Page 80 of Playboy Pitcher

I let out a tired sigh. “Yes, you did. But it’s okay, because you’re right. I did screw up your life. I should’ve never brought you into this. I’m sorry,” I say, my shoulders sagging. “I didn’t know he’d do this.”

Ben steps closer, and the distance between us disappears. “What do you meanhe? I haven’t told you anything. What do you know?”

I close my eyes, breathless as my unintentional confession wraps its traitorous tentacles around me. “Nothing.”

Suddenly, I’m moving, and by the time I open my eyes, Ben has turned me to face him while grasping my other hand as well. The anger in his eyes has dulled. In its place is a raw vulnerability I’ve never seen before. “Willow, Prescott said things to me last night I haven’t ever told anyone.” Tugging me closer, he squeezes my hands, those deep blue eyes vivid and intense. “I asked you that night outside your car if he was threatening you. We have ground rules, remember? Don’t lie to me.”

How can I forget? A private promise made before a public promise given.

No lies. No secrets.

I’ve protected myself and Emma for ten years by surviving on lies and secrets. It’s all I know. Confiding in Ben goes against every instinct I have, but for the first time since walking away from everything and everyone, I do the unthinkable.

I put my faith in someone.

Squaring my jaw, I stare him dead in the eye. “That text I got in your truck, after… After…”

“After we fucked.”

“Yeah, that.” Images flash through my head, and I blush again. “It was from him.”

His hands stiffen. “You told me it was from your boss. That was a lie.” It’s not a question. The words are spoken flatly and coated in disappointment. My breath catches because I can feel him slipping away.

“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“What did it say?”

There’s no emotion in his command. It’s clinical. Like a police detective interviewing a witness to solve a case. Sighing, I pull my phone from my purse and let him read it for himself.

It’s not like I can’t recite it by now anyway.

Spread your legs for LaCroix all you want, princess. It’s not him you’re fucking, and you know it. When you get off his dick, end it. You’re embarrassing yourself. If you don’t, I’ll end it for you. You’re not the only one with skeletons in your closet.

Ben looks up, his hands tightening around my phone. “He was watching us?”

I nod.

“I should’ve fucking killed him.”

Don’t think I haven’t considered it.

“Now do you understand?” Wrenching my phone out of his hand, I drop it back in my purse. “Do you see why I pushed you away? I was trying to protect you. He’s changed, Ben. He was always an arrogant son of a bitch, but something has happened to him since I left. He’s determined to see me suffer, and he has no problem extending that to anyone I care about.”

“So, you admit you care about me,” he says gruffly, spinning me around and pressing me against the wall again. A shiver rolls down my spine as those eyes blaze dark and lethal, only this time it’s not anger swirling in those endless seas.

I’m so weak when it comes to him, and when he presses against me, I lose all my defenses. Even when he releases my hands, I don’t dare move. I don’t want to.

“You’re not the only one who’s changed, LaCroix,” I admit with a sharp inhale as his towel slips. “You got under my skin.”

He flashes a wide grin. “Like a splinter,” he says, throwing my own words from this very room back at me. He’s so proud of himself that I laugh, a sound quickly muffled as his mouth descends upon mine.

God, it’s like drowning for a lifetime only to finally take a breath of air.

He’s my air.

Ben teases a light kiss, sucking and then nipping at my bottom lip. “You might be working your way into other places too.”

I smile against his mouth. “You’re insatiable.”