Every Part of You: Resists Me Read online

  “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 rough kind. The kind that leaves marks. It’s not that I can’t get off on the soft, romantic, vanilla-flavored fucking, because I can. But I like the pain.”

  Elliott coughed.

  Simone didn’t back off. “I like teeth on my throat and having my nipples pinched, having my hair pulled and my clit slapped.”

  Elliott coughed again, harder this time.

  “I don’t like being tied up. Or spanked as discipline.” The tone of her voice had gone from light to slightly harsh, but she didn’t work too hard to change it. “I will never, ever wear a collar. I won’t call any man Master.”

  He smiled then, finally, and though it was far from that brilliant one she’d had the luck to catch the night they’d been together, it was better than the frown. “No. I don’t imagine you ever would.”

  She smiled, too. “I like you, Elliott Anderson. You’re smart. You have a good job. You’re sexy as hell—”

  He snorted soft laughter at that and shook his head.

  “And you like to hurt women when you fuck them.”

  That stopped his laughter as fast as it had begun. The frown was back, this time accompanied by furrowed brows. He didn’t deny it, but obviously he didn’t want to admit it, either.

  “You like it,” she repeated softly. “And I like it. So where’s the harm in liking it together?”

  He shook his head again. Harder, this time. “You have no idea.”

  “About what? What I like?” It was Simone’s turn to frown. “Because I can guarantee you, I’ve had enough time to figure it out. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time a dude’s tried to tell me what I like or not—”

  “No. Not about what you like. About what I like. I don’t. Like … that,” Elliott said.

  He was lying to himself. She knew it, but wasn’t going to call him on it. Taking a chance, Simone sidled a little closer. “All I’m saying is, maybe we could give it a try.”

  “What? Fucking? You said it yourself. I don’t see women more than once or twice. I’ve already seen you more than that.” His lip still curled in a sneer, but his gaze wouldn’t meet hers.

  Simone’s chin went up. “Fine. Listen, I don’t beg. I don’t chase. I don’t need to.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.” It was a compliment that sounded vaguely like an insult, and it stung her unexpectedly.

  She pushed away from the desk. “Enjoy the scones.”

  He reached to snag her sleeve as she passed. “Wait a minute.”

  She waited without looking at him. Elliott let her wait, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, she turned. “What?”

  “You don’t know me,” he said.

  She gave a pointed look at the scones. The coffee. The napkins. Then at him. She raised a brow.

  “No?”

  His mouth thinned. “No, Simone. You don’t.”

  “Fine,” she said again.

  “I know you think I’m a dick.”

  She laughed then. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elliott said.

  “No, you’re not,” Simone told him as she took up his phone from where he’d left it on the desk. She programmed something into it quickly and put it back. “But when you are, I guess you know where to find me.”

  When she’d gone, he thumbed the screen to check what she’d done. It was easy to see, since she hadn’t closed the address book. She’d left him her phone number.

  * * *

  “You’re early.” Molly gave him a questioning smile. Propped up in the bed, her silver hair brushed out around the shoulders of the quilted pink dressing gown he’d bought her, she looked easily ten years younger than she was.

  For the first time in months, her gaze was bright and clear. Her hands shook when she held them up to take the bouquet of wildflowers he’d brought her, but her smile was firm. She breathed in the scent, then handed them to Elliott to put in the vase he always kept filled on her dresser.

  He wasn’t early; he was actually a little late because of the conversation with Simone. Still, he didn’t correct her. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Oh, fine.” She frowned and lowered her voice. “That nurse, though. The one with the outrageous hair. She says I’m not supposed to get out of bed without ringing for her first. How ridiculous.”

  “She doesn’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.” Elliott pulled out the wilting flowers from the vase and dumped them in the trash, then poured the old water down the sink in the bathroom.

  “Hurt? How would I get hurt?” Molly said, gesturing to tell him exactly where to put it. “To the left, so I can see them.”

  “You could fall.” Elliott stepped back, waiting to see if she had other instructions. When she didn’t, he pulled the chair up to the side of the bed.

  “And I could win the lottery.” Molly snorted. “Or the Miss America pageant.”

  “Falling and breaking your hip is a lot more likely to happen than either of those.”

  She scowled. “You act like I’m an old, decrepit lady.”

  She wasn’t that old. She wasn’t decrepit, either. But the brain trauma that had started her slide into early onset dementia had also left her with balance and coordination issues. The same trauma made her forget them.

  “I’m not,” she added, but wistfully, as though she needed him to convince her.

  Elliott took her hand. “No. You’re not.”

  She looked down at her fingers twisted in his. “You’re early.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see you, that’s all.”

  Her smile was worth it. “Charmer. Just like your dad.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d compared him to the old man, and