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       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       Poppy

      HE MEANT IT. I could see it in his eyes. He would be on my side.

      But it wasn’t that that made me want to cry even harder. It was the fact that he thought ‘this’ had a finite date.

      When this was over, that was what he’d said.

      It shouldn’t have hurt. It shouldn’t have meant anything at all because, God knows, I hadn’t thought about wanting him or this affair that we were having to go on for ever.

      But the way he’d said it in conjunction with telling me he’d be on my side felt...odd. Like he was giving me something precious with one hand while taking something even more precious away with the other.

      I didn’t know why it stuck in my head, but it did.

      And I didn’t want him to see it, not when he’d already seen so much, so I bit his thumb, trying to divert his train of thought onto something else.

      Something simpler.

      His dark eyes widened, heat flickering in them as I let my teeth rest gently against the skin of his thumb.

      It didn’t matter that what we had wouldn’t last. I didn’t need it to. I didn’t want it to.

      Sure, he made me feel good when he touched me and knowing he thought I had talent, knowing he thought I was bright and passionate and brave, were all good things—wonderful things.

      But... I didn’t need them.

      I didn’t need a man to make me feel good about myself.

       So why were you crying?

      Yeah, that had been ridiculous. Maybe I was getting my period or something.

       No. It’s because you know you’re not any of those things. And it’s easier to take his punishment than his compliments.

      ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ He wasn’t looking at my mouth around his thumb, but into my eyes.

      Damn man.

      Trying to ignore that snide whispering voice, I swirled my tongue around the tip of his thumb, flicking it like I flicked the head of his cock, yet still he didn’t look away.

      ‘What would it take?’ The question was soft, dark. ‘What would it take for you to believe me?’

      Nothing. Nothing would make me believe him, because I couldn’t afford to believe him.

      He was right about one thing. I’d been protecting myself a long time. So long that I didn’t know how to stop, nor did I want to.

      If I stopped fighting, people took advantage. Selfish people who didn’t care what I wanted, only what they did. My mother, all the various employers who thought they could put a hand on me.

      My father, who put his own pain before the life of his child.

      I did have to protect myself because who else would?

       He would.

      No, I couldn’t trust that. I’d trust him with my body and my pleasure, but nothing else. After all, like he’d said, this would be over soon enough and I’d have to go back to relying on myself anyway.

      The fire in his eyes became darker, more intense, which should have been a warning. He’d always responded to every challenge I threw at him and what was my lack of belief if not a challenge?

      He pulled his thumb from my mouth. ‘What’s your word, Poppy?’

      Everything in me gathered tight. ‘S-Seven.’

      He gave a curt nod then reached down to pick something up from the floor beside the sofa. It was the shirt I’d been wearing at work.

      ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, unable to help myself.

      The look he gave me was full of a kind of quiet ferocity that had my breath catching. ‘You told me you trusted me, but you don’t. Do you?’

      How could I lie to him? ‘With my body, of course I do.’

      ‘But not with anything else.’

      He valued honesty, so that was what I gave him. ‘How can I? This will be over at some point and then I’ll have to go back to looking after myself. I can’t afford to rely on anyone, Xander. Surely you can understand that?’

      ‘I’m not anyone.’

      ‘I know, but the people I expected to look after me never did.’

      ‘So it’s easier to expect nothing? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

      I lifted my chin. ‘I’m not leaving myself open to being kicked while I’m down. Been there, done that.’

      He said nothing for a long moment. Then he held up the black fabric of my shirt. ‘See this? Do you know what it is?’

      Was he kidding? ‘It’s my shirt.’

      ‘No. It’s a blindfold.’

      My mouth went bone-dry. ‘It’s a...what?’

      ‘A blindfold,’ he repeated patiently. ‘You don’t trust me. But I want to prove to you that you can.’

      Something was thudding very loudly in my ears.

      ‘You want me to put that

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