Mine to Protect

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I sat on the edge of the mattress, lifting a strand of her long hair and letting it cascade through my fingers. “You going to be okay? There’s a bath right there at the foot of the bed if you feel sick or anything. Want me to get you a washcloth?”

  “No, I’m okay,” she whispered, her huge eyes searching my face warily. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  I jerked my head in the direction of the master. “Just on the other side of that wall is my room. I’ll leave the door open in case you need something. Hey, let me grab a shirt or something you can sleep in,” I told her and got up. When I came back, I held out a navy t-shirt I wore around the house. It had been washed enough times that it was soft and although she might drown in it, at least she could move better than that tight skirt she was wearing. “Can you change yourself?”

  Gwen’s eyes grew huge and she nodded, holding up her hand to brush me away. “I’m okay,” she mumbled sleepily again, and I bent over and kissed her cheek, just as if she was a young child being tucked into bed. She looked very innocent just then and my body was reacting. I needed to leave.

  “Okay, well, goodnight then,” I whispered and got up, giving her one last look before I left the room. “Remember, I’m right next door. Just call out if you need something.”

  It felt like trying to pull away from a magnet. I forced myself to go into my room and turn on the nightstand lamp. I took a quick, coolish shower to diminish the throbbing need she instilled in me and pulled back the crisp sheets to climb beneath. A housekeeper came every day to clean and prepare my meals. She was meticulous in her cleanliness and the sheets were changed daily. They were crisp and felt good against my bare skin. I kept trying to keep myself in the moment. When I let myself become distracted, all I could think of was Gwen lying on the other side of the wall alone, and how vulnerable she’d looked. I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep and turned on the nightstand Echo and let it play the sound of distant thunderstorms. I found it soothing, but still, it spoke to the primitive inside me and with each roll of thunder, I could feel my need for Gwen growing.

  My back was to the door when I felt a subtle movement of the bed. A waft of cool air swept over my legs as Gwen’s body slid beneath the covers. She scooted toward me and I felt the soft cotton of the t-shirt against my back. “Would you mind terribly if I slept in here with you? I know it’s silly, but I get a little spooked when I’m in strange places.”

  I rolled over and slid my arm beneath her. “Sure, you can. I get a little spooked myself sometimes when I’m traveling and in a strange hotel,” I murmured as I pulled her against me and she curled like a young girl to conform to the shape of my hip. But there was nothing but woman beneath that cotton shirt. I began to stroke her upper arm and with every pass of my hand I could feel the muscles beneath her skin relax and conform to me. “Gwen, answer something for me?” I asked softly.

  “Hmm…?” she responded in a voice as thick as honey.

  “Who am I and where are we?”

  I heard her breath pause momentarily before she answered. “Colt Stillman and I’m pretty sure this is where you live.”

  “Good girl,” I exhaled as I rolled onto my hip and pulled her to face me. Her face turned upward, and I met her lips with a hard kiss; it was filled with the residue of frustration and need for the woman in my arms. Her lips answered mine, parting so I could taste her tongue and the sweet moisture of her inside cheek. Then began the give and take of lovers—the quest from one followed by the answer of the other. Gwen was tentative and tender. I recognized immediately she’d had few lovers in her life. I suspected one had hurt her and that was what she could not, or would not, share. I swore I would drive his memory from her. Whatever he’d done had left pain and I would take it away and replace it with the tenderness and protection a woman like her deserved to feel from a man.

  Even that aside—I wanted her. I wanted her more than any woman I’d ever known. She wasn’t just a body; she was a simple and yet intensively complicated vessel holding all a man could ever need or want. She was meant for me. She just didn’t know it yet because she was too scared to open herself. I would change all that.

  Kissing her, I moved my fingertips to her nipples, taking each in turn and rubbing them gently in circular motions through the fabric. They responded to my touch, becoming erect and I felt the breath in her throat quicken. With one, smooth motion, I pulled the shirt over her head, pulling her nipples into my mouth. Gwen began squirming, her hips driving into the mattress as her body arched, lifting her breasts against my face. I fed upon her and then loosed one hand to push her panties down the long extension of her legs. She opened herself to my touch and as I suckled, I pressed against her woman’s grotto with my finger.

  Her reaction was organic and naturally female. She pumped her hips, trying to seat my finger more deeply. I was gentle but decided as I rose above her and entered her. Gwen bucked upward and with a steady, but firm movement, I pushed her back down against the bed. Slowly and with caution I penetrated her depth and then slid out, giving her a split second’s respite before I moved into her once again. Over and over we repeated the dance of mankind, growing in intensity until we crested the peak and the shudders washed over us.

  As thoughts cleared, I clutched her against me, my hand cupping that which I’d just breached—she belonged to me then and I would protect her from that moment on.

  Chapter 8

  Gwen

  A strange light was seeping through my eyelids the next morning. I lay very still, aware that my surroundings were unfamiliar and wondering what time it was. I panicked a little when I realized that I didn’t hear Carrie breathing in her crib and that’s when it all came back. I felt the bed move and lifted one eyelid just enough to sneak a glance. Colt’s back was to me as he was seated on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair and stretching. I quickly pulled my eyes shut until I felt him stand and then I heard a door shut. There was water running and I recognized he was in the shower. Without hesitating another moment, I slid from the bed, rescued my panties and stole down the hall to the bedroom where I’d started. Pulling on my clothes, I ran toward his door. I managed to open and shut it quietly closed behind me, and then I was pulling on shoes in the elevator. I only had moments to pull myself together, whipping a comb out of the bottom of my purse. Then I was at street level and the revolving door deposited me on the sidewalk. I walked, no, it was more like ran, to the corner, fishing out my phone. I called Uber and told them where I was. I told them to look for me to be walking west on Guillemot Avenue, and they should come and pick me up. The driver must not have been far away because it wasn’t very long before there was a horn beeping behind me. I jumped into the backseat and in a matter of a few miles, I was home.

  It was very early and Bitsy was still asleep, as was Carrie, safely in her crib. I wanted to pick her up so badly but didn’t want to disturb her. I pulled fresh clothing out of the drawer and went into the bathroom to shower. I could hear Carrie, her little voice tweeting like a bird when I emerged. I warmed a bottle and climbed onto my bed, the covers still made from the night before and held her in my lap as I fed her. That was when the guilt really began to sink in.

  I’d let it happen again. I’d sworn to myself I would never be someone’s one-night stand, not ever again. And yet all it took were a few glasses of wine and one helluva handsome stud to convince me otherwise. I felt confused and lonely at the same time. Carrie’s brown eyes looked up at me, trusting me and I knew I’d let her down, too. When she was done eating I rocked her against my chest, humming a lullaby when Bitsy appeared in the doorway.

  “What time did you get in?”

  “A while ago.”

  I could see her choosing her words carefully. “Did you have a good time?”

  I shrugged but didn’t say anything and I think she knew she wasn’t going to get anything further out of me. She turned and went into the kitchenette and made us each a cup of coffee. I joined her on the sofa and we watc
hed the news, played with Carrie between us and didn’t talk about the night before. My cell phone began ringing in the other room and Bitsy looked at me sideways when she realized I wasn’t getting up to answer it. She was smart enough not to say anything. I pretended I heard nothing. We spent the late morning and early afternoon washing up some laundry; an old movie with Barbara Stanwick played on the screen as we folded clothes between us. It was one of those morning-after kind of days when you hadn’t gotten enough sleep but had too much to drink and was still feeling it.

  My cell rang twice more, and I continued to ignore it. At one point, I picked up a stack of clothes and went into the room to put them away, switching the phone to silent. That was one way to deal with it.

  Sometime in the later afternoon, I took Carrie to bed with me and we both had a nap. I found a book to read and stayed in my room, while Carrie played with toys in her crib. It was a very domestic and tranquil evening, but somehow it was still lonely. My phone continued to ring.

  The next morning it was back to normal. I dressed and went to work, trying not to think about what I’d done. I felt overwhelmed with guilt and disappointment in myself. I knew that Colt would never think of me in a serious light—he was under no obligation. He was used to getting what he wanted, wealthy men were like that. Not to mention he was extremely well-connected and powerful in business. I was a toy he pursued because I was elusive and once he had me, that would be the end. I never even checked my phone to see who’d been calling; just covered the names and numbers as I systematically tapped the trashcan.

  I was off my game and one of the other clerks asked me if something was wrong. I muttered something quietly and unintelligible and she seemed to get the message. At lunchtime, I left through the back door and went somewhere I’d never been before. I was afraid he was tracking me again and as he had before, he could’ve ended up at my lunch table with me. I didn’t want to see him. I had to forget Colt Stillman. He was just another checkmark in the column already populated by Paul.

  I was uncomfortable all afternoon. I felt as though people could read my face and knew what I’d done. I knew things were different in a bigger city—that I was still thinking like a small-town cheerleader. But that’s who I was inside. By that evening, I’ve made up my mind. I told Bitsy I was going to spend a quiet evening in with Carrie. She was getting dressed to go to work.

  “Have you answered his calls yet?” she finally asked.

  “What you mean?”

  “Don’t be coy,” she muttered, and I had to admit although it was a short word, I was surprised she understood it.

  “He’s not interested in me, Bitsy. Men like Colt don’t hang onto women like me.”

  “What are you talking about? What do you mean by women like you? What’s wrong with you?” Her eyes were wide and bugging out. I realized that she held me to a standard I didn’t quite identify with.

  “He can have anyone he wants.” I was trying to change the subject.

  “He wants you.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. I barely know him, and I saw how he lives. His kind just uses people like me as toys. When they’re broken, they throw them away.”

  “He’s not like that, Gwen. He’s been calling constantly. Why don’t you answer the phone?”

  “You don’t know that, either. Look, you see that little girl there with her toys? That’s what came from trusting a man. No man is going to complete me. They’re not to be trusted, haven’t you learned by now?”

  Bitsy stepped around the doorway from the bathroom, her hairbrush in her hand. “No, to tell you the truth, I haven’t. Maybe I’ve been lucky, and just maybe I haven’t been cynical.”

  “It’s a pretty big word for you,” I said with spite. She was getting under my skin.

  “Whatever. You do what you want to but leave me out of it. Colt is quite a catch and for you to dump him like that makes no sense. But then, most of the time, you don’t make sense at all.”

  She said her peace, grabbed her purse and slammed the door behind her. Tears burned in my eyes. How had it come to this? Just two days earlier I was being pursued by the most eligible bachelor in town and had a best friend who I thought would have my back no matter what. Now I wasn’t speaking to one and the other one wasn’t speaking to me. What the hell happened?

  I grabbed my cell and plopped down on the sofa, tapping Metallica’s private cell number. I heard myself tell her that I had a family emergency and needed some time off. I asked that she hold my job if possible and she reassured me if I came back within three weeks, it would be mine. I thanked her and hung up. I doubted three weeks would be enough to get my life back in shape, but at least I kept that option open. With a sigh, I went into the bedroom and pulled my suitcases out from beneath the bed. I filled them with the simpler items of my wardrobe and all of Carrie’s things. I tied things together with bungee cords, including her porta crib. The Uber was waiting for me by the time we got down to the street. An hour later we were on a Greyhound, headed home to Brookfield. I wasn’t sure my car was up to the trip and besides, I didn’t want people to recognize me as I came into town. I’d left Bitsy a brief explanatory note saying I’d gone to see my parents.

  The bus station was busy as we pulled into town. I saw familiar faces and a few hands raised in my direction. I could tell at least one of the girls was headed over to talk to me, but I quickly threw my things into the back of the taxi that was waiting beside the station and climbed in with Carrie in my lap. I knew it would soon be all over town that I had come home, and most of them would think it was in defeat. Small town people tended to be that way, always jealous of those who tried to make more of themselves and quietly rejoicing when they fail. I felt rotten about everything in general. The city had been my dream and now here I was back in this tiny little town looking for refuge with my parents. Talk about a step backward, I had just taken a giant one.

  My parents were thrilled to see me but somewhat puzzled by what was going on. I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t much more than a child myself and certainly didn’t have a track record of making wise choices. They knew nothing about Colt and I wanted to keep it that way. I did my best to chatter on to Mom and Dad about all the wonderful things I’d seen in the city. I told them about my job and about Bitsy but left out anything that had to do with Colt Stillman. I talked about the world of high fashion and how elegant the salespeople were. Mom said she was proud of me and I think she was sincere. She didn’t have a choice to be anything other than that.

  We were just finishing up when the phone rang. Mom and Dad still had an old rotary landline, so I signaled with my hand that I would get it.

  “Hello?” I spoke into the cradle and liked the way it fit in my hand. Cell phones were great, but these were more comfortable.

  No one responded, but I could hear an engine running in the background. It might’ve been a car, but it was too far away to tell for sure.

  “Hello?” I tried once more and when there was no response again, I hung up. Mom looked at me as I reentered the room, her eyebrows raised in question. “Wrong number, I guess.” She was bringing in a tray with cups of coffee, including one for me.

  “I thought you might be a coffee drinker by now?”

  I laughed. As a matter of fact, you’re right. Everybody drinks coffee, it’s the center of social life if you don’t count the bars and I never was much of a barfly.”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Mom muttered. “At least you haven’t gone there.”

  That stung. They’d never said anything, but I knew they were disappointed in me. I’d always been a high achiever, top of my class, head cheerleader, you name it. That had ended after one night with Paul and although Mom and Dad loved Carrie dearly and would never trade her for my old reputation, I could tell just in that single remark that Mom had been holding her breath to see how low I would fall before I hit bottom.

  I let it go. My parents’ house was the only shelter I could count on at the
moment. After my fight with Bitsy, I wasn’t entirely sure she’d be waiting when I got back. I felt like everything in my life was on trial at the moment. The only person I could trust was my tiny daughter.

  I tried to relax into the home atmosphere and sat quietly in a side chair holding Carrie as my parents watched their post-news game shows and whatever version of CSI was currently in vogue. I stared at the screen, feigning interest but my mind was swirling. I could feel Colt’s mouth on mine and the gentle touching that caused my nipples to harden. I felt the heat low in my belly just from remembering... No! I wasn’t allowed to remember that. I couldn’t go through cataclysmic rejection—not again. Colt was not intended for me. He would marry the daughter of some wealthy politician or businessman… someone with the right background and connections to advance his business. Wealthy people didn’t seem to have a limit to their desire for more and more money. They were playing games and money was the way they kept score. My face burned as I realized I might be one of those score marks, but I’d paid with my flesh and my heart. As much as I hated to admit it, I had developed feelings for Colt—even if they were only a sense of being protected.

  I called it a night early; there was only so much network programming I could take. Mom and Dad gave Carrie goodnight kisses and cuddles and I got a pat on the shoulder. I wasn’t their little girl any longer.

  Upstairs, I switched on the overhead light in my old bedroom. The porta-crib was set up. I changed Carrie and laid her down. She was such a good child and gave me a sweet smile before she fixated on a mobile hung overhead and then slowly closed her eyelids and dropped off to sleep. I changed my clothes and folded back the covers. Snapping off the light switch, I traveled the well-remembered six steps to the side of my bed and sat down, pulling my brush from the nightstand. I always gave my long, thick hair a hundred strokes. It wasn’t so much about grooming as it was the comforting ritual that was self-soothing. It was a time for reflection, although that night, it felt more like revisiting guilt.