page 131 of Carnal Urges

“No,” she says softly, eyes shining. “It means you can’t. If it comes down to a choice between the two of you, I can’t honestly say what I’ll do.”

I close my eyes and drag a breath into my lungs. “I said I wouldn’t make you choose.”

“You did. And I believe you. But now you’ve upped the ante. Now, you and Kage are the last men standing.”

“I wanted to end a war.”

“And you may have. But you’ve also backed him into a corner. What choice does he have but to retaliate?”

“Surrender.”

She says drily, “I take it you’ve never met the man.”

“I’ve met him. Don’t sound so bloody impressed.”

“This is going to offend you, but I think the two of you are very much alike.”

“You’re right. I’m offended.”

She settles her head on my chest and sighs. “Okay.”

I’m nervous when she doesn’t say anything else. I want to get her talking again. “How did you go from the girl who got pushed down the stairs to who you are now?”

“I eventually realized it wasn’t that I wanted to die. It’s that I wanted to escape my feelings. I wanted out. Life was too painful to live as it was. So I decided I needed to change it. My life, I mean. I needed to make it so that nothing bad could ever happen to me again. Which is magical thinking, of course. We can’t control when bad things happen. But we can control how we react.

“I vowed I wouldn’t be a victim ever again. I started taking care of myself. I got into yoga, fixed my shitty diet, read everything I could get my hands on about self-care. I built up my self-esteem like it was a house, brick by brick. Before I went off to college at eighteen, I did everything I could to be mentally and physically tough. It was either that or kill myself, so I figured it was worth a try. After a while, it worked. I dropped a bunch of weight, got strong, learned how to give zero fucks about what anyone else thought. I learned how to listen to myself. How to protect myself, because no one else would.”

Picturing her as a teenager, a girl in pain determined to save herself, my admiration for her grows even deeper. “That’s when you decided men were desserts.”

“And nothing more,” she says firmly. “Especially since they onlypaid me attention when I was fat and a source of ridicule and an easy target, or when I was in shape and a source of lust. I couldn’t trust them.”

I tuck her head into my neck, kiss her temple, and murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“What I said to you in the hospital. How I acted like what to do about a pregnancy was my choice, not yours.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Fuck, don’t thank me. I’m an idiot.”

A seagull flies low over the waves, his wingtips skimming the water. Another one makes a wide, lazy circle overhead, crying a lonely seabird cry.

Watching them, it dawns on me what a terrible thing I’ve done by bringing Sloane here. By making her my captive, then earning her trust. I’m like one of those clueless conservationists who think keeping a tiger in captivity is safer for it than living out in the wild.

A cage is no place for a wild thing, no matter how gilded the bars.

To make things worse, I keep demanding she tell me I can trust her. Like she really wants to make some fucked-up pledge of allegiance to the man who snatched her from a parking garage. Like that would make any kind of bloody sense!

How am I only just realizing this?

My voice rough, I say, “You told me you didn’t want me to keep you too long. Do you still feel that way?”

In her silence, I feel her attention sharpen. “Why?”

I have to swallow several times before I can force the words out. “I’ll take you home if you want me to.”

Her voice rises. “Take me home?”