“I used up every bit of honor I had in me with that one trigger pull.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Once again, his take on what happened made her cringe and she vowed she’d spend the rest of her life trying to make him take off that particular pair of glasses that made him always see himself in such a terrible light, but for now, she stroked his hair and caressed him like a baby in her arms.
“I spent the next few years looking for a more passive way to do the trick, but that didn’t work out either. I finally had to accept it. I was meant to live with my mistake—the first stage of hell, to have to live with what you’ve done.”
Rhees understood that, too well.
“I heard sirens—I panicked.” He glanced up at her and waited to see if she’d understand. “I couldn’t think! Me—super-brain—I couldn’t think. I needed to protect him—if I couldn’t bring him back.” Paul started to cry again. “It was ingrained—my parents had ingrained it into me. I needed to protect my brother—his reputation.”
Rhees could barely understand what he said as he broke down again.
“My brother was gone. It hurt—it hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. I jumped back into my car, drove around. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have the answer. I just drove. And then I panicked again—I’d destroyed evidence—the police. Pete’s people . . . they knew about me. I needed to get away. I pulled over, changed my blood-soaked clothes and headed back to the airport. I had my passport, my bag. I hopped on the first flight out of Miami. I never went back.”
He cried convulsively within her embrace and she cried with him. She held him, stroking his hair, his shoulders and back. He held her so tight she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t say a word.
Chapter 10
Rhees held Paul in her arms and let him cry. He clutched at her, desperately trying to get closer and closer. The sobs finally diminished, but still, he trembled. Pulling one of her hands to his lips, he kissed each one of her fingers once before he held them to his cheek. The other side of his face still rested against her chest but he started nuzzling his cheek against the exposed skin of the V-line on her shirt. The skin to skin contact seemed to spur him to seek more.
Thinking only of soothing him, she grabbed for the neckline of her shirt and pulled it down farther, helping him find more skin. She realized what she’d done when his needy blue eyes met hers and the next thing she knew, her shirt was off, he’d tossed it to the end of the bed and buried his face between her breasts, wiping what was left of his tears on the lace on her bra.
She took a deep breath and slowly lowered her head back on the bed. She concentrated on the patterns in the ceiling as Paul pulled the cup of her bra down, exposing one of her breasts. She had to close her eyes when, with a drawn-out exhale, his mouth closed around it.
She concentrated so hard on not pushing him away, stopping him—she didn’t notice he’d untied the drawstring on her pants until his hand roamed freely over her lower body. He clutched at her, tugged on her, stroked her, tracing the outline of her panties.
She swallowed hard and took another deep breath, held it, let it out, and took another, repeating the pattern, afraid he’d feel how shaky her breathing had become, afraid he’d stop if he realized how scared she was—on the verge of panic. She cursed herself. She loved him. She wouldn’t hesitate to give her life for him, so why was it so hard to give him her body? She didn’t really want him to stop, even if she needed him to. He didn’t stop.
Paul removed her bra and started on her other breast. Still, she lay motionless. Her eyelids fluttered open so she could stare at the ceiling, and then she squeezed them tight again. Small, frightened whimpers escaped now and then, but he didn’t seem to notice as he slipped his hand into her panties and worked its way between her legs where he began playing with her, intimately. They both moaned, but for differing reasons.
He’d pushed her remaining clothing down and off before giving her nipple one last kiss. He worked his mouth up her throat; tenderly kissing her while his body inched over her. His lips found hers, which he attacked fervently at the same time his hand resumed its position between her legs, but He had found his way there too, nothing between them but Paul’s boxers and his hand.
“Ahh . . .” He exhaled into her mouth as he pressed himself against her, working his fingers, coaxing . . . He moaned again, kissing her, fusing himself to her in every way except one, the last . . .
Tears ran down the sides of her face as she tried to keep it together. Rhees shuddered as a quiet whimper slipped from the back of her throat. “I love you,” she whispered, barely audible, more to remind herself than him.
Paul froze. He held perfectly still except for his labored breathing.
“What’s wrong?” she choked out after a long pause, too long. He didn’t answer. She couldn’t see his face. She needed to see his face, his eyes. “I did it wrong,” she breathed.
He finally raised himself off of her, holding himself above her like the upward movement of a pushup. He stared down at her and she regretted wanting to see his eyes. She’d give anything not to see them now.
“Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”
Her mouth opened and closed, having no defense. “I didn’t want you to.”
“Bullshit!” he growled. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I didn’t want you to stop!” she yelled back.
He cursed and jumped up and off the bed and went to the sliding glass door. He stood and looked out the window, not really seeing anything, just staring out. He hissed and had to rearrange himself and then he cussed again under his breath. He shook his head and blinked a few times before scrunching up his face. His mouth ran through their moves, more pronounced than normal.
“Were you just going to lie there and let me rape you?”
She coughed—his word choice infuriated her. “We’re married!”
His gaze shot back to her. “What the hell difference does that make? Are you crazy?” He looked out the window again.
“Probably,” she snapped. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
He sighed, frustrated, and then again in resignation. “You’re not crazy. It’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking. You couldn’t possibly be ready so soon. I’m sorry.” He put his hands on his hips, stared at the ground, and growled, showing palpable contempt. Rhees couldn’t tell if the contempt was for himself or for her.
“I want to be ready.” She sniffed and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I’m tired of letting this rule my life—our lives. I love you. You needed me, and I—I just wanted to be there for you.”
“God, Rhees. You’re always doing that, always putting everyone first—me. You’re always putting me before yourself. I keep trying to tell you I’m not worth it, what a fucking prick I am, but you don’t listen.” He lied. He actually loved that about her. It gave him an inkling of hope he might not completely be a lost cause.
“Stop it,” she begged.
“I don’t deserve you. After everything you’ve been through, I almost . . . Gah!”
He exhaled long and loud and looked out the window again. The look on her face broke his heart because he knew he’d just put a crack in hers. He hated himself all the more. He needed to change the subject. He needed a change of scenery. He was going crazy, being confined in that room for so long was getting to him. He sighed heavily again.
“What do you say we get out of this room? We’ve been cooped up way too long.”
“I can’t,” she yelped, horror stricken. “I’m not ready to go out.”
“Huh.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “You’re too traumatized to leave the fucking room, but you’d be just fine letting your fucking husband fuck your scared-ass brains out. That’s beautiful, absolutely, fucking beautiful.”
/> She stood in a huff and scooped her clothes off the bed. He turned away from her naked body until she headed toward the bathroom in what seemed like a hurry.
“Where’re you going?” he snarled after her. He knew as soon as he asked. He’d made her feel the need to get away, to run, and he felt bad for being such an ass, again. As if any of it was her fault. “Rhees? I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m just fu . . . I’m fine.”
She’d stopped herself from swearing and it made him feel even worse. He’d asked her not to swear at him or because of him. She’d kept her promise, almost to a fault.
“These scrubs are so dirty, they’re starting to crawl. Maybe another shower will help.” She’d never admit she just needed to get away from him—that might hurt his feelings. Paul grinned at what a good excuse she’d come up with to protect him.
“We can send them out,” he called after her. “The hotel has a laundry service.”
“How long will that take? I have nothing else to wear,” she called back.
“They can be done tomorrow. In the meantime, you can wear one of the hotel robes. They’re hanging in the closet.”
oOo
As soon as Paul heard Rhees turn the shower off, he gave her a minute to dry off. He knocked on the wall to the bathroom that had no door. He held a robe just beyond the door opening for her to see. She eventually took it from his hands and he gave her a second to put it on.
“Put your clothes in here with mine.” He walked into the bathroom holding a plastic bag with the name of the hotel and the word ‘Laundry’ printed on the side. He’d changed his clothes and put his dirty things in the bag too.
“I called the front desk. They’ll send someone up for this.” He held the bag up and made a production of pulling the drawstring on the bag tight after she’d put her scrubs and underclothes inside. He’d transformed into Taking-Care-of-Everything-Paul, one of his defense mechanisms, because he didn’t know how to fix the uncomfortable tension between them. Rhees never did look him in the eye. She pulled the robe closed a little more, acting self-conscious in front of him.
Damn it, he thought, wondering why it had to be so complicated to love someone so much. He asked himself why he didn’t stick to his guns about never caring about anyone again . . . as if—with Rhees, it’d never been a choice.
oOo
It took another hour after the blow up for the mood to really improve, instead of just pretending it had, but once it did, Paul and Rhees began to have a good time. Paul asked the hotel to bring up a deck of cards and a package of every type of snack food the little convenience store on the property carried. With a lot of coaxing, Rhees finally agreed to let him teach her a couple of easy games. They turned the television to a music channel, nothing but an odd version of cool jazz, but it filled the room with something better than the previous tension.
Paul placed the bedspread on the floor so they could sit on a clean, but firm, surface while they played at least a hundred rounds of Speed, eating potato chips and red licorice. Rhees won just enough rounds to keep her playing. She actually won a few on her own, too.
She squealed in an excited panic when she and Paul got to the end of their cards at the same time, and her last card landed under his, making her the winner, barely. She jumped up and did a little victory dance. His right eye winked a couple of times as he smiled at her, relieved to see her so happy again, so normal.
“In the Mood” came on over the TV, played by some unknown band, and Rhees reached for him. “I love the better version of this song.” She giggled. “Dance with me?”
He stood and they ran through a calm version of the swing but she didn’t realize how her robe gaped open as he swung her around, revealing her bare breasts to him. Rather than embarrass her, he pulled her into his arms, her back to his front and they swayed. She leaned her head back against his neck, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the innocent, nonthreatening affection.
When the song ended, they continued to sway. “This has been a very nice afternoon. Thank you.” She turned in his arms and looked up at him with a smile.
“I didn’t do anything.” He gave her a soft peck on the nose.
“I like having you all to myself like this. I think we’ve hit on the best way to spend a honeymoon.” She realized her mistake as soon as she said it. Her gaze dropped to the floor, thinking about what she was sure he thought also—that this was the worst honeymoon in the history of mankind. “You have to be going stir-crazy being cooped up with me all this time. I finally understand why it’s so hard on you to be confined.”
He pulled her into him and she expected a lame, affectionate gesture—one required by a man trying to be a good husband when trying to ignore his wife’s stupid mouth. He stuck his tongue in her ear instead, making her shriek. She tried to get away but he held her, waggling his tongue and making crazy eyes, trying to lick her again.
“No crazy stirring going on here.”
She laughed and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest.
“Well, tomorrow.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “When my clothes get back, let’s give going out a try.”
“No need to push it. We planned to be away for three weeks. We won’t be missed for a few more days. If you need more time after that, I’ll work it out. Claire and Dobbs have the name of our hotel if they need me—us. They understand. They want nothing more than for you to get better. In fact, I’d bet they’re pretty happy about having the shop all to themselves.”
“Okay, that’s great, but . . . I’m having doubts it’s ever going to come on its own. I think I do need to push myself a little. You know I need to force myself to face my worst fears, head on. Maybe we could get lunch, see how it goes.”
He pulled back so he could read her. “I think that is a very good idea . . . but there’s no need to rush this. We don’t need to rush anything, understand?”
She nodded, but she could see how encouraged he felt at her willingness to give getting out of the room a try, confirming that despite all his talk about waiting, there was still another fear she’d need to face, head on.
oOo
They ordered room service for dinner and it thrilled Paul to see Rhees actually get excited when it arrived. Paul knew he was less likely to be grouchy on a full stomach, but she hadn’t eaten much since the hijacking. He’d been so worried about her he couldn’t bring himself to eat either. That night, she ate as much as he’d seen her eat since they’d been in the room, making his own appetite return with a vengeance.
He’d ordered wine with dinner, but when he reached for the bottle to refill his glass, only a few drops trickled out. He’d only had one glass. He tilted his head to the side and watched Rhees, but she seemed oblivious to his new concern as she picked away at her food.
“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” he asked, wiggling the bottle, upside down, to make sure she noticed how empty it happened to be.
She made a sheepish face. “That is very good wine.”
“Was.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table that room service had set up for them between the chaise and the bed. He clasped his hands and propped his lips against his steepled index fingers, watching her suspiciously.
“Oh. I didn’t mean to hog it all. We should order more.”
One corner of his mouth hitched up in anticipation of her pending reaction. “Yes, it is good wine. At two hundred dollars a bottle, I would hope so.”
As he’d predicted, any humor that might have been on her face, no longer was. “I just guzzled down two hundred dollars?”
“It’s okay. If you like it, I’ll order more.” He leaned forward even more. “But why are you trying to get drunk?”
She looked down with a pouty frown, caught. “It’s been a long time since eit
her of us has been drunk. It sounded like a good idea.” She added an afterthought. “Even you cannot deny the advantages of being drunk.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “If you’re thinking we should get drunk so you can stand to have sex with me, then it’s nawt a good idea. We need to take our time. There’s no rush.”
“Really?” Her tone sounded incredulous. “Because you seemed pretty rushy earlier today.”
His face reflected his remorse. “There’s a perfectly good explanation for that, not an excusable one, but plausible.”
“Plausible? That sounds like you hope that I’ll believe it, even though you don’t.”
Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”
She laughed, but barely.
“Come on. I’d just confessed my biggest secret.” His voice faded. “I’ve never told anyone before—not sober, anyway. I felt close to you . . . and vulnerable. And there you were, holding me, comforting me. I liked it. I’ve missed you, so much, and . . . I wanted more.” He closed his eyes, accepting the truth of it.
“Reliving the past,” he said. “The old Paul took what he wanted and didn’t care about anything, or anyone else. I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again—until you’re ready. This needs to be about you, and getting you better, not about me and my selfish problems.” He glanced down, ashamed.
“It’s not about you or me anymore. It’s about us,” Rhees said, bursting into tears, no warning.
“What did I say?” He raced around the table and knelt at her side. “Rhees. Please! Don’t cry.”
Wet Part 3 Page 17
