“Thank fuck,” he sighs, holding me closer for another moment. We stand that way for another few minutes. I sense he wants to question me further, but he doesn’t, and I’m grateful; I don’t want more of my past ugliness spilled onto him. We both start dressing, and he helps me into my shirt. His cellphone seems to be alternating between texts and ringing, and I know he needs to go. He quickly leads me through the apartment and quietly answers my questions. The place is mostly clean, and I can’t imagine having more than an hour of work to do here. As I walk him to the door, he rubs my arm, saying, “You know this isn’t necessary. I don’t need you to be my housekeeper. I would much prefer hiring someone and having you concentrate on your schoolwork. Hell, if I could keep my damn hands off you, the office would be a much better place for you to learn something beneficial.”
My first smile since the revelation in the bathroom stretches across my face. Despite my scar, he still wants me. I release a breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. “I don’t mind, Luc. I’ve never been given anything for free, and I don’t intend to start now. I would love to witness the inner workings of your company, but not if it would be a distraction for you.” Giving him a teasing grin, I add, “Since you don’t seem to be a slob, this should be an easy job with a flexible schedule for school.” He still looked undecided, so I push him gently toward the door. “Go to work and make some millions or whatever brilliant thing you do there. I’ve got countertops to clean.”
He throws his head back, laughing at my reference to his counters and our earlier activities. “All right, point taken. I had better go before Sam stops calling and comes up here to drag me out.” We both look uncertain for a moment. Should I kiss him goodbye? Thankfully, he takes the decision from my hands and drops a quick kiss on my lips. Thank God; if it had been the forehead, self-doubt would have reared its ugly head again to choke me. “Lock the door behind me,” he orders, and then he is gone.
After I lock the door, I turn to survey his home. Floor-to-ceiling windows make up the living and dining room areas. Two cream-colored leather sofas provide comfortable, but modern, seating areas in front of a large fireplace. The adjacent dining room has seating for eight around a long, mahogany table. Rich hardwood floors flow into the kitchen I briefly glimpsed this morning. I figure this was a good place to start my new duties. As with the rest of the apartment, it appears mostly clean. I empty the coffee maker, cleaning it before resetting it for Lucian. I find some granite cleaner under the cabinet and wipe down all the surfaces. I know I am blushing as I remember what we had been doing on the kitchen island just a short time ago.
Lucian has a restaurant-grade stainless steel stove I take a moment to familiarize myself with. I don’t know if cooking is part of my job description, but I think it would be nice to have a meal for him this evening. I can always leave it in the refrigerator if he doesn’t arrive home before I leave.
After finishing in the kitchen, I head to the laundry room. I wash the items in the basket, but assume from the dry-cleaning bags in his closet that he must have his suits professionally cleaned. That is a huge relief since I have no desire to ruin something so obviously expensive.
His bedroom is large but relaxing. The walls are painted a tan color with the darker brown bedding that’s a perfect complement. The hardwoods are here, as well, with rugs on each side of the bed. There is nothing worse than putting your feet on cold floors first thing in the morning, and apparently Lucian feels the same. I quickly make his bed, stopping only to appreciate the soft sheets; the thread count is probably off the charts on these babies. The bed smells of Lucian, and I have to fight the urge to lie down and snuggle into the sheets.
The bathroom is next on my agenda, and I pause for a moment there. Discomfort floods through me at the memory of Lucian touching my scar. I was moved that he was so angry on my behalf, embarrassed he knows what had happened to me at the hands of my stepfather, and curious as to his strong reaction; his anger had been palpable when he struck the wall. Running my hands over the area, I feel a small indention. Had it been my pain that he’d felt or had it brought back memories of his past?
I know next to nothing about Lucian even though we have been intimate. With the standard third-date rule, do you ever really know anyone before you sleep with them? I have a longer relationship with the guidance counselor at St. Claire’s than I have with Lucian. Surely, such a successful person is a Google dream. I vow to find out more about the man who I am not only sleeping with, but also working for. I don’t want to be one of those people they interview after their boyfriend shoots up his workplace, and she’s just standing there like a deer in the headlights. My motto is ‘knowledge is power, and it’s time to gain some; I need to know more about Lucian before whatever is between us goes further.
Lucian
“Good morning, Sam.” I greet my driver and friend as I slide in the back of the Mercedes. Asheville is hardly Los Angeles, and I could easily drive myself to the office each day, but I am too much of a multitasker to concentrate on one thing. I like starting my day from the comfort of the backseat; normally, I return calls, answer emails, and study the stock market. I also enjoy having Sam around. He knows my schedule better than I do, and I have begun to rely on his reminders. Cindy generally leaves this part of the day to him. I suspect Cindy and Sam discuss more than work and my schedule each day, but to each his own.
Today, I find myself unable to concentrate on my normal routine. I can’t get the image of Lia’s scarred back out of my mind. I had downplayed what I saw there. The outline of a fucking iron was as plain as day. The scar was deep, red and puckered. If it happened five years ago, how horrific must it have been then? Scars might never go away, but they generally fade with time. That the burn had been excruciatingly painful was obvious. I barely know this girl, but I want to fucking kill on her behalf. How dare someone do that to her!
Things had blurred for a moment, and I had been in another time, another place, and with another woman. Was I destined to relive every painful moment of my past again? Some invisible force had been pulling me toward her since the moment we met.
Sam drops me at the front of Quinn Software, and I make my way up to my office, greeting employees as I pass. I’m grateful to find Cindy isn’t at her desk; the need for relief is gnawing at my guts, and it would be torture to be waylaid. I shut and lock my door behind me before walking swiftly to my desk. In moments, the side drawer is unlocked, and I am opening the small case that contains my Heaven and Hell. With unsteady hands, I lay out everything I need; the process helps to center me. I work it as I would any job. Shoddy work is foreign to me, even in this. Soon, I’m ready and as I snort the first white line, it’s there. The clearing of my senses, the instant clarity, and as always, playing around the edge, is the rage at my inability to leave the crutch behind. This has been my answer to dealing with a life that has, at times, resembled a horror movie. I don’t know any other way. There are times when I have been almost free of it, but I’m always brought back by a woman, only the face has changed this time.
I’m fully functional on cocaine, possibly even better; I have never considered myself an addict, even though most would disagree. It would be more socially acceptable if I were in therapy taking an array of prescription medications to deal with all that is fucked-up in my head. Antianxiety medication is as common as Tylenol in this stress-overloaded world, but it has never been my answer. At first, it was simply availability. Cocaine was easy to acquire, and I had friends who used it regularly. When my world imploded, I was encouraged to snort a few lines to help me deal. I have survived on cocaine; hell, I have thrived professionally on it. Personally, the weakness eats at me. It’s my best friend at times and the worst fucking enemy I have ever faced.
These days, Sam makes sure my supply is replenished when needed. He has a nephew who keeps me well-supplied for a price. I don’t ask questions anymore. I give him the money, and he takes care of the rest. The only thing I have stipulated is that he neve
When Cindy knocks at my door a few moments later, I wipe my nose and walk over to unlock it. My public face is firmly in place. Cindy would never suspect the only difference between me and the bum on the corner is a higher-priced monkey on my back.
Chapter Eight
Lia
My last class finishes earlier than normal, and I am stopping by the apartment to change clothes before going back to Lucian’s to finish up for the day. To my surprise, his cabinets have been well-stocked as if he actually has meals at his apartment instead of eating out every evening. My plan is to fix a simple dinner of shrimp pasta. Pasta in all forms is something I am well-acquainted with; it is easy, quick, and cheap.
I drop my book bag and walk to my bedroom when a knock sounds at the door. More than likely, it’s someone looking for Marissa next door. I have my suspicions as to why she is so popular, but who am I to judge? Several times a week, we have mostly men knocking at our door, looking for her apartment. At first, I wouldn’t answer the door when I didn’t recognize the person through the peep-hole. After a while, though, it just seemed easier to point them in the right direction to prevent it happening each time they visited. For safety, we always keep the chain firmly in place and speak through the small opening.
Another stranger looks back at me through the small glass, and I shake my head as I crack the door open. “Marissa is next door in 5B.”
Before I can shut the door, I hear the person ask, “Miss Adams?” Wow, I so wasn’t expecting that; it’s a rare day I have visitors.
Uneasy, I reply, “Can I help you with something?”
“Are you Lia Adams?” Well, crap, I don’t know whether to answer or not. Curiosity finally gets the better of me.
“Yes, who are you?” I instinctively take the envelope he thrusts through the opening.
“You’ve been served.” I stare after his retreating back, wondering what’s going on. The white envelope weighs heavily in my hand as I pull it slowly through the doorway. The university has never hand-delivered mail before. If they suddenly feel the need, then it can’t be good news. The only writing on the front is my name in printed form.
I shut the door behind me and carry the envelope like a bomb to our small kitchen table. I drop it in front of me, staring for a moment. Shit, this is so silly. Just open the damn thing and get it over with. What could it possibly be? Maybe I have some seriously-overdue book from the library or something. Impatiently, I rip open the flap and unfold the single enclosed paper. As I skim the official-looking document, I feel my heart stop for one brief moment. No, surely I have read it wrong. Taking my time, I read back through the jumble of words once again before dropping weakly into the nearby chair.
PLANTIFF: MARIA ADAMS DAWSON VS DEFENDANT: JIM NELSON DAWSON. YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED to appear. The words on the paper leap out at me as my head swims. I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother or stepfather since leaving home four years ago. Dear God, what is going on with them? Why is my mother going to court against her husband, and why am I being dragged into it?
There is only one person who might possibly be able to find out. Debra, my friend and previous boss, has a connection through her boyfriend. Martin’s brother Eli works with Jim at a tire factory, or he had the last time I heard. Almost in a panic, I punch in Debra’s number and pray she will answer.
“Lia? Where the hell have you been, honey?” This is Debra’s usual greeting, and I smile despite my apprehension. I love this woman like the mother I never had, and I know she loves me, as well. Her only complaint is I don’t see her as often as either of us would like.
“Hey, Deb. It’s so good to hear your voice, you have no idea.” She knows me well and immediately picks up on the strain in my voice.
“What’s wrong, honey? Do you need me? I can be there in just a few minutes.” Closing my eyes, I feel a tear slip out. She gives me everything and never asks for anything in return. I don’t see or talk to her as often as I used to, but I know that with one phone call, she would drop what she is doing and come to me.
“Have you heard anything from Martin about my mother?” I can tell by her silence that she is shocked by my question.
“No, he hasn’t mentioned anything. Why?”
“Something is going on with her and Jim. I was served papers today requiring I show up in court at the end of the month.” Picking the paper up, I read her the rest of the summons. The whole thing still feels unreal to me. The one time I hear from them, and it’s something like this.
“Son of a bitch,” she spits out the curse, her voice vibrating with anger. “I don’t know what those two fuckups are involved in now, but I’m going to find out. Just sit tight, honey, and try not to worry about it. I’ll call Martin and see if he can get some answers. You know I will be with you every step of the way. Those monsters can’t hurt you, Lia; I would never let that happen again.” She gives me more words of comfort laced with insults for my mother and stepfather before ending the call. I’m sure the line was barely free before she was calling Martin. If anyone can find out what is going on, it’s Debra.
I would love nothing better than to crawl in my bed and have the nervous breakdown I feel beating at my door, but I don’t want to slack on my first day of work. Lucian would understand if I said I wasn’t feeling well, but getting out of here right now can only help the panic I’ve been feeling since receiving the damned summons. Quickly, I gather my things and run to my Honda as if afraid more bad news will befall me. Luckily, that’s not the case, and I navigate through the heavy afternoon traffic to arrive back at Lucian’s around three. The same vehicles are parked in the garage with no sign of Sam and the Mercedes.
The last load of laundry has been put away, and I’m arranging ingredients for dinner when my phone rings. I see Debra’s name on the caller ID and answer quickly. I barely get out a greeting before she starts talking. “Lia, you aren’t going to believe this. Are you sitting down, honey?” She sounds worried, which in turn freaks me out; Debra is normally unflappable, so it must be bad.
“Go ahead, Deb.” I slip onto a barstool at the counter and brace myself.
“That asshole beat the hell out of your mother, and she has either wised up or is just trying to stick it to him. She filed charges against him for abuse, and I think they are summoning you as a witness for her. She must have told them you had seen him beat her. She probably also told them he had done the same to you.”
“Oh, my God!” Not only am I going to have to face him in the courtroom, but now everyone would know what he had done to me; everyone would see the scar, the damage. I feel sick to my stomach. Bile rises in my throat, and I literally gag on it. I hear Debra yelling my name in the background as the phone clatters to the floor. My hands cover my face as my body trembles in fear. I am so caught up in my terror I never hear the door open or the footsteps until someone touches my shoulders, causing a scream to escape from my throat.
“Lia, baby, what’s wrong?” I struggle against the hold until I recognize Lucian’s face, full of concern, looking at me. Without thinking, I launch myself from the chair and into his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulls me against him, murmuring, “Shhh…baby.” Still holding me, he reaches down to pick up my phone lying near his feet. I pay little attention as he speaks briefly to Debra. I know she must be shocked to hear a man on my phone, and I absently vow to call her back later to explain.
Lucian pulls back a little to look me over, probably searching for signs of injury. Seeming satisfied that there is no blood, he gives me another moment before asking, “What’s happened to get you so upset?” Mutely, I reach for the summons and hand it to him. He skims it before looking at me in question.
“Its…it’s from my mother and stepfather. He…hurt her, and she is pressing charges.” Choking on a sob, I add, “They are going to make me testify against him, about what he did to her and me.” Lucian bites off a curse before pulling me back into his arms. After seeing my scar that morning, there is no way he can miss the fear I feel.
“I’ll give this to my lawyer tomorrow and find out what in the hell is going on, okay? I won’t let that bastard hurt you. Please believe that.” Sinking further into his strong arms, I let his words wash over me. I relax for the first time since reading the summons, feeling some of my fear lessen. This beautiful man is offering me protection; when has that ever happened to me before? Even my own mother doesn’t give a damn whether I live or die. I have no idea how she even knew my address to have me served. “Now,” he says against the crown of my head, “I’m starving; how about we go out for dinner?” I think about the clothes I’m wearing and fight the urge to ask him if there is a Burger King nearby.
His arms drop as I step back. Putting on a smile that is still forced, I say, “I was planning to fix dinner to impress my new boss. I already have everything laid out if you’ll give me half an hour.” He looks over the items I have on the counter before opening a wood panel that conceals a large wine cooler. He studies several different bottles before selecting one.
I fully expect him to go relax in the living room, so I’m pleasantly surprised when he says instead, “I’m going to go change clothes, I’ll be back to help in just a moment.” I shake myself from my staring-at-Lucian daze and pull a skillet and sauce pan out of the cabinet for the shrimp, pasta, and cream sauce. Thankfully, Rose has shown me how to make homemade Alfredo since there are no jarred sauces in Lucian’s cabinets. I have just pulled a red and green bell pepper from the refrigerator when he returns in jeans and a worn-looking Bon Jovi shirt. My mouth waters, and my body hums; Rose is right, he is a walking wet dream, and I am like an animal in heat around him. As he turns to get wine glasses, I ogle his taut ass, my hands tingling with the urge to cup his cheeks. His dark hair curls against his neckline, and I remember how it feels to have my fingers buried in its silky softness. When he is facing forward again, my eyes drop to the outline of his big cock nestled against one leg. Oh, sweet mother, my panties are wet and getting wetter. When his fingers snap in front of my eyes, I lift my eyes from his crotch. His sexy grin assures me he knows exactly what was on my mind. What is happening to me? I have never been a cock-gawker. The man has been home less than an hour, and I am staring at his package; somehow, I don’t think that is part of my job description.
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