I'd always deemed her touch tolerable. But I'd been comparing her to the other women I'd been with and in that regard, she was. But now, I was comparing her to Lydia and the difference was drastic enough to make me cringe when Courtney put her hands on me.
I'd made a mistake when months ago, at the time I was planning on taking over De Havilland Enterprises, I'd first seen Lydia as she exited the building after work one evening. I'd stood across the street watching her, my heart lodged in my throat, my emotions all over the place. She'd laughed as she'd called out a couple words over her shoulder to a man in a suit who obviously worked there, too, and the man had laughed back, waving, continuing to look over his shoulder at her even as she walked farther down the block.
I'd been shaking with what I had called anger at the time, but now knew was the longing she’d always elicited in me. It was still there, after all these years, and that knowledge burned clear to my bones. I'd felt confused, hopeless, and I'd gone to Courtney's. I'd told her a few surface details about my plans to ruin someone who had done me wrong long ago, and she'd offered words of comfort that had eventually turned physical.
It was the first time I'd slept with her in years, and the first time ever without money exchanging hands, but it still left me feeling dirty all the same. I'd hated myself for what I'd done. Not only did it leave me feeling dissatisfied and empty, but it had encouraged her. It had been wrong. And the truth was, it wasn't even sex I had wanted that night. I just hadn't wanted to be alone.
I sighed. Of course, I hadn't mentioned that to Lydia, but what good would it do and did it really matter? If she had been sleeping with someone months ago, I wouldn't want to know the details.
Courtney hadn't been happy about Lydia, not that I'd told her much, but at least she hadn't thrown the fit I'd imagined she would, and I'd walked her out an hour after she'd arrived. Of course, by that point, Lydia and Fionn were passed out drunk on my couch.
And now . . . not only was I taking responsibility for Stuart's debts, I was paying them off by doing something I vowed I'd never do again. I was going to help the mob cook their books and launder several large sums of money.
I'd been negotiating simply to pay off Stuart’s debts with cash, but it hadn't been what they wanted, and what choice did I have? I'd made a deal years ago to buy my way out by making them several large investment deals that had paid off in spades. And I'd set up accounting systems that other men could run. I'd gotten out, but I'd still stayed in their good graces, and they’d allowed me to gamble in their underground clubs even though they must have suspected I counted cards.
I'd promised myself I'd never again have to do anything that wasn't of my own choosing, that I'd never again find myself beholden to anyone, and here I was, right back where I'd started.
I raked my hand through my hair. I'd made a bloody mess out of everything. I was going to participate in illegal activity again to rescue the man I'd set out to ruin. I would laugh my arse off if I could summon the humor.
Thinking of what they'd done to Lydia, though, had me grimacing rather than laughing. If I hadn't been stubborn, if I'd made a deal with them thirty minutes before she was attacked . . .
And now it was my arse on the line instead of Stuart's, mine and Lydia's, and perhaps Fionn's and Eileen's too. Jaysus fecking Christ. Of course, the difference was, I had the means to repay what was now my debt.
Bile rose in my throat as I thought back to watching Lydia fall to her knees from across the street and knowing that if they had wanted, she'd be dead. She'd be dead and it would have been my fault for hesitating in agreeing to their terms. Again, my hesitation, my unwillingness to take action, would have cost someone else physical harm—only this time it would have been Lydia, and it would have killed me, too.
I heard a scuffling in the hallway and got out of bed, muting the TV.
Lydia was standing on the other side of the door, and she startled when I pulled it open. "Hey," I said, "you okay? Is it your side? I could change your bandage if you need me to."
She shook her head. Her blonde hair was loose and falling around her shoulders, and she was wearing a pair of small cotton shorts and a tank top. My blood heated instantly. "No, my side is fine. Honestly, it really only needs a Band-Aid. I guess I'm having trouble sleeping because I slept so much this afternoon." She moved from one foot to the other, biting her lip uncertainly.
My breath caught and hope soared. "Do you . . . do you want to join me?" I asked, opening the door wider. "Or we could go downstairs. I'm just watching TV in here. But I could turn on a movie or something."
She smiled, nodding her head and looking past me at the TV in my room. "That sounds good."
She joined me on my bed, and I flipped through the movie channels, both of us agreeing on a comedy that had recently come out. "I could make some popcorn," I said, smiling over at her.
Her eyes went to my mouth and seemed to soften. "I love to see you smile like that," she said. "It seems so rare."
"I've been doing it more since you've been around," I said honestly.
She moved closer, fluffing the pillows behind us. "No popcorn. This is perfect." She settled back, stretching her legs out next to mine.
I wasn't sure how I was going to manage being on my bed with Lydia and focus on a movie, but once she started laughing at the funny parts, I couldn't help but to laugh with her. The movie wasn't even that funny to me—a sort of stupid, slapstick film, but Lydia was laughing so hard it was contagious, and I found myself laughing, too.