Carnal Beginnings

by Reily Garrett

  “Adara, look at me.”

  That tone—the one compelling her to obey. She’d worked for him long enough to understand that voice, though he’d never directed it at her. Mere use of that timbre could be a get-out-of-jail-free card for the contents of one’s colon. He took a firm but gentle grip on her chin and directed her gaze to look him in the eye.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking. Right now.”

  “F-f-fear.”

  “Why? Have I ever hurt you?”

  “N-no. Y-you’ve n-never hurt me.”

  “Then why fear me?”

  “Because—you’re controlling me. That scares me.”

  “Why does it scare you?”

  “Because you’re going to hurt me.”

  His startled expression gave way to a look of frustration and pain. “Why would you think I’d harm you?”

  “Because you’re a man. That’s what they do.”

  “Jesus, Adara. Who the hell has done this to you?”

  He snuggled her closer, made her feel more cherished than frightened as he softly crooned to her. She lifted her chin higher as she lay against his chest, silently telling him she wouldn’t discuss it. Slowly she regained control of her breathing and relaxed into his strength.

  “I can see we’ll get nowhere with that now, so let’s just sit here for a moment.”

  The back and forth grazing of her cheek with the back of his knuckles increased her tension despite the soft touch. Her left shoulder raised in a protective gesture as her hand went to the base of her throat.

  “Relax, Adara. I will never hurt you. You have my word.”

  Again, his gruff intonation offered strength and security, things for some reason, she couldn’t accept.

  “Yes, the word from a man. A man who thinks whips are fun.” In her mind’s eye, he cracked a bullwhip over her head. She flinched and looked away from his mesmerizing gaze, weakness and fear permeating her mind. The irony of being attracted to someone who scared her wasn’t lost in the web of confusion clouding her mind. He spoke of whips as fun, yet held her with the gentleness of a cherished lover.

  Scenic pictures of beaches, a peaceful ocean, and a seaside bungalow on the far wall did nothing to calm her runaway nerves. Excitement merged with trepidation at the thought of what he’d do next. Julien exuded a blend of sleek panther grace mixed with male sexuality and equal amounts of gentility and compassion. The paradoxical combination of savagery and benevolence collided in her mind. The two should not coexist. Once again, he turned her head until their gazes locked.

  “I see you have trust issues when it comes to men, as I’ve known since meeting you. I’d like to help you with them, if you’d let me. Furthermore, whips can deliver other sensations than pain. But that’s a different discussion.”

  “Sorry, the words trust and man don’t belong in the same sentence. I really should be going.” Her attempt to rise resulted in his firm, unyielding embrace holding her securely on his lap, as if knowing he’d never get the chance again. A deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck came to mind while an epic civil war raged in her soul.

  She craved his touch yet feared it in the same instance. Without realizing how her body could respond to his every whim, she pressed into his caress. The crush, kindled since her first day of work, flamed in his embrace. Since her parents died, touch meant pain in one form or another. Now, her mind couldn’t reconcile the bizarre responsiveness.

  She wanted to stay cuddled on his lap where security and safety reigned despite the by-products of confusion and excitement ravaging her body and decimating her concentration. She’d never wanted to be close to a man before, yet planet Julien encompassed an entirely different world. As soon as he’d touched her, she wanted more. He felt—like heaven. She sensed the lack of chaos that emanated from both her uncle and cousin.

  “Adara, wait. Let me take you out to dinner—you need to relax, always wound so goddamn tight. I won’t ask you for anything. Okay? Just a simple meal.”

  “Um.” She couldn’t think straight with his feather-light touch skimming her scalp but knew she couldn’t go home.

  All afternoon, flashbacks of Julien standing up for her encouraged an inner seed of strength and determination to grow, to the point she intended to stay away tonight even if it meant sleeping in her car. With her birthday’s approach, the invisible noose supplied by her family closed about her neck. They’d planted some catastrophe on her horizon and she intended to avoid their trap.

  Safety came first, which meant never going home. Not if she wanted to live after disobeying a standing order to return immediately after work. They timed her every move. A five minute delay equaled bruises.

  Julien handled her with such care, always spoke in warm tones, and had never pushed her into an uncomfortable position. “This should be freaking me out. Why isn’t it?” Tilting her head, she gazed into green eyes holding flecks of steel and blue, spreading a warmth she’d never known.

  “Why should this scare you?”

  “Because you’re holding me.” She closed her eyes as he continued skimming his fingers through her hair, lightly touching her scalp. A groan escaped as she again leaned into his caress. Now her heart tapped a savage rhythm for a different reason.

  “And you’re not used to being held by a man?”

  “Mmm?” His hands in her hair crowded out the horrendous memories invading her waking moments. The rest of the world drifted away as her entire being focused on the simple contact.

  Before meeting him, she never dreamed such a handsome man would hold her—and love it. I did dream…before my parents died.

  “Oh. Um, no. Well, not like this.”

  “And you like this?

  “Yes. Surprisingly.” Something about his touch made her feel natural, even treasured. He knew more about her body than she did, yet wielded the information with expertise to take control, to guide without bringing pain. He always knew what she needed. Her limbs began tingling but not from fear. Her breath quickened.

  “Maybe it’s because deep down, you know I won’t bring you harm.”

  She didn’t want to think too deeply on that statement.

  * * * *

  Adara’s shock of finding comfort with a man confirmed everything Julien’s dark imagination had forewarned. Not only had she never been intimate with a man of her own free will, or not in a long time, but to her way of thinking, men only brought pain.

  Abuse came in many forms, combined at the behest of dirtballs and psychopaths.

  Her classic signs and symptoms of maltreatment pointed to a combination of physical, sexual, and emotional origins. In addition, someone else threatened her. Jesus. Why didn’t she tell him? It was time to prioritize her issues—first see her safe then sort out the rest.

  As the muscles of her thin frame lost their rigidity, he continued to massage her scalp yet could see her pulse pick up, as did her breathing. He understood the dichotomy of her reactions. She felt so fragile and delicate in his arms. The complexity of her responses must have created havoc in her soul.

  During her time in his employ, he’d pieced together fragments of her idiosyncrasies. Always organized, reserved, what she said and how she moved under tight control. Her dress code consisted of conservative if not dowdy choices, though nothing could hide the lush curves on a thin build. He would love to dress her in elegance.

  A mental review of her behavior formed a consistent, predictable pattern. To know she’d suffered yet refused his help ate him alive. Assistance couldn’t be forced on someone her age.

  The chemistry between them—from which she’d always retreated—had driven him mad. Tonight he saw the long-awaited breakthrough. If he could push through her mental barriers as well and coax her to open up and name her abusers, the rest of his plan would fall into place.

  Without a doubt, Adara was created for him, and continued denial might bring about spontaneous combustion. It surprised him the plants in his office didn’t die from ther
mal radiation whenever his thoughts strayed in her direction. Grateful his stubborn streak remained stronger than her defenses, he marshaled on.

  Abused animals were often hand shy, expecting the worst from anything approaching. Since first meeting Adara, recognition of that trait gave him a daily dose of indigestion. Yet here she lay in his arms, eyes closed while he stroked her scalp. His little miracle. If he didn’t control his body’s urges, she’d end up on the ceiling, held in place by her fingernails, a hiss emerging from her throat. His slight shift brought little relief.

  Long-sleeve shirts and pants comprised her standard wardrobe, even when the temperatures outside averaged ninety. The earlier mention of bruises and scars reminded him of their interaction on Monday when her movements were slow, methodical, especially when sitting, never letting her shoulders touch the seat back.

  He couldn’t leave his office all morning as he’d watched her, knowing his wrath would spill into their conversation. Under the pretense of work, he’d later called her to his office and made reference to her careful movements. Denials had come fast and furious.

  Later, he’d resorted to resting his hand on her back in the guise of looking over her shoulder at her computer screen. It was the first time he’d broken the no-touch rule. Her flinch forward and sudden gasp confirmed his suspicions.

  Suppressed rage became more difficult to hide. That night’s five mile run hadn’t helped. Now, three days later, her moderate improvement didn’t quench his lust for justice.

  “Adara, let’s go get something to eat. Unless you need to get home right away.” Another distraction.

  “No! I mean no, I wasn’t going to go home tonight. Uh…” She gasped and closed her eyes tight.

  Bingo. He’d focus on her uncle and cousin. Family or someone close are the first suspects.

  The blush stealing up her neck belied her usual tight control. He’d gotten her relaxed. Now confusion and diversion provided the perfect atmosphere for questioning.

  “Um, what I mean is…”

  “No need to explain, after all—you’re of age to do what you want.” Amid his darker emotions, he conjured a genuine smile to calm her while his insides coiled and seethed.

  After several minutes, she relaxed again as he caressed her face and hair. The fine silk of her tresses alone could hold him prisoner for hours. Though the longer he dallied, the more likely she’d come to her senses and flit away.

  “Come. Let’s eat.” Once again, her eyelids had grown heavy. He suspected her gaze was still unfocused when she shook her head.

  “Um, what?”

  “You just agreed to go with me and get a bite to eat. Let’s hit the road.” He felt guilty using the voice she would respond to without question or thought. Her desperation washed over him, filled him with a need to protect. The small bundle in his arms couldn’t weigh more than a buck fifteen even at five-foot-ten. “You need a bit more meat on your bones. Come on, hon.”

  “I agreed?”

  “Yep, sure did. Rise and shine.” He helped her stand before pushing to his feet. The hand he unthinkingly placed at her waist to guide her produced an immediate reaction. When she winced and arched forward, he gritted his teeth to keep his mouth shut. Before he could protect her, she had to have faith in him.

  Chapter Six

  “What made you want to be a private investigator, Mr. Crofton?” Adara’s nerves hummed with excitement. How could one hold a normal conversation within such an intimate setting? In her mind, she reviewed possible motives behind his actions. In counterpoint, the setting provided the perfect timing to gather much-needed information. It was time to get specific.

  Soft classical music saturated the cozy restaurant and continued its old-world charm. Flickering flames from the stout candles in vases surrounded by bundles of fresh herbs furthered the romantic and aromatic atmosphere. Amorphous shadows capered on the tablecloths, their celebration and delight sure to ensnare unwary patrons in their magic while a cork ceiling topped dark maroon walls adorned with abstract prints from the old masters. Overall, it should have soothed. She pushed the food around on her plate, hoping he didn’t notice.

  “Julien, remember? Call me Julien.”

  “But I’m your personal assistant. I don’t want to blur any lines.”

  “Then we should eradicate them and simplify life.”

  The look he settled on her bespoke of nonexistent lines. “Aren’t we doing that now, Mr. Crofton?” Prim and proper codes of conduct now resembled a roadmap from Hell. Her emotional equilibrium spiraled on a gyroscope.

  “Call me Julien, at least when we’re in public.”

  The insinuation she’d address him differently in private raised a red flag. She wondered what kind of private he had in mind. His tone indicated taking her out would become a common occurrence. Her inner demons kept circling back to what he could want. He’s a man, what do you think he wants? Her subconscious could go off grid. “You don’t find that a little uncomfortable?”

  His tone ruled her in a manner similar to her uncle and cousin, yet she found him soothing instead of frightening without comprehending why.

  “Not at all, we’re both single, just sharing a meal, nothing wrong with that.” A quizzical tilt of his brow and pursed lips preceded his response. “Anyway, to answer your question—when I got back from Iraq, my brothers had started the private investigative firm and asked if I wanted to help. They have several ventures going. It felt like a natural progression.”

  “Oh? What else do they do? I’d think the PI business would keep them busy all the time.”

  “Well, it did for a few years, until they expanded the services and hired more investigators. Now they like to keep their nights free. We run a club just outside city limits.” You can find them there three to four evenings a week.

  “Club? Night club?”

  “Not exactly. Maybe I’ll take you one evening, if you’d like to go.” He tilted his head from side to side, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Tonight?” Now that she was free of her family, she felt brave enough to fly, if only a short distance. The thought of spending more time with Julien sent a flash of heat throughout her chest.

  “Um, not sure you’re ready for that yet.”

  “But I’ll be twenty-one…”

  He just grinned. “Not for a few days. We’ll get there. One day at a time.”

  His grin held the gossamer thread of a promise unfulfilled. Realization struck—he planned on seeing her again. The gleam in his eye made it difficult to swallow. Did he see the pulse pounding in the base of her neck? As a private investigator, he didn’t miss a thing. Her gaze skittered away from his direct regard.

  Never had she felt so content, safe. It was pure satisfaction to relish the freedom of being—independent and able to make her own decisions. To listen to his deep, base tones reverberate through her chest filled her with an inner glow never known. His sixth sense seemed to advise him of everything that warped through her mind.

  Since working for his firm, Adara found life in the office organized, the predictability of it inserting a serene pause in the middle of stormy days since at no other time could she take a deep breath. Her boss, always a gentleman, had never exhibited ulterior motives. The dichotomies life randomly threw out never ceased to amaze her when she considered the malevolence stalking her waking moments.

  “So what do you do for fun? I’ve never seen you go out with the staff or stay for office parties.”

  “Um, well, I have a lot of responsibility at home. Dinner on the table, housework, etc.”

  “So when do you find time for a boyfriend? Or doesn’t that fit your schedule?”

  “Actually, it hasn’t yet, though now that I’m turning twenty-one I’m hoping to make some big changes in my life.” You think I’d want a boyfriend? Not too many years ago, she had wanted that type of relationship—before orphan status changed her life.

  “Oh? What kind of changes? Anything I can do to help?”


  “Well,” She twisted the napkin in her lap, “like—what kind of help?” Her longstanding list of questions popped into mind.

  “What kind do you need, Adara?” The quiet intensity coupled with the sincerity in his expression brought enlightenment to a new level.

  This man sensed her darkest terrors.

  * * * *

  The urge to reach out and touch her hand forced Julien to clench his fist under the table. He didn’t dare. She’d come too far. One misstep would hurl her back into the emotional capsule where she sought solace. The look on her face said it all. She couldn’t hold his gaze longer than a heartbeat before it slid to the side, taking with it the hope for a deeper connection.

  Isolation from friends constituted one of the criteria used in analyzing her situation. She refused to talk about relatives except in the vaguest of terms, except for her deceased parents. Little pieces of the puzzle connected to make a picture.

  Earlier, she had nearly jumped out of her seat when he made a sudden noise in the office. The dark circles under her eyes indicated her sleep habits. Combining those signs with his other observations provided the necessary ingredients for his many sleepless nights.

  “Um, actually I’d thought about talking to you, yet wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

  He watched her fidget in the chair. The napkin kept her fingers busy. Thank God it’s linen and not paper. The way she responded to an order or flushed when he went into Dom mode—damn, he wanted her in his bed. Yet he’d not take her as long as fear was her guide. He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d be like when the baggage fell away. Under her layers of timidity and insecurity, a natural born submissive lay in wait, ready to thrive. He intended to help in any way possible, even if she walked away in the end. He would not fail.

  “Why don’t we take this conversation elsewhere, hon? If you’ll let me, I can help you.” Signaling the waiter, he retrieved his wallet.