I told myself that was why I felt a sudden urge to flee the scene after having gone down on her. The way she looked at me after she came in my mouth, as if I was her own personal deity, it suggested all sorts of intimacy. I could read so much in her gaze, so much caring, trust and genuine amazement. I told myself I found it unsettling because I didn't want her to feel that way.
The truth? I was freaked out by how much I loved it. The urge to scoop her into my arms, hold her naked, sweet and yielding on my lap and kiss her senseless until she was ready to go again? That was not how I usually felt with a woman. With Annie, I wanted to do that so badly my fingers clenched into fists to stop myself. There would be no sense in doing it. It would only lead to trouble. There was no future for the two of us.
Around dinnertime, we finally ran into each other in the kitchen. I poured myself a drink but didn't offer her one. She opened the fridge, stared into it blankly, then shut it with a bang.
“I'm going to head into town and grab some dinner there. Would you like me to bring you back something?”
“No need,” I answered, short and curt.
“Well, I know there's no need.” She gave a frustrated huff. Gesturing at the freezer, she added, “We've got enough leftovers in there to feed us for a month.”
“Then why are you going out for dinner?”
She shrugged her shoulders, crossed her arms against her chest and looked out the window at the gathering dark over the ocean. Everything about her body language was in stark opposite contrast to how she'd been last night, so open, vulnerable and trusting. I felt a pang of guilt, knowing she must be hurting. I caused that. She must have sensed it in the way I looked at her, because she raised her hand as if she were about to touch me. Thinking better of it, her hand dropped once again back by her side. She bit her lip and looked down, brow furrowed in frustration.
I left the room, mostly because I wanted to stay. I wanted to capture that hand she'd almost touched me with, and twine her fingers in mine. None of this made any sense. I should want to get away from her, put as much distance as I could between my scarred, hard-hearted self and her sweet, naïve attachment.
Instead, I almost asked for more from her. Last night, I'd even told her about Caitlin. I never told anyone about Caitlin. Annie still didn't know the half of it, and she never would. No one needed to know the words I'd overheard one evening when I’d approached a room I shouldn't have. Inside the doorway, Caitlin and her BFF had commiserated over her problem.
“He is so gross.” I’d recognized her voice straight away, been able to picture her pretty face all scrunched up as if she were smelling something distasteful. “I almost barfed the other day when he took off his shirt. But, you know…”
Her friend had answered with the sound of money “cha-ching.”
Their laughter had covered up the sound of my hasty retreat in my wheelchair. Even as it had stung, I was grateful I'd overheard. It taught me that physical intimacy was simply that and that alone. There was no use in attaching emotions to what was a purely physical response. I’d managed my interactions more tightly since then, and I’d never been hurt by a woman again.
But there was no reason why I should have told Annie all that. It had simply come out, as I'd been sitting there with her on the couch, her shining eyes looking at me with such devotion and understanding. I felt like I could tell her anything. It was dangerous.
Holed up in my room, I answered when my screen lit up with Vic’s suggestion of a video chat. Annie was out. I was worked up. I responded out of habit, guessing it would make sense to let off some steam.
“Guess where I am?” Vic sang out, a teasing gleam in her eyes.
“Paris?” I thought I remembered that's where she was when we last spoke.
“Somewhere better.” She looked like she had a naughty secret.
“New York?” She liked the nightlife there. Maybe she'd found a club catering to her needs. She might want to live-broadcast a session.
“I’m in Edinburgh!”
“You are?” She was the daughter of an oil magnate and had money to burn, so I wasn't surprised at her globetrotting. I was surprised to learn that she was a mere hour and a half away.
“You don't sound happy,” she pouted. “And here I thought you'd like to see me. I thought you'd want to play.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. She sounded like a three-year-old. “What's that you have on?” I used distraction as a tactic. It worked on toddlers. She brightened up, standing and turning this way and that, striking poses to show off her new lingerie. Apparently, diversion worked on Vic, too.
“Do you like it?” She cupped her breasts and showed them to me, barely encased in scraps of lace. She had a gorgeous body and she knew it. She also had an unlimited budget and knew exactly how to showcase her assets. But somehow the look of her all tarted up didn't affect me even a fraction as much as Annie had last night in her simple white bra.
I murmured my approval, but I must not have done it convincingly. “You’re ignoring me.” She looked into the camera. “I don't like being ignored.”
“Yeah, about that, Vic.” I brought my hand up to the back of my head, scratching my hair. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t accepted the call. In fact, maybe it was time to end things between us. Our routine had grown stale. We never had much emotional connection to begin with, and now it seemed we lacked physical as well.
“I know what I'll do!” Her eyes lit up and she scrambled off the bed where she'd sat down. “How do you like this look?” She grabbed a trenchcoat out of what looked like a hotel room closet and wrapped it around her nearly naked body. Twirling, she flirted with me through the camera, opening the coat to give me little flashes of her, smiling and laughing. “How do you like me now?”
I watched her, but I thought about how best to get her attention to tell her what we’d had between us was over.
She got real close to the camera and blew me a kiss. “I'll see you soon.” The screen went black.
“Vic?” I tapped at the screen, knowing she was no longer connected to the call but hoping she hadn't meant what I guessed she had. Was she on her way to the house? Annie was out now, but she'd be home soon. I did not want the two of them to meet, never mind try to have it out with Vic while Annie was under the same roof.
Picking up my phone, I dialed Vic's number. She didn't pick up. Fuck.
The two trains were heading toward each other on the track. Unable to stop the collision, I picked the only sane choice. I poured myself a glass of Scotch.
Over in the library, usually my sanctuary, my den of relaxation, I got no relief. The library was haunted by Annie. I could almost hear her little cries of need, see her writhing under my touch, taste her slick arousal on my tongue.
Goddamn it. A random flash of pain shot down my leg and I rubbed it, trying to ease the ache. That was why I needed some more pain pills, for my fucking crippled legs.
That was the problem with Annie, I realized. The problem was Annie didn’t see me as an invalid. Most people did, even Vic. With her particular perversions and preferences for kink, she liked that about me, how I commanded her from my wheelchair. But Vic was an odd bird.
Most people saw the wheelchair more than the man inside it, and I’d gotten used to two types of reactions. Those with a medical background treated me clinically, dispassionate, observing and offering recommendations. As disconnected and impersonal as those interactions were, those were the ones I preferred.
Harder to handle were friends and family. After I’d first gotten injured, that had been the worst. Seeing a young man in the prime of his adolescence go from a lacrosse-playing heartthrob to a bed-ridden cripple tended to throw people. When people who’d known me well came to visit me at the hospital, they didn't handle it well. They couldn’t meet my eyes. They’d stare at the wrong things, awkward corners of the room or the television, anywhere but my bandaged burns. Some of them cried. Most of them struggled to find anything to say.
Even my closest friends, the
other three kids who'd been on the boat with me in the accident, they didn't always know what to say. After me, Chase was the one who'd suffered the most serious injuries. He'd nearly drowned, tossed off the boat but then dredged up from the ocean by Liam in a heroic rescue. Chase had needed a couple weeks in the hospital, but ultimately he'd walked away unscathed. As for Jax and Liam, they'd basically needed to warm up and dry off. The morning after the accident, it was all just a bad memory for them.
Liam had dealt with it the best. He'd always had the gift of gab, able to talk to anyone anywhere. After the accident, he insisted on staying in touch, calling me, coming into Boston once a month from Naugatuck to visit me in person. A lot of the time, he just launched into a monologue. But it helped, listening to him.
Chase and Jax? Shame and guilt, that's what I saw in their eyes. Chase was the strongest swimmer of all of us, and he felt ashamed that he’d been the one to nearly drown. And Jax? He'd been on what remained of the boat with me, unable to do anything more than cling on and try to save himself as it lurched and tilted in the waves. He felt so guilty he could barely look at me. The one time he’d tried to apologize, choking out his words, sputtering about how he should've done more, hated that he hadn't, I'd cut him off. We'd been nothing more than a toy in Mother Nature's hands. There was nothing any of us could've done to change the outcome. What I hated was realizing that just the sight of me made them suffer even more.
When even your closest friends saw you as little more than a reminder of their deepest failings, it didn’t tend to make you want to be too social. My circle shrank to just family. Even that was painful. After the initial flurry of activity, and enrolling me in surgeries and therapy the way she used to arrange extra-curriculars, sports and tutors, my mother retreated into her drinking. My father traveled more, his business interests pulling him everywhere but to my bedside. I couldn't fault my sisters for not staying closer. My older sister Margot had been off in college, living her life. My younger sister Sophie had the opportunity to move to New York City and study ballet. People's lives moved on, even as mine did not.
Once I moved to Scotland, exiling myself to the edge of the earth, I tightly controlled my interactions. I couldn’t remember the last time I'd even crossed paths with anyone like Annie. She was so fresh and real, honest and unpolished. She looked straight at me and somehow seemed to see through all the bullshit. And she seemed to like what she saw. That might be what gave me the most pause.
A loud knock on the front door roused me from my thoughts. Scotch in hand, I made my way over. The door swung open to reveal Vic standing at the entrance, a defiant smirk across her heavily made-up face. Had she always worn so much makeup? It might simply be in contrast to Annie, so unadorned and naturally gorgeous, but Vic looked like she’d applied paint for a photo shoot.
“I bet you thought I wouldn't come.” She gave me a wink as she walked inside. Hastily, I glanced out into the darkness. I hadn't heard any return, and I couldn't see the car Annie used parked outside, so maybe I was catching a lucky break.
“Hello! I'm over here.” Vic sounded annoyed.
Weary already, I let the door close behind me and turned to face her. “Vic, it was not a good idea for you to come out here.”
“Why not?” There was that pouty, childish tone to her voice again. Not appealing. “It's been so long since I've seen you,” she whined. Not one to waste time on pleasantries, she dropped her trenchcoat to the floor. I had to admit, she made quite a sight in four-inch stiletto heels and fishnet stockings leading up to a very naughty set of bra and panties, revealing far more than they covered. But it had no effect on me, other than to make me feel more pressured to get her to leave.
She stepped toward me, trailing her hands along her curves. “I've missed you.” Making sure she had my attention, she stroked her fingers along her pussy. “I've missed you so much.”
Her eyes flashed suddenly over to something behind me. Sharply, she asked, “Can you tell the maid she's got the night off?”
Turning quickly, I caught Annie standing on the bottom stair. She must have come home quietly while I was drinking in the library. Fuck and fuck it all. “She is not the maid,” I started just as Annie spoke.
“Sorry.” Beet red, Annie whipped around and flew up the stairs. Vic let out a peel of laughter, and I was sure Annie could hear her cackling even from her bedroom.
“It's time for you to get out, Vic.” I pressed the button to open the front doors once again. Taking time to have a more nuanced conversation wasn't going to happen after all.
“What?” She looked at me like I was crazy.
“You need to leave.” I pointed to the open door. “Now.”
“Have you lost your mind? I show up here, dressed like this?” She gestured to herself, as if her looks alone explained her indignation. “How dare you turn me down.”
“Vic, I dare to.” I met her gaze, level and certain. I might have tried to phrase things more delicately had she shown more restraint herself. Now, my one concern was Annie and clearing up any confusion she must be currently feeling.
“Do you know how many guys would kill to have this?” Vic shrieked, pointing at herself and sounding outraged.
“Then you shouldn't have a problem filling your dance card.”
“You asshole!” She cursed and stomped, but she picked up her coat and put it back on.
“Drive safe.” I crossed my arms against my chest and watched to make sure she left. Hurling a few more insults at me, she huffed her way out again into the night. Had I ever found her attractive? I guess I had been drunk most times we interacted.
The door firmly closed behind her, I brought my fingers to the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and taking a moment to wish it had all been a bad dream. Opening my eyes, dropping my hand, I knew I had to face reality. It had happened. Annie had seen Vic standing before me dressed in next-to-nothing. Vic had called her the maid. I needed to clear things up. That is, if Annie would ever talk to me again.
11
Annie
“Annie?” Up in my bedroom, I heard Ian's voice call up the stairs. I punched my pillow. Screw him and the whore he had downstairs. Maybe they'd had a quickie in the entryway. Now he probably wanted me to fix them a sandwich.
“Annie? Are you awake?”
I did not answer, at least not loud enough for him to hear. I growled to myself, telling him off in my head. I'd be happy to yell at him tomorrow, after she was gone, but I was not going back down there while that shrew might still be around to call me the maid.
“Annie, I'm sorry.” I could almost picture him standing there, plaintive at the bottom of the stairs. His voice sounded apologetic. Maybe he was afraid I would quit on him. He'd probably grown accustomed to all the services I provided him every day, not to mention what I let him do to my body at night. I cringed at the thought. Now he was down there with another woman, the night after he'd gone down on me. Even though I was alone in my room, I flamed with embarrassment and anger. I didn't know who I was angrier at, him or myself.
He was all fucked up, no question. Who arranged and controlled their sexual interactions the way he did? It wasn't healthy, and apparently he felt such detachment he was able to go from one woman to the next, one night after the other with no problem.
Then again, he never claimed to be otherwise. In fact, he'd been quite open with me about being crazy. He hadn't hidden his drinking or his pills. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me to see him downstairs with a half-naked woman. The fact that I felt like I'd been slapped hard across my face? That was on me. I’d been growing more and more attached to him, despite every indication that he was bad news. This was what I got for it.
He didn't call up the stairs again. I stayed awake for hours longer though, tossing and turning. I couldn't have got more than three or four hours of sleep before the sun started to rise. It was April. Flowers were blooming. I wanted to crush them all.
Pulling on my oldest, rattiest jeans and a s
weater so beat up it looked as if it had been pulled apart by wolves, I stormed down the stairs. I saw no sign of either Ian or his tart. That was all right by me. I got right to work.
The Douglas Scotch, I let stand. Even in the midst of my rage, I could respect a family tradition. But the rest of it, the vodka and bourbon and gin that lined the cupboards? I poured it all out. I took most of the prescription pills he had lying around, including the ones far past their expiration dates, and poured them into a plastic bag. After sealing them up, I walked outside and dumped it into the trash bin. I was done with his melodramatic crap. He could fire me for all I cared. If I was going to stay in the job, I wouldn't do it with some addict wallowing in self-pity.
After that, I headed into the main living room. He'd wanted a new couch. How about new curtains? A new rug, too? The only really comfortable room in the house was his library, and I sure as hell wasn't going near that room ever again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? It wasn't going to happen twice.
I was down on my hands and knees, struggling to get the old, dusty rug up from underneath the ancient couch when he finally emerged. In his defense, it was only about nine a.m. Anger and humiliation had woken me up early and made me work fast.
“Starting in on some remodeling?”
I turned as he spoke. Angrily, I blew away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes. I gave him the evil eye. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re angry. I'll make us some coffee and we can talk.”
“Is your friend going to join us, too? Because she seemed like a lot of fun. I would love to get to know her.”
He squinted, looking off to the side, his hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry you saw that.”
“It doesn't matter,” I insisted through gritted teeth as I yanked violently on the rug. A plume of dust rose into the air, making me cough.
“It does matter. Please join me in the kitchen so I can explain.”
“I might, but only when I’m done with the rug.” I knew I was sounding as childish as some of my siblings did when they were bickering with each other. At the moment, though, I was proud of myself for even staying in the same room and engaging in conversation. I was angry, but I was also deeply mortified. I'd been a complete idiot.
All I Need: Ian & Annie Page 12
