away from her own. “I’m never going to convince you of my innocence, am I?”
Rather than answer, she wondered how far she would get without a car and wearing only one shoe. It was at least three miles to the main road. The road that ran along the front of the Whitaker farm. She sighed in resignation. Like he couldn’t catch her even if she hadn’t taken her shoe off to whack him in the head.
Perhaps this was part of his game. He expected her to run, so he could chase her. Maybe that excited him. Maybe the reason he’d stopped with his assault was because she’d given up the fight. She’d practically begged him to finish the job. That must have stopped him cold, ruined his cheap, sick, sexual appetite for her.
Slanting her gaze, she quickly looked at his crotch, just to confirm her suspicions. He no longer had an erection.
Then again, some of what he’d said made sense. If he’d wanted to rape her, he could have done so while she was passed out. Or moments ago. Or the last time they’d been on this bed. Her brain battled with thoughts of confusion.
Then, an even more terrifying thought washed over her. If Griffin hadn’t raped her that night, then who had? She pressed both hands to her burning eyes. She’d been so certain it was him. But now . . .
Weariness enveloped her as she tried to think, concentrate.
His shoulder bumped hers, and she soon realized he was much too close. Needing some space, she sat up slowly, afraid if she moved too quickly she would alarm him. She was relieved when he didn’t try to stop her. With her back to him, and her gaze on the doorway, she asked, “Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded defeated. “I just don’t know anymore.” The bed shifted with his weight, and her spine stiffened in response. She’d thought he might touch her when she heard keys jangling. “Here. Go,” he said, placing the keys on the bed, next to her hip.
Ignoring the keys momentarily, she scooted away from him, and angled her body so she could see his face. “You’re letting me go?”
His rugged face was suntanned, and his eyes were like two black marbles. His dark brown hair still scraped his collar, his body was lean, muscular and hard. The only thing different about him was the tiny laugh wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Although she couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh until moments ago when she’d threatened to hunt him down and kill him if he raped her.
“Don’t look so surprised. The big bad rapist is letting you go without so much as copping a feel.” His tone was mocking, insulting.
“I think you copped plenty a feel.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not as much as I would have liked.”
She felt her nostrils flare.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting a hand and propping himself up on his elbow. “I can’t seem to control my big mouth when I’m around you.”
Either he was truly sorry, or he was doing a darn good job of acting.
“Do you realize I haven’t had a relationship with anyone since I got out of prison? I mean, I don’t have trouble getting laid when I want. But most of the women around here won’t give me the time of day. And those who aren’t afraid of me think it’s a turn-on to date an ex-con. A rapist. They’re also the type who like it a little rough, which doesn’t exactly rock my boat, if you know what I mean.”
“And that’s supposed to be my fault?”
“You’re the one who sent me away for three years. Because of your false accusations, mothers herd their daughters in the opposite direction when they see me coming. As if I’m some kind of parasite. Do you know how hard it was for me to come back to this town? To start over? To make something of my life?”
Was he asking for sympathy? Then again, if she’d made a mistake, if Griffin wasn’t the one . . . She shuddered with the thought that someone else could be responsible and was running around free. And if so, had he hurt anyone else besides her?
Listen
Rather than answer, she wondered how far she would get without a car and wearing only one shoe. It was at least three miles to the main road. The road that ran along the front of the Whitaker farm. She sighed in resignation. Like he couldn’t catch her even if she hadn’t taken her shoe off to whack him in the head.
Perhaps this was part of his game. He expected her to run, so he could chase her. Maybe that excited him. Maybe the reason he’d stopped with his assault was because she’d given up the fight. She’d practically begged him to finish the job. That must have stopped him cold, ruined his cheap, sick, sexual appetite for her.
Slanting her gaze, she quickly looked at his crotch, just to confirm her suspicions. He no longer had an erection.
Then again, some of what he’d said made sense. If he’d wanted to rape her, he could have done so while she was passed out. Or moments ago. Or the last time they’d been on this bed. Her brain battled with thoughts of confusion.
Then, an even more terrifying thought washed over her. If Griffin hadn’t raped her that night, then who had? She pressed both hands to her burning eyes. She’d been so certain it was him. But now . . .
Weariness enveloped her as she tried to think, concentrate.
His shoulder bumped hers, and she soon realized he was much too close. Needing some space, she sat up slowly, afraid if she moved too quickly she would alarm him. She was relieved when he didn’t try to stop her. With her back to him, and her gaze on the doorway, she asked, “Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded defeated. “I just don’t know anymore.” The bed shifted with his weight, and her spine stiffened in response. She’d thought he might touch her when she heard keys jangling. “Here. Go,” he said, placing the keys on the bed, next to her hip.
Ignoring the keys momentarily, she scooted away from him, and angled her body so she could see his face. “You’re letting me go?”
His rugged face was suntanned, and his eyes were like two black marbles. His dark brown hair still scraped his collar, his body was lean, muscular and hard. The only thing different about him was the tiny laugh wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Although she couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh until moments ago when she’d threatened to hunt him down and kill him if he raped her.
“Don’t look so surprised. The big bad rapist is letting you go without so much as copping a feel.” His tone was mocking, insulting.
“I think you copped plenty a feel.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not as much as I would have liked.”
She felt her nostrils flare.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting a hand and propping himself up on his elbow. “I can’t seem to control my big mouth when I’m around you.”
Either he was truly sorry, or he was doing a darn good job of acting.
“Do you realize I haven’t had a relationship with anyone since I got out of prison? I mean, I don’t have trouble getting laid when I want. But most of the women around here won’t give me the time of day. And those who aren’t afraid of me think it’s a turn-on to date an ex-con. A rapist. They’re also the type who like it a little rough, which doesn’t exactly rock my boat, if you know what I mean.”
“And that’s supposed to be my fault?”
“You’re the one who sent me away for three years. Because of your false accusations, mothers herd their daughters in the opposite direction when they see me coming. As if I’m some kind of parasite. Do you know how hard it was for me to come back to this town? To start over? To make something of my life?”
Was he asking for sympathy? Then again, if she’d made a mistake, if Griffin wasn’t the one . . . She shuddered with the thought that someone else could be responsible and was running around free. And if so, had he hurt anyone else besides her?
Listen
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