“And you’re still planning on running away. Hiding.”
As I studied the route to the beach I’d decided to check out, I acknowledged that I was doing just that. Running away. Hiding. And I knew why. If Jenks looked at me with that mix of pity and sympathy I’d grown used to seeing in the hospital, it would tear out another piece of my soul. I’d already lost too much. I don’t know how much of me I can afford to lose.
He called me strong, but I wasn’t.
Not really. It’s a fight just to get out the door. Checking the locks, once, then again. Then going back up the stairs, because I’m quite certain I’d really checked them, but I wasn’t positive.
Finally, I was sure so I let myself leave and it was just in time to see my shadow across the street come out. His eyes met mine and to my surprise, he jerked his gaze away, as if he didn’t want me to notice him.
That was…new.
They’d never cared before. What had changed?
I didn’t know and I hesitated, ready to duck back inside, but he cut to the left, heading down to the end of the street and disappearing around the corner. That wasn’t right. The bus. He was supposed to get on the bus.
Maybe he was going to follow—
“Good morning.”
My heart jumped up into my throat and I turned slowly and saw Jenks sitting on the low brick wall in front of my house. Two cups of coffee sat next to him. He had on his board shorts, a pair of sandals and his sunglasses. Nothing else.
Surprise stuttered in my chest as I stared at him, edging out of the ebb and flow of bodies, but still keeping my distance. Once I was about two feet away, I stopped, running my hand up and down the strap of my bag, shifting from one foot to the other.
“What… Why are you here?” I finally managed to ask.
He pushed his sunglasses up, his eyes resting on my face. “Well, I’m half afraid to answer that question because I think you’re going to get mad at me, Shadow,” he finally said.
I blinked. “Why am I going to get mad at you?”
“Because I’m sitting here waiting for you…and I know how you feel about that kind of thing.” He said it bluntly, didn’t offer any pretty lies or try to explain it away.
It made it a little easier to swallow, but yes, the uneasiness settled in my chest and grew. I looked down the street, my eyes seeking out the blue of the ocean, although I couldn’t see it from here. I wanted my table. I wanted my sketchbooks. I wanted the peace and quiet I found only at the beach.
“Why are you waiting for me?” I had to force the question out.
“Because something told me you were going to cut and run, maybe find someplace else to spend your morning.” This time his voice was soft, a little more hesitant, and I found myself looking back at him.
For the first time, I saw something nervous, almost vulnerable on his face.
I shouldn’t let myself care.
Looking down at my feet, I didn’t answer. And I told myself I didn’t care.
“Were you?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Don’t.”
Closing my eyes, I tried not to let myself hear the soft plea in his words. Tried not to think about anything but what I needed to feel safer. Secure. Away from him, I’d find some measure of control again.
Although it was an illusion. I knew that. I’d thrown the word safety in his face. Nobody really knew how much of an illusion things like safety and control truly were.
A sigh shuddered out of me and I lifted my head, met his gaze. “Why?” I asked softly. “What does it matter to you?”
“Because I’d miss seeing you,” he said. He climbed off the wall then and came to me. He lifted a hand to my cheek and the touch of his fingers, rough against my skin, sent sensation bolting through me. I’d relived the memory of that touch throughout the weekend. “If you need me to apologize for what happened, I’ll do it. I didn’t mean to make you—”
When I rose up to my toes to kiss him, I don’t know who was more surprised.
Him.
Or me.
Slowly, I slid my hands up his chest, his skin hot and bare under my palms, smooth and steady and strong. It was another blistering shock against my senses, and in the back of my mind I could almost see myself arching against him, pulling my shirt away and seeing how it felt to be skin to skin.
His hand came up, cupped my hip.
I tensed.
He started to pull away.
I whispered, “No. Please…”
Some men might think that I wanted him to stop.
That was the very last thing I wanted.
Each touch, though, was a brutal agony. Almost more than I could handle, and I could handle a lot. Almost always pain, though. I’d rarely had the chance to experience pleasure and that was what this was—pure, excruciating pleasure, and all he was doing was kissing me, letting me feel his chest under my hands while his fingers curved around my hip and held me steady.
I eased closer and slid my hands farther up, looping my arms around his neck. It was nerve-racking, being so bold—and it felt terribly bold—but I wanted to feel that broad, heavy chest against my breasts.
When I finally did, I tore my mouth away and sucked in a breath.
And Jenks buried his face against my neck, his mouth brushing over my skin.
It took me a minute to realize he was talking, because every word sent a shiver racing through me.
Finally, though, I realized, and concentrated on his voice.
“Do you really have to find another spot, Shadow?”
He didn’t tell me not to. If he had, I could have walked away. Maybe it would be best if I did walk away. Walking away was safer. Walking away protected me.
Walking away was lonely.
And now, it was no longer an option.
I’d let him inside and now I had to deal with it.
The idea wasn’t as terrifying as it should have been.
In less than ten hours, I was going to have my first date in more than eight years.
I’d spent five years married to a monster. Three years trying to recover from that. And before my time in hell, there had been a whirlwind courtship.
The day I’d met my ex, he’d shown up at the art store, claiming he was interested in learning to paint, and instead of buying any acrylics or pastels, he’d spent thirty minutes flirting with me. He left with my phone number and my entire world changed over the next few months.
I went on a date with him two days after I met him.
Six months later, we were married.
It was eight and a half years ago, almost to the day.
And now, I was getting ready to go out on the first date since then.
Jenks had asked again. We’d been talking at the beach for over a month now.
He’d brought me to climax and then to tears, and every day since that night, if I went to the beach—my beach—he walked me home. Two days ago, he’d asked me if I was free on Friday.
Marla had called earlier in the week and asked if I could come over that night, but they would be delighted if I cancelled because I had a date.
I didn’t know what he had planned.
And it didn’t matter.
For the past two weeks, whenever I left to go to the beach, or anywhere else, I looked to see if the man my husband had hired was following me, but he never was.
Maybe my ex had set up somebody new.
Maybe he hadn’t. I didn’t know and I didn’t care—
“I don’t care.”
I paused in the middle of chalking my hair. Stunned, I lowered the hair chalk and stared at my reflection, all but stupefied. “I don’t care,” I said again, all but dazed as I realized that.
Yes, if I saw the man, my emotions would change, but just then, I could think about it without that slippery, sliding fear festering inside me. This wasn’t my sickness, wasn’t my fault and I didn’t have to let it control me.
More, it was time I did something about it.
No, I had no guarantee I was going to win. And maybe my ex had the money to pay people to watch me. But I wasn’t exactly broke myself. If he could pay people, there was bound to be something I could do as well.
Something to think about, I decided.
Maybe I could get started now. A look at the clock told me I had plenty of time, and maybe it was a good way to spend the next few hours. Researching, losing myself in facts and data and information. Things that were concrete. As long as I didn’t think about why I was digging into any of this—
The doorbell rang.
And then I didn’t have time to think about anything because when I opened the door, the tall, willowy redhead standing on the other side caught me up in a tight hug and for a moment, I was so swept away in love, nothing else mattered.
“Hi, Marla.”
“You’re really going on a date.”
I eyed Marla’s reflection in the mirror before I shifted my attention back to the closet.
What in the world was I going to wear?
I hadn’t had a date in so long. A date. Stroking a finger down the blue streak in my hair, I reached out and touched the sleeve of the poet blouse I’d been wearing. He told me he liked to unwrap me. But even though I loved all of the clothes I’d bought for myself, suddenly none of them worked.
“I need new clothes.”
Marla arched her brows. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Oh, honey. I thought you’d never get to this point. Just what time is this date?”
A quick glance at the clock had me grimacing. “Too soon.” I couldn’t pick out clothing in a short amount of time. It took me days, sometimes even weeks.
Groaning, I leaned my head against the mirror. “He’s picking me up at eight.”
Strong, slim arms came around me. “Do you trust me?” Marla asked.
“Trust you?” I cracked open an eye. “Well…”
She squeezed tighter. “Yes or no. Do you trust me?”
“Well… Yeah.” I think. Maybe. Mostly. I don’t know. I managed to keep most of that behind my teeth.
Marla laughed. Delighted, she said, “You trust me about as far as you can throw me, but that’s okay. Honey, we are going shopping and this time, you’re going to let me pick you out one dress. You can hem-haw over everything else, for weeks, if you have to, but for a date, this time, trust me. Okay?”
I didn’t know if I liked the sound of that.
“You want to look absolutely smashing, completely unlike yourself for this date?” Marla asked, bending down and pressing her cheek to mine.
That, I thought, actually sounded nice.
“It’s too short.”
I shoved the dress back at her.
She refused to take it, her arms crossed over her chest, one red brow arched as she smirked at me. “You said you’d let me choose one outfit and then you could bitch about whatever else.”
I stared at the dress, slightly horrified.
It was cuter than anything I’d ever seen, but I couldn’t wear it.
A vintage piece—black and dotted with red cherries—it looked like something out of the fifties. Draped over Marla’s arm was a red petticoat. A sexy little number like that, a red petticoat. And she had a pair of red heels tucked up against the wall. How long had it been since I’d worn a pair of shoes like that?
“It’s not too short. It falls about two inches above your knee, which is perfect for you. You don’t want it too long—it won’t flatter you. You want to show a little bit of leg.” Then she flashed me a wicked grin. “Besides, think about how much he would hate it.”
The knot in my throat had swelled to the size of a boulder and I could hardly breathe. Him.
Yes. Him.
Marla knew all about him.
One night, not long after Seth had told me they were serious, I’d told her about my ex. Warned her. Told her that he might try to go after her and she’d curled her lip. Let him try, she’d said. Then she’d admitted that Seth had already told her about him.
She didn’t know much, but she knew enough and it was more than she wanted to know. More than I liked her knowing.
It had made it easier over the years, though, having that female confidante, somebody I could count on, somebody I could tell. She knew some of what he’d done. Some, not all. Nobody knew everything.
But it was easier, having her know something. She understood and I liked that.
She knew what it took for me to reach out and take that dress back, turn and hold it up to my chest, stare at my reflection in the mirror. She even understood how my hands trembled as I imagined how I’d look.
“You’ll look amazing in it,” she said quietly.
Maybe I would.
Swallowing the ache in my throat, I tried to find the me I’d been eight years ago, nine. Tried to think of how I’d been then. Before him. I would have looked at this dress. I might not have had the confidence then, but I would have looked…and longed for it. Wished for it.
My voice trembled as I whispered, “I’ll try it on.”
It took everything I had to do just that.
Chapter Seven
The shoes pinched my toes.
It was a weird thing to think about as I walked to the door. But if I was thinking about how those peep-toe platform heels pinched my toes, maybe I wouldn’t think about how the neckline of the dress revealed so much of my boobs. Maybe I wouldn’t think about the goose bumps breaking out on my skin and maybe I wouldn’t think about how I was shaking inside.
A date.
A date with Jenks.
But then I opened the door and his eyes met mine, then dropped to roam over me and the goose bumps that had me shivering faded, replaced by a low, simmering heat that was just as unsettling, but oh, so much better.
I’d take that heat any day, especially when he moved in and reached up, touched his fingers to one of the blue streaks in my hair. “You look amazing,” he murmured.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” I said, swallowing. “You said something about unwrapping me. This is…well. Different.”
He chuckled and cupped my chin. “Unwrapping you. Undoing me. It’s all the same,” he murmured against my lips. “And I’m just about all undone here. Shadow…you dress however you want.” He lifted his head just a little, eying me. “Did I pass the test?”
It hit me, then. Had I been testing him?
Unconsciously, maybe.
Along the way, I’d probably thrown a hundred tests in his path. He hadn’t blinked when I’d shown him the art that had been my escape. Of course, neither had my ex…at the time.
Deep inside, a kernel of anger grew and as Jenks watched me, that kernel grew and grew until it was a flame, then a wildfire. His eyes lingered on me and I turned on my heel, storming inside the cozy, quiet place where I’d made myself a home. The locks beckoned me. Had I checked? Once, yes. Twice, yes.
I should check a third—
No.
So tired of this, so tired of the control he’d had on me.
“You’re mad.”
I shot him a look over my shoulder as I continued the check around my living room. The locks there were all good. He had to be quiet, because if he wasn’t, I’d have to start all over. “I’m not mad.”
I was furious, and I didn’t even know why. No.
That was wrong. I did know why.
I was angry…with myself.
Angry because I still allowed this. Because I still did this. Slamming my hands down against the bookshelf lodged in front of the back door, I let out a small scream.
Hands came down on my shoulders.
“Shadow…what’s wrong?”
Closing my eyes, I tried to keep the answer trapped inside. I was so close. I knew it. So close to falling apart. “Everything.”
His lips touched my temple. “All of this because of a dress?”
“No.” He managed to shock a laugh out of me. “All of this because I’m a mess, Jenk
s. I’m such a mess. He made me this way.”
“No.” His hands, rough and strong, smoothed down over my shoulders, bared by the halter-styled dress I wore. I hadn’t left so much skin bared in years and his touch felt indescribably good. It almost brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t even begin to describe how amazing, what it did to me to feel his hands skimming across me, how it sent my heart skittering around in my chest, the way my blood heated, how my skin seemed as though it was two sizes too small. “He didn’t make you anything. He tried to tear you down, but you survived. You’re still here. And tonight’s supposed to be ours, right? Why let him in?”
He pressed his lips to the skin behind my ear and I gasped.
Sensation—too much.
I couldn’t handle it.
Then he added more to it, grabbing the hem of my skirt and placing his hand on my knee, stroking up, forcing the material of my dress and petticoat higher as he went. “If you’re going to let anybody in, can’t it be me?” he teased, catching my earlobe between his teeth and tugging.
A jolt echoed through me.
Slowly, he guided me around and I fell into the heat of his gaze, fell into the heat of him as he backed me into the wall.
His mouth brushed against mine. “You have no answer,” he whispered, his tongue tracing the line of my mouth.
Oh, I had all kinds of answers. The problem was that I couldn’t put them into words.
Part of me wanted to grab the material of my skirt and drag it up, then pull him against me.
Part of me wanted to push him out into the hallway so I could tuck myself away in my bed, rock myself while I thought and brooded and worried.
And the other part of me was just thinking I thought too much.
Tracing my hands down the hard, muscled line of his chest, I plucked at the hem of his shirt and then slid my hands under it. What would it be like, I wondered, to have the freedom to just be?
To give in to this burning, aching need and not worry about the fear.
The power to do that was right there.
Turning my face into his neck, I breathed in the scent of his skin. Salt, surf, man. Jenks. I wanted this, him, so much.
Pieces of Me Page 6
