Chapter 88: I’m Not Trying Anything
"You want to string Steve along for as long as you can? Did you love him?"
"Winn, this isn’t... are you trying to start a fight?"
"I’m not trying anything." His hands flexed at his sides, his control slipping. "I am just asking a question. Did you love him?"
Ivy’s back straightened. "Fine! Yes, yes... I... I did." She wasn’t going to let him see her cower, wasn’t going to allow herself to be bullied.
Winn’s nostrils flared, but his eyes—those grey, searching eyes—never left her face. "Do you still?"
"I think you know the answer to that," she said coolly. She turned away from him, her bare feet silent against the floor as she moved toward the bathroom. Escape. Air. Anything.
But Winn’s hand shot out, wrapping around her arm and pulling her back before she could take another step. His grip was firm, his heat searing her skin. "I asked a simple question," he growled. "Do you still love him?"
"Let go of me!" Ivy snapped, yanking her arm free from his hold, her towel shifting dangerously low in the movement. She spun to face him, eyes blazing. All the restraint she’d been clinging to splintered. "I love you! You! You dumb idiot! And when I told you, you walked away!"
Ivy stood there trembling, her towel slipping, tears she refused to shed burning the corners of her eyes.
Winn dipped his hands into his pockets then, a restless gesture that betrayed the storm twisting in his chest. His gaze cut away from hers. "What did you want me to do? Tell you I love you too?"
"No! But at least, not leave me standing there like an idiot."
"Ivy, you need to understand..." He stopped, exhaled, then continued with a raw honesty that scalded. "I cannot love you. I do not have the ability to love you. Not the way you want, not the way you deserve."
She swallowed hard, her nails biting into the towel she clutched. He wasn’t finished.
"I will care for you," Winn continued. "I will give you the world, if you want it. I will spoil you. I will make you the envy of every married woman in New York." His lips curved in a humorless smile as he leaned closer. "And I will fuck you every which way until you forget everything else. But love?" He shook his head. "That is something I cannot give."
"Then why are you interested if I am in love with another man?" Ivy asked.
"Because..." Winn dragged in a breath, his eyes boring into hers. "Because I do not want to share you."
Ivy exhaled heavily, her shoulders sagging as if his honesty had stolen the last of her strength. "I’m going to go take a shower," she whispered.
Winn’s hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to grab her, to stop her retreat, but he forced himself still. "Ivy...I know that it makes me an asshole, but would you rather I lie to you?"
Her lips trembled, but she forced a shaky laugh, brittle as glass. "No, no, it’s better this way." She turned her head. "This way, I have no expectations." She gave him a small, heartbreaking smile, and headed into the bathroom without another word.
Winn stood rooted in place, his fists tightening in his pockets as he listened to the sound of running water start behind the door.
Winn sighed once more. Moments like this reminded him of Irene’s betrayal—how her memory lived inside his chest. God, the way he had loved her. Fiercely. Recklessly. Completely.
They had grown up together, learnt to make love together, he had been young, wild with conviction, so sure that if he poured his soul into someone, they would never walk away. And yet she had.
She had taken that love, crushed it beneath her heel, and taught him the cruelest truth: love was nothing more than a loaded weapon someone else could turn on you. He had worked his ass off for years just to give her the best life away from his family wealth.
It wasn’t fair to Ivy—Christ, he knew that. But like she said, it was better she didn’t have such expectations of him. Better she kept her heart locked away before he ruined it the way Irene had ruined his. Still, Winn hated the sadness he’d glimpsed in her, the shadow in those blue eyes.
That sadness was a mirror, showing him a man he didn’t want to be.
One thing he was damn sure of: he wasn’t going home that night. No. Tonight, he would spend every breath, every ounce of himself, finding ways to give Ivy what she deserved—even if he couldn’t give her what she craved.
He could give her his body, his devotion, his presence pressed against her until she believed, that she was all that mattered. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, thumbed a quick text to Reese: Pick me up here in the morning. Bring a change of clothes.
Sliding the phone away, he stripped off his clothes one by one. Jacket folded. Shirt tucked square. Pants aligned over the arm of the sofa in the corner of the room.
The sound of running water called to him. He padded across the room and stepped into the steam-filled bathroom. He found her back turned, head tilted slightly beneath the spray.
Winn moved in silently, then slid his arms around her, pulling her flush against the solid weight of his chest. She softened as she recognized him. He pressed his mouth to her wet shoulder, his breath hot against her skin.
"I’m sorry," he murmured. Two words foreign on his tongue. He had never been a man of apologies. But as the syllables left his mouth, he realized he would probably be saying them a lot in the future. To her.
"There is nothing to be sorry about. It is what it is." Ivy responded. The shower spray pattered down over her hair, streaming rivulets along her collarbone. In her mind, it stung—who would have thought Ivy Morales, the girl who once swore she’d never settle, would now be agreeing to a one-sided relationship.