He tossed and turned for some time that night, examining their relationship. He could recall nothing on her part that aroused his concerns. She had never called him 'Daddy' or suggested he fill that role in any way he could put his finger on.
Finally, he carefully consdered the issue he dreaded acknowledging—the difference in their ages. It was an ongoing sore spot, one he had suffered over even more keenly for long, lonely months because of the misunderstanding their relationship had gone through early on.
Perhaps, he thought, it was the intensity of that pain he still couldn't quite escape, even though the blow he had received to his pride and self-esteem had never been intended for him, at all.
Then there was the fact that Andee had seemed such a child when he first met her. A willful, headstrong little girl with a decided lack of manners. He had been surprised to learn how old she was, when both her attitude and her diminutive appearance, coupled with her behavior and dress style, hinted at a teenager. It was still sometimes difficult for him to shake that image, despite the fact that Andee now presented herself as a much more mature young woman.
And, truth be told, there was always some element of the parent-child relationship in every arrangement such as theirs. It was simply the most obvious dynamic for reference, whether it was ever acknowledged or not.
He could be comfortable with it, he thought, shoving his pillow into yet another tortured configuration to support his weary head, if only he could be sure Andee was not using him as a father substitute. If only he could feel certain she saw them both as adults, ready to enter a lifelong partnership. Because he very much wanted her beside him for the rest of his life, on whatever terms he could have her, he admitted ruefully, but most of all as his wife. Most of all as the mother of children he had always wanted to create and then to nurture into their own adulthood.
He fell asleep finally, having diverted his thoughts into a far more pleasant contemplation of what those children might look like and what they might become with Andee and him for parents.
*****
The dream, he knew, must have come just before dawn, because he awakened with it fresh on his mind and singing through his heart just as the first streaks of light colored his window in pearly gray.
He lay still, eyes closed, heart and mind at peace, a smile curving his mouth, until the sun was much further along in its duty of fully defining the day.
During those quiet moments, he revisited the single snapshot image that had invaded his sleep.
It was a woman, he remembered, naked and glowing with the light of a gentle fire outlining her body. She stood, arms held out, eyes beseeching, lips parted gently in an invitation impossible to misunderstand, before the rough-hewn fireplace in his Tennessee cabin.
It was Andee. Welcoming her lover. Reaching out to her husband, as no little girl hoping to find her father ever would.
*****
The sound that woke her was not the alarm, which Andee had overlooked but Nick had set for her. It was, instead, his voice calling her name.
She peeked at him, standing at her kitchen counter, unpacking cartons from his favorite deli, and smiled as she eased into a long stretch. It was only as her body reached the outer limits of its expansion ability that she recalled the sentence he had left her under last night. She collapsed into her hollow on the futon and pulled the sheet over her head.
"Come get your oatmeal. It's got pecans and dried fruit, just the way you like it, and it's still hot enough to melt some butter, if you want a bit. I'm peeling some mangoes, too."
"Is that the $9.95 breakfast special at Bannock's?" she asked. "You know you can get the same thing at McDonald's for less than five bucks."
"Bannock's containers are made from completely recycled corn husks using no abused animals or bruised plant parts," he countered. "Isn't that significant and worth the price for your generation?"
"Don't criticize our virtuosity. We're busy saving the world, one prohibition at a time." The sheet shifted and she eased her nose and her toes out of its confines at opposite ends.
"Not that it matters to me, but the word you're looking for is virtuousness. I admit, it doesn't have as nice a flow, but it is more accurate."
"If you're going to start the day being pedantic, you can just go right back home. I have more important things to consider, like…" she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be considering and grimaced, pulling her body back into a tight, defensive ball.
"Exactly. Now, come get your breakfast before I change the menu to a slab of undrained tofu and some bean sprouts."
Andee forced herself to roll out of bed and did a couple of quick stretching moves before she padded into the kitchen. She slipped behind him as he stirred a pat of butter into her oats and circled his waist with her arms, enjoying the way his firm buttocks pressed into her tummy. "You feel good," she whispered against his shirt.
"So do you. More about that later. Now kiss me good morning, and eat your breakfast." He turned to take her in his arms and squeezed her tightly, wishing the plans for the day could be different. He knew neither of them could manage the pretense that the events of the evening before had been without serious consequences, however. For Andee's sake, it was better to deal sooner, rather than later, with behavior she knew was inexcusable and then to explore why she had exhibited it, even though he expected her to put up a fierce resistance to his plans.
As for his own reaction to her performance, he had spent quite some time analyzing it and realizing he was not without responsibility for some of her frustration. The question was what to do about it. The only approach he could see was one that meant making himself more vulnerable than he had ever been in his life. But it was time to determine exactly what Andee wanted from him, and to decide if he could meet her needs.
They ate breakfast in silence, in contrast to the happy chatter with which Andee usually seasoned the meal and despite the normality they had both tried for earlier. The awareness of her coming discipline was an oppressive weight they had never encountered before, since punishment had always followed misbehavior immediately. He hated the additional sting it added to her fate, but circumstances had left him little choice but to delay the inevitable until she was able to fully appreciate the lesson he was trying to teach.
Finally, she gathered up the cartons and utensils and put the kitchen to rights, going so far as to sweep the floor and wipe down the countertop with a damp cloth.
"It's not that I don't appreciate your efforts, sweetie, but it's time to get this over with," he said finally, when it looked as though she might start reorganizing her canned goods as the next evasive measure.
"I don't suppose it makes any difference to you that I was under the influence, does it?"
"Do you consider inebriation an acceptable excuse?"
"Not an excuse, exactly, but you know I would never have been that-that crude if I were sober."
"You think this is just about your failure to flirt with more finesse?" he asked, drawing her down into the chair she had vacated ten minutes before.
She stared at hands she was twisting in her lap, unwilling to explore the ramifications of her behavior. "Okay, I know I acted like a tramp in front of all those people, and I know what I deserve, so just get it over with," she said finally.
"Andee, most of those people probably don't even remember how they got home last night, much less how you comported yourself. Still, I can't support behavior that makes you look cheap or easy, so that is part of the issue. It's true you would be in trouble with me for drinking too much and acting out in a crowd, but the consequences of your behavior have to cover more territory than that."
Her shoulders hunched and her head lowered another few inches toward the table. "I didn't mean to get ol' Kyle all worked up like that. I guess he was more a babe in the woods than I had him sized up for."
"So you took the time to choose your quarry before you moved in?"
She shrugged. "I didn't think of it exactly like t
hat, but, yeah, I guess I did. He just seemed safe enough, and besides I thought you would stop it before it got quite as far as it did."
"Then you're saying it was my fault you worked him up to the edge of an orgasm that you knew you were never going to see him through?"
"Not so much, but it was definitely your fault he was shaking in his boots when we left. I do remember that."
"And you should have been shaking in yours, young lady. You knew better, even drunk, you knew better." His voice was louder than it had been.
"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. It wasn't very nice, I guess, but it's not like I'm the only woman who ever flirted a little too much."
"You know, the more excuses you make, the less sympathetic I become. Now, is there anything else you want to say?"
There was, of course, but she couldn't begin to imagine how to say it. "I just wanted…" she said and then stopped, the lump in her throat making it impossible to go on.
"You just wanted me to notice that other men notice you? Is that what this is all about? Because I'd have to be totally deaf and blind or sunk in dementia not to be aware that you are a gorgeous woman and men are drawn to you like flies to honey. If I've failed to let you know how beautiful and desirable I think you are, I sincerely beg you to forgive me and give me another chance to show you that I am fully aware of my luck in having you on my arm and in my life."
"It's not just—" she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to catch the tears before they slid down her cheeks. How could he be so oblivious, she wondered. Was she nothing more to him than a good-looking date? Was she never going to be anything other than a prize he could display to other men and then use as an excuse to show just how macho he could be? She'd been down that road before. It was lonely and humiliating.
She had been desperate enough to believe this first man she had ever loved might be able to return the feeling, and look at where that had gotten her. True enough, he had come back for her, but he still hadn't claimed her. The waiting was almost more than she could bear.
She felt his finger on her face, gently wiping away the tears that had found their way out.
"Andee, I need you to understand something. The things we've talked about already, they are both important and they are both serious enough that you would be in trouble for either of them, but here's the real issue. You disrespected me last night."
"I know," she whispered miserably.
"No, you don't know. You disrespected me, because you disrespected yourself, and that's the worst part of this whole thing. I'll survive, just as I always have, any lack of regard from the world. I'm nothing special, and there's no reason I should expect positive attention as a given from any quarter, but what you did said to the world that you hold yourself cheap, and that is something I can't accept with good grace. I know your value. I know how precious you are and how blessed I am to have you in my life, so don't you dare pretend to be something less than that. That's what this is really all about—that you would sell yourself so short. Well, there's a price to be paid for that shabby assumption, and you're going to pay it now, sweetheart."
He slid the notepad and pen back to her side of the table. "Write each of your very creative suggestions for punishment ten more times. You know the standard, so see to it that you abide by it. And when you're through, I'm going to take you up on numbers one, two, three, seven, eight, nine and ten."
She moaned. "All seven?"
"All seven, but all at one time. Now, get busy."
*****
Nick came close to accusing Andee of stalling. When she finally stood up, stretched, and placed the notepad in front of him, he was glad he hadn't given in to the temptation.
Page after page was filled with neatly written repetitions of the work she had finally produced the night before. Almost. A quick glance showed him she had made some additions to the sentences.
The first thought had been expanded to "I deserve to have my bare bottom spanked, and I will do my best to accept it gracefully, but I don't think it's going to be easy."
Other expansions on the basic theme followed: "I ought to get a bare bottom spanking with a hairbrush, but I really don't want to know what that feels like, so I may fuss a lot. I'm sorry, in advance." "Please spank my bottom so hard I can't sit down, even if I beg you to stop. I know what I deserve." "I should get spanked with your belt until you think I've learned my lesson, and I trust you, even if I yell a lot." "I want you to put stripes across my bare bottom. I deserve several. I understand why you have to do this." "Will you please paddle me until my bottom is bright red? This was a really hard one for me to write, for some reason, but I'm trying to mean it." "I need to be spanked hard until I cry like a little girl. I don't want to cry, though, so I may scream or say something terrible instead." "I deserve to be put over your lap and have my bare bottom blistered. I could never say this out loud. Please don't make me." "I ought to be spanked with your hand, or whatever else you think is best, because I've been very bad. Can you ever forgive me? Please say yes." "Please spank me harder than you have ever spanked me before, because I've been very bad. I may not be able to say it later, so I want to thank you now."
The expanded requests took up several hundred lines and virtually every page in the notepad. He knew her fingers must be cramped and her back and shoulders aching. He wished that could be an end to it, but he knew it could not.
"I appreciate the extra effort you put into this, Andee. It's something I don't think you would have, or could have, done a few months ago. Maybe not even a few days ago. You do understand that this doesn't change your punishment though, don't you?" he asked quietly.
She grimaced and her hands stole back in a protective gesture he found endearing. "I know. I just had to tell you some things, and I didn't know if I still could when it's—all over. I probably won't be having very good thoughts by then."
"Or you may be feeling much better. Oh, not that your sweet little bottom won't be a source of some intense distress, but you'll feel better inside."
She peeked at him from beneath the jumble of curls that had fallen over her brow. "Why is it like that?" she asked quietly. "Why does something that hurts so much make me feel so much better when it's over? I ought to be mad at you. I ought to hate you. Instead I lo—like you more than ever. I like myself more, too."
"It's all about forgiveness and redemption. Everybody needs that, sweetheart. Some of us just can't admit it, and some of us can't practice it. Now, go get some clothes on. We have an errand to run."
She pushed the curls out of her face and frowned at him. "But I thought—I mean, aren't you going to—"
"I am. I surely am. As soon as we make a quick trip to Macy's and buy a suitable hairbrush." He stood up and sped her on her way with a smart clap to her bottom, while she sputtered with new-found indignation and insisted she had changed her mind about everything she had written so carefully.
Chapter Nine
"Why are you making me go with you?" she demanded when they were buckled in and pulling out of the complex. "You're not going to—oh, my gosh, please tell me you're not going to—"
"To what?" he asked conversationally as he watched for an opening in traffic and eased the car in.
"You're not going to use it there, are you?" she demanded. Her voice rose an octave toward the end, he noticed.
"Not unless you make it necessary. But I'm sure you'll be able to exercise enough restraint to avoid that. I may need you along to help me choose the proper size, though. I wouldn't want to waste my money on something too small. Or too big."
She gulped. "How are you going to know?"
"If it's the right size, you mean? Very discreet measuring, sweetheart."
"You wouldn't," she breathed.
"I might," he said.
"I'm not going in."
"Oh, you are going in. It's just a question of whether you go in with a bottom that is already sore because I've had to bring you around to my way of thinking in the parking lot, or whether you enter and exit in
comfort and get this part of it over with as quickly and with as little fuss as possible."
She muttered under her breath and tapped her foot the remainder of the trip, and then stomped into the mall ahead of him. He considered providing an attitude adjustment but decided to allow her the opportunity to practice self-discipline, instead. He said as much when he grasped her hand and pulled her back to walk beside him just inside the women's shoe department.
"I won't suggest twice that you behave. If I have to speak to you about your attitude again, young lady, I'll be quite specific and I won't care who overhears our conversation. Now, the department we need is at the top of the escalator and to the right. I suggest you stop here for a moment and get yourself in hand. I'll expect you to meet me at the display of personal care items in exactly five minutes. If I have to enlist security to help me look for you, you will be a most unhappy little girl, I can assure you."
He skimmed his hand casually over the seat of her jeans and then walked on ahead of her, toward the moving stairway.
Andee fumed for as long as she dared, then closed her eyes and drew in a huge breath before following the route she had watched him take.
She saw him as soon as she stepped off the escalator. He was deep in conversation with a sales clerk, a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back in a severe black bun and her body encased in a no-nonsense gray pin-stripe skirt and jacket. There were a half dozen brushes spread across the counter top in front of him, and he was tapping another one gently against his palm as he listened to the woman extol the virtues of a tortoise shell-backed model.
With knees that felt like rubber and a catch in her breath, she approached as quietly as possible. Nick turned to smile at her.
Leading Her Home (Lessons From Nick's Firm Hand Book 2) Page 7
