He reached for a washcloth, not quite letting her go, and she put an arm up on the side of the tub to keep upright. When he was fairly sure she wasn’t going to pass out again, he focused on using a wet cloth to clean the wound. She tensed every few seconds, and whimpered a little when he rubbed too hard, but otherwise, she let him work. There was a small piece of glass there. He propped the leg up on the towels. It was still bleeding too much. He was going to have to call an ambulance if he couldn’t get it to stop and quickly.
“I’m going to need to get that out.”
She nodded. “What are you even doing here?”
“My brother died,” he said simply. Rule number one in Benson’s how-to manual was to never ever tell her that Benson had sent him to take care of her. He still didn’t know why he was on this crazy path. Benson just thought he could step in and take over as her Sir, as if she wouldn’t notice the difference. As if they were interchangeable.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I know that. I mean here. At the Manor.”
“I figured there were enough rooms. I didn’t want to get a hotel, and I sure as shit wasn’t staying with Charlotte.” That was the truth, at least. He and his sister didn’t need to be under the same roof again in this lifetime. Once for fifteen years was plenty enough for him.
He found some tweezers. “This is not going to be very much fun. What the hell happened, anyway?”
She sighed. “I was doing a little redecorating. I had a mishap.”
He held her leg in a gentle grip, knowing he would need to keep it steady, but trying not to hurt her any more.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop pussyfooting around and just get to it already!”
Why did he have the sudden urge to smile?
Chapter Two
Evangeline limped into the kitchen, trying to hide the fact that she was wincing the whole way from Leonardo Hastings. How had she managed to get a shard of the mirror in her leg? She couldn’t be sure, really, since she didn’t pay much attention as she was tearing the bedroom apart.
When she got to the kitchen, she sat at the table, and gave Leo a quick once-over. Not the slow perusal he’d given her in the front room, but she’d studied him while he was tending to her leg in the bathroom. The leg that had finally stopped bleeding after the glass removed, and it took her five minutes to convince him she didn’t need an ambulance and stitches. She was the one who’d been to med school. It wasn’t up to the Broadway actor to determine whether she needed stitches. Though he’d patched her up pretty good.
As he stood in her kitchen, she could see how he’d changed since she last saw him. His head was almost completely shaved, and he was rocking some serious five o’clock shadow. She imagined that he had to shave on the regular for stage work. If he was working.
“What?” he asked her when he caught her looking.
Shit. “Nothing, I’m just trying to wrap my head around you being here.” She wasn’t going to admit that she didn’t like him. That would be mean. And she honestly just didn’t have the energy.
Exhaustion weighed down her shoulders. She propped her leg up on the chair beside her. “Help yourself, if you want something to drink or whatever.”
“Charlotte said the funeral is tomorrow.” He strode to the fridge as he said it and whistled when he opened the door. “Wow. There’s no lacking for choice here.”
“Benson liked a stocked fridge.” She said it in the most measured voice she could, but she still noticed a little warble. Did Leo?
It wasn’t that she hid the fact that she had an eating disorder. Not really. It was just something that didn’t really come up in conversation all that often. It was something she tried very hard not to hide or feel ashamed about. Being a nutritionist, and now a counselor with the clinic, she understood the disease that she’d been fighting so long, but understanding it on a logical level, and not feeling shame or guilt over it could often be two very different things. Talking about her anorexia with her Sir’s little brother was not her idea of a good time, though, so she sure as shit wasn’t going to bring it up now.
“Help yourself,” she said again, when he just stared into the fridge without saying anything else. His shoulders were tense. Like he was carrying the weight of the world there. Which was exactly how she felt.
“I see all the fixings for a BLT.” He rummaged around and then poked his head back out. With full hands he shoved the door closed with his elbow. “Bread?”
“Over there.” She nodded toward the cupboard off to the side which housed the bread.
Leo unloaded his arms of mayo, a package of bacon, lettuce, and fresh tomatoes, then made his way to get out the honey wheat bread, and some garlic. She watched in silence as he worked through the kitchen like it was his own. And the ache inside her she’d been trying to ignore grew until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like the weight of a thousand stones was being held inside her ribcage. She put a hand to her chest and tried to breathe, but the room was spinning again.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” Leo’s voice was quiet beside her, and she could feel his hand over her back.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t look at him. All she could do was feel the burning in her lungs as they fought for air.
“Evangeline Turner. You look at me right now.” The rough command broke through her panic like a whip to the ass, and her head snapped up. She whacked the top of her head into Leo’s face.
Shit.
He held a hand to his nose, wincing, but his other was still on her back. “Breathe.”
After a moment of rubbing his nose, he moved that hand from his face to her chest and pressed down until she could think straight. Fuck. She had to get a handle on herself. She tried not to stare into his dark eyes, but she couldn’t help it. Keeping intense eye contact was called soul gazing. And it could be a powerful tool for connection. Sometimes used in BDSM, though it was actually a tantric technique.
You’re babbling inside your own head again, woman. And she was still staring into those dark eyes. Falling deeper and deeper into them. Benson’s eyes weren’t like this. His were more of an amber colored brown. Leo’s were so dark they were almost black. It was hard to see where the irises ended, and the pupils began from a distance. This close, this connected, it was easier to discern one from the other. And still, she didn’t look away. Her breathing and heartrate slowed to normal.
“Better, minx?”
She blinked at the sudden question. She’d let herself get entirely lost in those eyes. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly, straightening in her chair until he sighed and released a hand from her chest. With a quick pat on the back, he finally stood the rest of the way.
“Wait... did you call me minx?” What the fuck?
He chuckled. “Yeah, minx, I did.”
At least it was better than Angel. The grief threatened to overtake her again, but she beat it back. Leo went back to the sink to rinse the vegetables as if nothing weird had just happened. As if he hadn’t just completely yanked her out of a panic attack with a dominant command and then brought her back to earth with the force of a Dom gaze. Maybe he had more in common with Benson than she’d ever realized. A thought occurred to her, but she shook her head. No way. Benson would never send his brother to take care of her. The brother he’d barely seen or spoken to in years.
But she couldn’t stop from asking, “Tell me again, exactly what it is you’re doing here, Leo?”
Leo kept his back to her as he worked. Fucking hell. He was jumping out of his skin. She’d been on the verge of passing out on him again. And he’d done the only thing he could think of that he was pretty sure would snap her out of it. But he had not been prepared for the consequences of that action. It was like getting struck by a lightning rod, those bright honey-colored eyes staring into the depths of his soul. He was sure Evangeline would hate how vulnerable she’d looked to him in that moment. He’d fallen head-long into her gaze.
“I told you, I’m here for Ben’s funera
l. Where else would I be?” He tried to keep the bite from his voice, but knew he failed.
What was it about her that made him want to lash out? Was it the sudden ache in his chest that was quickly opening into a chasm at her pain? He should be wrapped up in his own grief. Benson was his big brother. The man had practically raised Leo while their parents were off gallivanting across the globe. Maybe he was just better at dealing with the grief, or maybe it was just that what he felt paled in comparison, but Evangeline was not simply grief-stricken. She was shattered. Humpty-Dumpty style. And much as he hated to admit it, maybe he wouldn’t be able to put her back together again. He really had no right to try, honestly. But the thought of just leaving her after the funeral to go back to his life left him hollow. It would be a betrayal to Benson.
So even though she hadn’t asked for his help, even though she would probably kick his ass if she ever found out what he was really doing here, he was going to stay. He couldn’t abandon her. One Hastings man had already done that.
He started cooking up the bacon, sure to make enough for at least two sandwiches. He was not going to order her to eat. He wasn’t her Dom. He wasn’t even Topping her, because they hadn’t discussed it, and he sure as shit didn’t do that without consent. But he was going to cook for her, and suggest she eat with him. He might suggest strongly, but that was it.
He stole a few glances at her while he worked, but he was careful not to stare. He couldn’t afford to fall into her gaze again. Caring for her, helping her through her grief, and maybe helping himself through his as well, didn’t require getting attached. Leo didn’t get attached. So, what the hell had he been doing, staring into her soul for what felt like an hour?
Stupid, asshole. Real stupid.
He could so easily do what he always did when his emotions were too close to the surface. Find someone to take it out on. A willing someone, of course. Often that meant going out to find a new play partner. Or calling up some of the regulars he’d played with over the years. Sometimes it meant picking someone up in a bar to screw senseless for two days straight, Sunday evening to mid-morning Tuesday before going back to the theater for that night’s performance.
That was going to be pretty hard to pull off here. Spartan, NV was not NYC, and Evangeline was the only one around. She was strictly off limits. At least sexually. If Benson had his way about it, Leo would step into the role of her Dom, at least insofar as Leo could.
When he had crafted two perfect BLTs, he plated them, and carried them to the table where she still sat watching him warily. Her leg was propped on the chair to her right, so he took the chair opposite her.
“Bon appetit,” he said. He dug into his sandwich and moaned. Damn that was good. He realized he hadn’t eaten since before boarding his plane at 11 a.m. Eastern time. Which was five hours ago, at least. Whoops.
She sighed, and he could damn near see the battle waging within her as she grabbed for half the sandwich he’d laid out before her.
“Hope you like it,” he said. “I like to think I make a mean BLT, but you know, I might be biased.” He grinned, and then studiously focused on his own food, pretending not to notice or care if she ate. But inside, he was begging for her to just eat the damned thing. He’d had some experience with eating disorders in his line of work. It was impossible to be on Broadway and not know people who had struggled with at least disordered eating, if not an all-out eating disorder. But every single person’s battle was different. And he barely knew Evangeline. Even after reading the packet Benson had sent him.
When she started eating, he held his relief in check, but just barely. She really did look fucking terrible. And if she didn’t stop almost passing out on him every few minutes, he was going to lose his temper with her. He didn’t want to do that. The instruction manual, for lack of a better term, that Benson had left told him just how patient, how understanding he would have to be. How much his angel needed a gentle dominance. Tell me again why you thought I could do this, brother?
Great. Now in addition to talking to his own voices in his head, he was going to start talking to his deceased brother. Super.
“This really is good,” she said.
“It’s the garlic in the mayo. Makes it more like aioli than just mayo on toast.”
She nodded and nibbled her bottom lip, eyeing the other half of the sandwich.
“Just eat it for fuck’s sake,” he snapped. Shit. Damn it. You just can’t keep your fucking mouth shut, can you, man?
She pressed her lips into a straight line, and her gaze rose from her plate to his face. The fire burning in those two pools of honey chilled him to the bone. The thunderous look in those eyes promised death if he kept pushing.
“Or, you know, don’t. Whatever. But if you’re not going to eat it, I will.” He reached for the plate, risking not just life, but now limb, and she smacked at his hand.
He hid a smile as he slid backward into his chair. She started in on the other half of the sandwich and he got them both some water to drink it down with. He even stopped at the pantry for some chips. Might as well press his luck while he was at it. He shook a bunch onto his plate and left the bag sitting between them. They munched in silence for a bit, and he continued to pretend he wasn’t watching her like a hawk. She even grabbed a few chips from the bag.
When they were finished, she thanked him, and offered to clean up. “Nah, I’m good. Stay there with your leg up.” Would he ever speak to her without stating it as an order? What the hell had gotten into him?
When he was in a scene, he liked the control, the power. But when he was with someone intimately, it was different. And he’d never had this driving need to dole out orders in a setting that wasn’t a kink scene. Not like this. As he cleaned the kitchen mess he’d made, he wondered if it was this need to meet Benson’s expectations to help her that was driving him forward. Perhaps it was that he felt the need to do the exact opposite of everything in the manual Benson had left for him. Maybe he was just as much of a brat as she was. Shaking his head, he finished putting things away, and turned to her.
“Which one of these overly-frilly rooms can I crash in?” he asked
She turned from where she’d been staring off into space and gave him an odd look.
“What?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I just thought you of all people wouldn’t mind the extravagance.”
“Me of all people? Because, I’m a Broadway actor?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’d thought you’d be used to the over-the-top stuff. The ‘frills’ as you say.”
Ah, so she was just like everyone else. She assumed, wrongly, that he was gay. He dated guys, he Topped them, too. But on the whole, he preferred women.
“I see.” He wasn’t going to correct her. He wasn’t here for her like that. Maybe it was safer if she just worked under the assumption he was gay. Safer for both of them.
In the list of lies he was racking up, that one would fall pretty far down on the pile of sin. He disliked dishonesty as a rule. But all he’d have to do was open his big fat mouth and tell her that Benson had sent him to just step into big brother’s shoes, to care for her, to help her keep her head on straight, to follow Benson’s instructions and give her exactly what she needed, even if it wasn’t what she wanted, and he would have completely failed. After everything Benson had done for him over the years, this was literally the very least he could do. Even if it fucking killed him. “Well, do you care where I bunk?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.
She shook her head.
“Great. I’m gonna go get situated. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Sure. I guess.”
At least she wasn’t still trying to kick him out. He fought the urge to order her to go lie down and rest. She still looked ready to fall over. He couldn’t keep issuing orders and just expecting her to follow them. They were going to have to talk about that soon.
But right now, he had to get himself in the right frame of mind. He’d thought the time
on the plane and in the car on his way here had prepared him to do what he’d been asked to do. Then he’d gotten here and found out just how very wrong he’d been.
He turned and made his way back to the foyer to get his bags, and then stomped up the front stairs. She was a certified brat. She was pushing his buttons like she was his brat. And he hated the way she could get such a rise out of him. As he passed the open bedroom door at the top of the stairs, he swore. God damn it.
“Evangeline!” He bellowed, his voice booming through the house. “Get your ass up here. Right now, young lady.”
That was it. He was done. Playtime was over.
Chapter Three
Her heart thundered in her ears. That voice. A shiver skittered down her spine, followed by a bucket of ice water. How dare he?
She was not some child to be scolded. And he sure as shit wasn’t anything to her. This was her fucking house, damn it. Evangeline was not going to take this. Not from him. He wanted her upstairs? Well, fuck him. She strode out the back door and slammed it behind her.
She was barefoot. The backyard wasn’t fenced, so she could go wherever she pleased from here. But all her stuff was inside. She was still limping a bit from the pain emanating out of the cut on her leg. None of that mattered. She stalked around the front of the house and down the sidewalk, though the cement was hot beneath her feet. With no particular destination in mind, she wandered down to the corner. Uncaring whether he followed her, she kept walking, staying on the grass instead of the hot concrete as much as she could.
It was probably only a few moments before she heard Leo behind her, but it was enough to clear her head. Young lady. She was only a few years younger than he was, damn it. And that was an unusual turn of phrase for most guys to use... Benson, you son of a bitch.
From Sir, With Love Page 2
