Hurt the One You Love Read online

"She walked out."

  "What the hell?" Barry sounded speechless, which was unusual for him. The man could talk through anything.

  "I'm going home." Elliott punched the elevator button again, irritated. He stepped back to look at the numbers lit above it, frowning at the holdup. Someone a few floors up must be holding the door for some reason. "I don't have a date anymore."

  "I've got some spares here." Barry laughed again. "You can have more than one."

  Elliott pushed the button again just as the door opened. Phone still pressed to his ear, he got on, nearly running into a petite girl with dark hair in a short, pixie cut. She stepped out of the way just in time with a startled noise.

  "Sorry," Elliott said. To Barry, he added, "No. Not you. Bumped into someone on the elevator."

  "A female someone? Bring her along." With that, Barry hung up before Elliott could offer any further protests.

  With a snarling sigh, he tucked his phone into his pocket and gave the woman a glance. He'd seen her around, maybe in the lobby or elevator before. A tiny thing, she barely came up to his shoulder, and that hair. Black and glossy as a raven's wing, brushing over her cheeks like feathers. Her black skirt hit her just below the knee, basically unspectacular but form fitting enough to show she had a nice ass. Cheap fabric, too. Her white blouse could've used an iron, and her shoes made him want to cringe. Black and gray plaid flats with a pointed toe.

  And damn, she'd caught him looking.

  Elliott didn't often blush. Shame might occasionally come for a visit, but embarrassment never rang the bell. Yet now, trapped in this woman's equally frank assessment of him, Elliott felt heat rising up from his throat and across his cheeks. She looked as though she'd seen right into the heart of him, and he didn't like it.

  Hated it, as a matter of fact, feeling as though anyone could possibly try to know him, especially a semi-stranger on the elevator. His cold glare should've stung her into looking away, but the woman only smiled, lips quirking. She raised a brow, too.

  "Working late, too, huh?" She reached past him to push the door close button because it had remained open. "This thing's acting up tonight. If we're lucky, maybe we'll get stuck."

  "Lucky--" He stopped himself to study her.

  She tilted her head to look him over again before she turned, giving him another view of that tight rear. She pushed the lobby button once more, though it was already lit, then gave him another slow, lingering glance over her shoulder.

  That smile. Fuck, it slew him. She was so far from his type she might as well have been another species, and yet something about her stirred heat low in his belly. It echoed the blush he'd felt earlier, and Elliott frowned.

  "It's Friday night. You should be out to dinner or at a party. Not in the office." She leaned against the railing with one foot propped on the wall behind her. Her bag, an enormous tote made of patched fabric squares, shifted, and she slung it higher on her shoulder.

  "I was going to a party, but my date . . . left." The words slipped out of him unbidden, for no other reason than it would've felt rude not to answer her at all. That's what he told himself, anyway, watching the curve of her hip and the quirk of her smile.

  The woman didn't look surprised or even sympathetic. "Women can be crazy bitches."

  "And men can be arrogant assholes," Elliott countered, surprising himself.

  She laughed at that, and he admired the crinkles in the corners of her eyes. "Truth. I'm Simone."

  She held out her hand, and Elliott took it. "Elliott Anderson."

  "I know you, Mr. . . . Anderson." She put an unwieldy pause between the two beats of his name, and his blank look must've given him away, because she laughed again. "You've never seen The Matrix?"

  "No."

  She shook her head. "That's too bad. It's a good one."

  The elevator bumped open on another floor, the door opening and staying open long past the time it would've taken even a crowd to get on. Simone sighed and pushed the door close button again. She gave him a shrug.

  "You're working late, too. No party for you?" He asked.

  "No. No plans either. Maybe a glass of wine and a book." She eyed him as the elevator jerked to another stop. "I could be convinced to go to a party, though. Since you don't have a date, I mean."

  Startled at her boldness, but intrigued, Elliott let his eyes meet hers, giving her an extra-thorough perusal. She was pretty, he thought. Not beautiful, not trying to be. He liked long hair on women, but her short cut emphasized her features and brought out the slightly catlike tilt of her eyes. Her mouth, even with that quirking smile, was lush.

  Still . . . He shook his head. "You wouldn't have a good time."

  "I always have a good time," Simone said.

  The elevator opened again to reveal nobody waiting. Irritated, Elliott leaned past her to stab the close door button. "What the hell is the matter with this thing?"

  "Safety feature?" Simone asked. "Maybe they program it to stop on every floor so that if someone's in here after hours and they get assaulted on the elevator, they have ample opportunity to escape."

  He laughed, then saw she was serious. "That seems inefficient."

  "Not if you're being assaulted."

  She was quick-witted. He liked that, quite a lot. A few more floors to lobby level, and he was actually going to be a little disappointed he'd have no more excuses to talk to her.

  "So. The party?"

  He shook his head again, making a show of being obvious in his study of her. "You wouldn't fit in. Sorry."

  He'd been too blunt; he saw it in the flutter of her blink, the tiniest droop of her smile. Shit. Think before you speak, Molly always told him, but he'd never quite gotten the hang of figuring out when that was important. For the second time that night, heat spread to his face. He turned away so she wouldn't see it, and so he wouldn't have to see what his casual cruelty had done to her.

  The elevator at last opened onto the lobby. Elliott might not know when to curb his words, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be a gentleman--he paused, a hand on the door to make sure it didn't close, though the past ten minutes' trip had made that seem unlikely to be a problem. He waited for Simone to walk out ahead of him, and when she didn't, turned to see what was taking her so long.

  She straightened just as he turned, settling her foot further into a black patent stiletto and tucking her flats into the shoulder bag. She gave him a smile from red, lush lips. The top button on her white blouse was undone to show a hint of creamy cleavage and a white lace bra, nothing too revealing but definitely no longer office appropriate. The skirt had magically become shorter, showing off that shapely ass and now her thighs through a small slit. She'd done something to her hair, too. Spiked and ruffled it.

  She'd transformed.

  Giving him an up-and-down glance, Simone shrugged her bag over her shoulder and pushed past him with her head held high and that ass swaying. Mesmerized, Elliott could only stare after her until the door nudged his hand like a puppy begging for affection. Then he stepped out.

  "Wait a minute," he said. "Are you still up for a party?"

  Chapter 3

  You wouldn't fit in.

  Elliott's casual comment shouldn't have stung her, but it had. Mostly because of the way he'd said it, so obviously sincere and not trying to hurt her feelings at all. Just being honest. That was somehow worse than someone trying to be mean. She could dismiss nasty, no problem, with both her middle fingers and a sneer.

  Honesty was always harder not to take to heart.

  He'd been right, though. The moment they stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse apartment where the party waited, Simone felt out of place even with her quick change in the elevator. All the other women here wore evening gowns or cocktail dresses. Sparkly jewelry. Blondes, brunettes, and redheads in a veritable cascade of beautiful women who hung on the arms of the men they accompanied. Women who spoke when spoken to, and only then to giggle or coo.

  Hell no, Simone didn't fit