Chapter 7

SEVEN

Saylor

WHORE .

The word is burned into my psyche, and nothing I do can make it go away.

I'm fumbling around in my kitchen trying to do something useful, but my hands are shaking and my nerves are shot.

It isn't the first time I've been called an unkind name. As a model, keyboard warriors don't hesitate to tell you you're fat, you've put on a few pounds, your eyes are too small, lips too thin, boobs too saggy—there's always something.

But this is different.

This feels personal.

Someone isn't hiding behind their computer or just posting on a random social media site.

This person came to my business—my second home—and assaulted my character.

I enjoy a healthy sex life but am in no way promiscuous and haven't had sex in months. Besides, even if I sleep with every man I meet, it's no one's business. I'm not in a relationship so I can have sex with anyone I choose. I don't because I tend to be picky and also because now that I'm older, I need more than a physical connection. Of course, I'd been planning to throw caution to the wind with Canyon.

But no one else knows that.

I hadn't even told any of my close friends.

It's supposed to be a one-and-done kind of thing.

None of this makes sense and as I flutter around the kitchen straightening things that weren't messy and getting out cups, saucers, and honey for the tea, shame turns to anger.

"Who would do this to me?" I demand, slamming the flat of my hand down on the countertop.

There's a brief silence before Canyon comes around the island and puts one of his much bigger hands over mine. "I don't know, but it's better to be mad than sad or scared."

"I'm still sad and scared," I admit, "but now I'm also pissed off."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just being here has been great," I say, pausing to look at him. "You came over for a hookup and wound up getting pulled into my crazy. I'm sorry about that, and if you need to go, I'll be okay."

"Do you need me to stay?" His gorgeous blue eyes bore into mine.

"I…" Lying would be stupid.

I'm a wreck.

I'll manage if he leaves, but I might actually sleep if he doesn't.

"Is it that hard to admit you need me to stay?" he asks after a moment.

"It is." I pull in a shaky breath and then slowly let it out. "I've lived on my own for thirteen years. I own a home, two businesses, and travel all over the world by myself regularly. I have a security system that cost a fortune and neighbors right next door in a true emergency—I should be fine!" I say the words but without much conviction.

"But you're not." He pulls me into his arms, and I don't bother trying to resist.

Something about him makes me feel safe. Warm. Comfortable.

"Let's have some tea," he says after a moment. "Then I'm going to rub your back and tuck you in. Just get me a pillow, and I'll be fine on the couch."

I shake my head, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. "Don't be ridiculous. How tall are you? Six two? Six three? You can't sleep on the couch. You can sleep on my bed or in the guest room. You're doing me a huge favor by staying tonight—the least I can do is make you comfortable. Besides, you were supposed to sleep in my bed tonight anyway."

I'm attempting to be funny, but it falls a little flat.

"I don't expect anything," he says as I pull the kettle off the burner. "You know that, right?"

"I do. I'm just rattled and rambling. Don't mind me."

I put a dollop of honey in my cup. "Do you like lemon or honey with your tea?"

"I'll have it however you're having it."

I pause, turning back to him. "You don't drink tea, do you?"

"Not often, but I will tonight."

"Okay." I make two cups and hand him one.

For some reason, I'm using my antique English teacups. They have pale blue and pink flowers on them and are extremely girly. I usually only use them with my girlfriends, but I haven't been paying attention and now it's too late to change them.

Canyon either hasn't noticed or doesn't mind, lifting his cup and taking a tentative sip. "Oh. It's good." He sounds surprised and I smile.

"Chamomile is wonderful, especially at night."

"Let's go sit in the living room," he says. "We can relax a little before I put you to bed."

Part of me feels a jolt of excitement before the scene at the gallery flashes through my mind.

WHORE.

A prickle of shame washes over me.

Am I?

Canyon and I were supposed to be hooking up tonight—nothing but dinner and sex—and because of some sick vandal, I'm suddenly second guessing the very essence of who I am.

I am not a whore.

But someone out there thinks I am.

And it bothers me.

"Is it wrong to enjoy sex?" I blurt. "Like, when you're not in a relationship?"

Canyon looks startled but then his gaze turns dark.

"No. Fuck no." He appears frustrated as he puts his cup and saucer down on the glass coffee table. "Look, I know what happened tonight must hurt. Your feelings, your pride, all of it. But don't let some nameless, faceless asshole have that much power over you. This is what he wants. To hurt you. Shame you. Take away your power in the only way he can. And that's absolute bullshit.

"You're allowed to enjoy sex whether you're in a relationship or not. You're allowed to be sexual. You're allowed to be who you are. We all are. Don't let anyone take that from you."

I stare at him for a long moment and remember why I wanted to sleep with him in the first place. Why I agreed to go to dinner with him. Why I enjoy his company so much.

And it has less to do with how blue his eyes are than with who he is as a man. As a human being. He's different from other guys I've gone out with, and I want to know him better. The timing didn't work out tonight, and he's made it clear he isn't into relationships, but maybe we'd have the chance to go out just one more time.

I really want a do-over for tonight.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "I guess I'm a little emotional right now."

"Yeah, I would be too." He reaches out and pushes a lock of my hair back behind my ear. "You look wiped."

"I'm mentally drained, and now my body is finally starting to come down from the adrenalin high."

"Get on the floor," he says, leaning back and spreading his legs. "And don't give me that look. I mean, with your back to me. So I can rub your shoulders."

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die before they can come out.

Why the hell should I say no?

I slide down to the floor, my back against the couch, and my body seems to shiver with anticipation the moment those big, strong hands touch me.

"Relax," he whispers. "Let me make you feel good."

I can take that so many ways, but I'm not thinking about sex anymore.

All I can do is feel.

My chin hits my chest, and the tension I've been dealing with the last couple of hours seems to drain right out of me.

"Oh, fuck, that feels nice," I moan as he digs his thumbs into the fleshy part of my back, between the shoulder blades but closer to my neck.

He's done this before, because he knows exactly where to press and how much pressure to use to make goosebumps break out all over. I hadn't realized how exhausted I am until just now, and my eyes drift closed. His fingers are truly magical, kneading and stroking my neck, shoulders, the tops of my arms, and even the middle of my back.

I never want him to stop.

"Feel better?" he asks softly, his breath warm against my ear as he leans over me.

"Much."

"Ready for bed?"

"Oh…" I'm so relaxed I can't even think about moving at this point.

"I've got you." Before I realize what's happening, he's scooped me up in his arms and is padding down the hall to my bedroom.

"Canyon…"

"It's all right, babe." He puts me down on the bed and pulls back the covers. "Go on, get in. I'm going to put our teacups in the kitchen and turn out the lights."

"You're coming back, right?" I whisper in the semi-darkness.

"Give me two minutes."

For some reason, I can't fully relax until he comes back and the moment he slides in beside me, I nestle deeper into my pillow.

"Thank you. For being with me tonight. I was really rattled."

"You're welcome." I feel the warmth of his body as he scoots closer to me.

The urge to roll into his arms is strong, but the pull of sleep is stronger.

And when I wake up in the morning, the space beside me is empty.

Myriad feelings hit me as last night's events come roaring back, and I sit up with a groan.

Was I truly so needy I asked a veritable stranger to sleep beside me last night?

I sure was.

But he did it without me really having to ask .

The truth is, he volunteered.

And he was a perfect gentleman.

I don't know if that makes me happy or disappoints me, but it's probably a combination of the two.

I was attracted to him enough to want to sleep with him, and then the universe laughed in the face of my plans.

He could have bolted the second things got serious. Hell, I was half-naked when the call had come in, yet he hadn't hesitated to stop everything, get his shirt back on, and drive me to the gallery. He stayed with me through the whole situation, brought me home, gave me the best mini massage of my life, and then slept beside me because he sensed I was nervous about being alone.

I'm disappointed he didn't wake me this morning, but I was probably out cold, and he had to get to practice.

Once I clean up, I pad into the kitchen and turn on my coffeemaker.

And there on the counter is a piece of paper with unfamiliar handwriting.

Saylor,

You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you. I hope today is a better day. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call.

Canyon

PS I still want to discuss that painting. Please don't sell it without talking to me first.

For some reason, his note makes me smile, and I read it again before folding and sliding it into my purse.

I'm going to gift him the painting as a thank you for last night.

It's also an excuse to see him again.

That's probably silly. There is no reason I can't call or text him, but I want to see him in person. See the look on his face when I show up with the painting. Help him decide where to hang it. Maybe even offer to cook him dinner.

Unfortunately, all of that has to wait for another day.

I need coffee, a shower, and then I have to pull up my big-girl pants to face the day head-on. I have to arrange to have that defaced gallery wall cleaned and painted, and I have two appointments to cancel.

I also need to think about amping up security somehow.

Apparently, cameras and an alarm aren't enough.

I add calling Rage to my mental to-do list as I sip coffee, but my thoughts drift back to Canyon. The smart thing to do is to forget about him and focus on re-opening the gallery in a few days, but my soul has other ideas.