Hurt the One You Love Read online

  "Why not let me take you out for a real meal?" Elliott asked.

  Simone paused in taking out the carton of hummus and bags of chips. "First of all, that sounds more like a date. Second of all, me and you? We have some discussing to do. And I sort of got the idea that you're the kind of man who doesn't like to make a scene. If this isn't enough food for you, we can order pizza."

  Shit.

  "Are you going to make a scene, Simone?"

  "No. I don't intend to," she told him. "But I do intend to say what I mean to, and I do mean for you to listen."

  "That sounds ominous." He tore open a bag of chips and dunked one in the hummus, his stomach rumbling.

  "Only if you're uncomfortable with discussions of an adult nature."

  He paused to give her a look, trying to judge her. She'd said it lightly enough, but her expression was neutral. He sat back in his chair. "You're pissed off."

  "Let me ask you a question, Elliott. Don't you think I have the right to be a little disgruntled?" She sat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and sipped from her paper cup of coffee. Her voice, still light. Expression, still neutral.

  He knew enough about women to know he was in for a shitstorm if he didn't play this right. The problem was, he was never able to play things right. Elliott sighed.

  "What do you want me to say? Sorry?"

  "Are you sorry?"

  He looked at her. "No."

  "Then don't say you are." She sipped coffee again. "But I think you need to understand some things about me."

  He expected her to tell him how she didn't put up with bullshit. How he didn't know what he was messing with. Maybe even that he was a selfish prick. All things he'd heard from other women over the years.

  "I'm not a robot," Simone said, instead. "I'm a real girl. With real feelings. Which might surprise you, or make you feel uncomfortable, but that's the way it is, and for someone who made such a big deal out of me being rude for dancing with someone else when you told me you didn't want to dance, I think it was particularly rude of you to fuck me and leave without so much as a 'call you later.' You didn't have to stay for breakfast, but you could've at least acted like you weren't chewing off your arm to get out of a trap."

  "I don't like to sleep in someone else's bed."

  "Who does?" Simone said with a frown. "You could've just said so."

  "I've tried that in the past. Women don't like it. They think I'm making an excuse. Or that I should somehow get over my desire to sleep in the comfort of my own bed, with my own pillow, for their sake."

  "Oh, women," Simone said with an airy wave of her hand. "We can be some kind of crazy bitches."

  Elliott snorted reluctant laughter. "Yeah, you mentioned that the night we met."

  "But men," she added, "can be assholes."

  "Yes. We can. I wasn't trying to be an asshole. I just . . . didn't want an argument."

  "I wouldn't have argued with you."

  "I didn't know that."

  She smiled, then. A small one. "No. You didn't."

  "I'm sorry," Elliott said, surprising himself.

  "Accepted." She gestured at the food. "Eat up."

  He dug into the hummus and crunched a chip, watching her as she sipped more coffee. He could remember the taste of her. The feel of her skin under his fingertips. The way she moaned, the color of her skin fading from red to creamy pale . . .

  "You're staring," she told him.

  Elliott shifted, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

  "Are you imagining me naked?"

  He had been, but shook his head.

  She grinned. "Liar."

  A smile tugged his mouth. "Are you imagining me naked?"

  "Oh. Absolutely." Simone lifted her cup toward him. "I'm hoping I get another chance to see it for real."

  "You're not . . . mad."

  She sighed for a moment. "Listen. You're kind of hard to like, do you know that?"

  "Yes."

  "Bonus points for acknowledging," she told him.

  Elliott tore the lemon scone into four equal pieces and laid them out on the napkin, since he had no plate. Before he could reach inside the paper bag for another napkin, Simone handed him one. "Thanks."

  "And yet I like you anyway," she said.

  "You have suspicious taste in men."

  She gave him a cheery smirk. "Oh, there's no doubt about that. But here's the thing, Elliott . . . you like me, too."

  He did like her, that was the crazy thing. He'd liked her from the moment in the elevator when she'd transformed herself from office mouse to after-hours vixen. And when she'd held her own at Barry's party. He liked the way she tasted and smelled, the way she moved under him, but most of all, he liked the way she responded to him.

  "I don't even know you," Elliott said.

  "You know parts of me," Simone replied in a low voice.

  He was no longer so hungry. Elliott wiped his fingers carefully on the spare napkin. "Seeing you naked doesn't mean I know every part of you."

  Simone got up from her chair and came around the desk to sit on the edge of it. Her knee brushed his on purpose. She crossed her arms at first as he leaned back in his chair. Then, before he could stop her, she swung her leg over his lap. Straddling him, she put her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs brushing his neck.

  She put her mouth to his ear. "I like it when you hurt me."

  Chapter 13

  Simone had never seen a man move so fast. One minute she was on Elliott's lap. The next he'd lifted her and pushed her to the side so hard she stumbled, whacking her elbow on the edge of his desk as he got out of his chair, which went spinning into the wall behind him. She straightened, rubbing it with a wince.

  "That's not the kind of hurt I mean," she told him.

  "What the hell is the matter with you?"

  She didn't feel much like laughing, but forced a chuckle to keep her voice light. "You want the whole list, or the Reader's Digest version?"

  Elliott blinked. Ran a hand through his hair. Then across his mouth. "I'm sorry I pushed you. Are you okay?"

  Simone rubbed her elbow, which was still tingling. "It's fine. I'm sorry you were so upset by what I said."

  They stared at each other for long, silent moments that she wasn't going to break. He could tell her to get the hell out. He could pull her into his arms and crush his mouth to hers. Either way, she was going to leave it up to him.

  Elliott frowned. "Do you always just say what you think?"

  "Mostly."

  He looked at the spread of food she'd brought--she knew his preference for lemon scones, hummus and chips, because that's what she'd seen him bring in for breakfast or lunch. She'd known he'd be hungry, because she'd watched him all day, and he hadn't eaten. She'd known, too, that he'd need that extra napkin.

  She knew so much about him, Simone thought, and he had no idea who she was.

  "Look," she said suddenly. "I came here because I wanted you to know something. About me. I wanted you to know me a little, Elliott. I mean, we were pretty intimate already, and I know you don't really see women more than once or twice--"

  "Who said that?" He looked surprised, but not affronted.

  It had been a guess, based on the parade of women he'd been bringing to his office for the past year and a half, since the first time she'd stayed late and noticed she could see him from her window. He wasn't denying it. Simone shrugged.

  Elliott frowned. He did that a lot, but she'd seen his smile, and it was worth waiting for. He rubbed at his mouth again. Not smiling.

  "I don't want to be your girlfriend, just so you know," Simone told him. "I don't think fucking equals love. I want you to know that, too. And I'll never, ever be that girl who shows up on your doorstep with mascara streaming down her cheeks, asking you why you don't love me."

  It was working. The corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little. Not quite a smile, but the promise of one.

  "I like sex. A certain kind of sex, to be honest," she said bluntly. "The