by Marlee Wray
“It’s true,” Jim said. “We really think you should continue to live here, but that’s hard to know for sure since you’ve never been part of the community without Colin. You need to see if you belong here and so do we.”
“There are several people who’ve volunteered to welcome you into their homes.”
Laci sucked in a breath. “I’d have to move out of my house?”
“Just for this probationary period,” Elena assured her. “And you could still come back to use your studio to paint and for things you’d need.”
“Unless you choose Eric. He’s willing to stay here or to have you stay at his place. It would be your choice,” Jim said.
“Do you want to know who’s offered?” Elena asked.
“No, that’s okay. If it’s anyone it has to be Eric. He’s the only one who understood there was no way I’d leave this house.”
Jim pulled out a document and slid it to her. “This says you agree to oversight and discipline. It also says you can contact the council if you think he’s overstepping the boundaries of the agreement. By the way, intimacy is not included in this,” Jim said, tapping the papers. “It’s important that you understand that the council is not pimping you out to anyone. All we’re trying to insure is that there’s someone around to look after you while you’re trying to get your life back on track.”
“I don’t think he’ll care what this says. He’ll try to seduce me. He’ll try to control everything.”
“He’s a dominant personality. It is what they do,” Elena said gently.
“But you’re letting him live in my house. Isn’t there any other way?” she asked.
“You let strangers wander around with their cell phones shooting pictures. You came drunk to the meeting to talk about it. You gotta admit you’re out of control,” Jim said.
“This is so unfair to Colin,” Laci whispered. “He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Deserve what? To have his friend take care of his widow for a while? This is exactly what he would’ve wanted. Why do you think he put the financial guardianship in place? He wanted you to be forced to take help if you needed it. This is exactly the same thing on a bigger scale. If Colin were here, he’d be asking what took us so long to intervene,” Jim said.
“Is that what you really think?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Jim said.
“Is that what you would want if something happened to you? Would you want some guy moving in with Elena and trying to blot you out?”
“If it was a choice between Elena going down a path that endangered her health or having a guy, a friend, move in with her to take control, I’d opt for the second choice every time.”
“Listen, Laci, Colin took you from the outside world when you were basically still a child and he did everything he could to keep you that child,” Elena said gently. “He would understand that without him around you’d have to find your way and figure out how to live again. He loved you. He’d have wanted you to be safe and happy.”
“No one wants to blot out the memory of Colin. Plenty of people loved the guy, myself included,” Jim said. “That’s why it’s important for us to do right by you.”
Laci flipped to the second page of the agreement and signed it. “What happens if Eric gives up and moves out before the six weeks are up?”
“Then we kick him out instead of you,” Jim said with a wink.
Laci smiled. “I wish you weren’t joking.”
“I don’t think Eric is very likely to give up. I doubt he’s ever failed at anything important in his life,” Elena said.
“Well, then he’s due,” Laci said. “If I make him quit, will I get kicked out?”
“No,” Jim said. “If he moves out early, we’ll still judge the situation based on how you’re doing. If you stay on a good path that isn’t dangerous to your well-being, that’ll be fine. Like I said, we just want you to be okay and to figure out if this is the right place for you.”
“That’s fair,” Laci said.
* * *
“This is basically a business arrangement,” Laci told Eric. “I understand that you’re not going to let me drink alcohol. So fine, okay. And the council wants me to go to some functions. I’m good with that. In terms of punishment, though, I have a couple of ground rules. I cleared it with Jim and Elena. I choose the way I’m positioned and the implement. So if I don’t want to be put over your lap, I can elect to bend over a table or the bed or whatever.”
“Why would you choose that?” he asked, knowing exactly why she would choose that. It would be less physical contact.
“It doesn’t matter. They said it was okay. You can take the guest room down the hall from the kitchen. It’s got the best view of the beautiful yard, so enjoy. And if you tell me what groceries you want, I’ll combine our lists and take care of that. It’s only fair since I’m here all day while you’re working. You can have the kitchen when you need it. I don’t cook that much anyway, so I’ll work around your schedule. My studio’s off limits. So is the master bedroom and Colin’s study.”
She was wearing jeans and sweatshirt, which he was sure had been a conscious choice. She was all covered up. It immediately made him want to get her out of those clothes, which was probably not the effect she was going for. He realized that she’d stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for him to answer.
“Well?” she asked.
“What was the question?”
“I asked if you got all that?”
“It doesn’t matter since the answer is no.”
“No what?”
“No to all of it.”
She stared at him blankly.
“No to everything you said. It’s a violation of the spirit of the agreement. I’ll take the upstairs guest room that’s across the hall from yours. You and I will have dinner together unless we’re having dinner somewhere else. No room is off limits to me, but if you’re painting I’ll let you work. In fact, I think it’s a good idea for you to go to your studio every morning after breakfast and to get back to painting every day.”
“I never painted every day.”
“Colin said you did.”
“He exaggerated. He had a love-hate relationship with my art. He loved the paintings. He hated when I spent hours in my studio and wasn’t available to play with him. But let’s be clear; I don’t paint on a schedule. I’m not a banker. I’m an artist.”
“You’re not much of an artist either when you promise paintings for a show and don’t deliver. There are two galleries who say they’ll never show your work again because you’re unreliable.”
“My husband got sick and then he died.”
“One of the shows was arranged seven months after Colin passed away. And I understand that you initiated contact.”
She was clearly embarrassed and furious if her flushed cheeks and glaring eyes were anything to go by.
“Look, you have no idea how this works so don’t pretend you do,” she said. “Sometimes there’s inspiration and sometimes there isn’t.”
“And sometimes there’s motivation and sometimes there isn’t. I’m going to motivate you.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Never setting foot in the studio isn’t how it works either apparently. You’re an artist and, from what I’ve heard and read, a really good one. You should be painting, and you’re going to paint. However that happens is fine with me. But if you don’t try, I’ll force you to.”
“You can’t force me to try! You can’t punish me into painting!”
“Did I mention that I’m going to be working remotely for the next few weeks? So I’ll be in the house as much as you are?”
“You goddamned jerk,” she said.
He grabbed her, turned her, and swatted her rear end. “Disrespect will earn you a very red ass.”
“I—you can’t dictate what I say,” she said, clearly startled.
“No, but I can make it damned uncomfortable for you to sit down if you choose t
o say things I don’t like.”
“That’s not how it works with us… you’re not strict like that.”
“I didn’t have the right to correct your behavior before. Now I do. And we need to set the right tone. It’s a community standard for people to treat each other with respect, particularly within the confines of a D/s relationship.”
“We’re not in a D/s relationship.”
“Of course we are. Did you even read the agreement?”
She stared at him, the realization hitting her. “I listened to what they said. You’re here to make sure I don’t drink too much and end up in rehab or whatever.”
“I’m here to see if you can get along in this community that is full of people living varying degrees of a BDSM lifestyle.”
“I just want to be left in peace.”
“You weren’t in peace. You were in pieces. It’s time to put you back together.”
“And you think you’re the person to do that?”
“We should talk about sex, Lace.”
“I don’t have to have sex with you! That’s not a part of this.”
He smiled.
“I’m going to my studio to paint. Don’t bother me.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his smile widening as she retreated from the house. She was panicked and would fight him on everything. It would be good for her. And good for him in a totally different way.
Chapter Nine
The first two weeks were rough. Eric watched her like a hawk and never gave an inch on any rule he laid down. Colin had let things slide all the time, probably because baby girls were expected to break rules and make mistakes. Eric never treated her like a child. Maybe if he had she would’ve responded better because she could’ve slipped back into old familiar roles where rebellious former foster kid Laci didn’t exist.
Instead, he made her keep to a schedule. When he got up in the morning, he expected her to get up, too. It was a huge battle the first few days. He actually carried her into the shower and turned the cold water on. He’d had to block her means of escape of course, which meant he ended up drenched by the icy water, too. This did not put either of them in a good mood.
One good thing was that Eric didn’t sulk or hold grudges. They might be silent while drinking their coffee, but when she glared at him, he didn’t glare back. Instead, he moved on with their day. He’d check the news stories on the net and mention things he thought might be of interest to her. She sulked a bit at first and gave surly responses like, “I don’t care,” to questions he asked, but eventually she chilled out and started to let him engage her. It helped that being exhausted from getting up early helped her sleep all night.
She thought he might end up spanking her all day long, but he was measured in that, too. After she was spanked hard once during the day, the next punishment wasn’t a spanking. She had to swish and spit with soapy water for five minutes for calling him a fucking asshole. He made her stand in the corner several times and twice made her read aloud from some of Colin’s excruciatingly boring engineering textbooks. It was mind-numbing, but she couldn’t simply resist because if she tried to walk away from Eric, he physically stopped and restrained her and that quickly turned too sexy for comfort.
She found it easier to comply than to risk getting too close to him. Also, most of his rules and routines were simpler and less disruptive to her day than Colin’s had been.
By the third week, they’d settled into a routine that was actually pretty great. She was even painting again. True, she’d mostly gone out there at first to escape him when things turned too hot between them, but eventually she started working and then everything changed for the better for her.
She felt a little bit guilty that Eric had been the one to cause her to start painting again since it was Colin’s illness that had stopped her from being able to do it. Colin had discovered her and, from then on, had been her biggest supporter and patron. Eric had never studied art history. He didn’t know anything about painting techniques or any of the important works of the past fifty years. Still, he came to the studio each day in the late afternoon before dinner and checked in. She turned the pieces she was working on because she wasn’t ready for them to be seen, but she let him in and showed him her older works. The things he liked most were really different than the ones Colin loved.
There was one called ‘Fallen Fighter’ that was a mix of deep colors like plum, black, umber, and merlot. She’d laid the paint on heavy, scraping it violently in places to give it sharp edges around the periphery of the canvas. In contrast, the figure lying on the pavement was done with light strokes and exquisite detail, every bruise and scrape showing. Every drop of blood and line on his face flawlessly rendered.
“The brighter colors in the lower right corner, flashing lights?” Eric asked.
“Yes. You’re the first one to realize that. Emergency vehicles on their way.”
“Is he dead?”
“What makes you think so?” she asked, coming to stand next to him.
“Something about the way you’ve painted his face so slack, and the way the blood glows next to his mouth, like his soul is passing by.”
She stared up at him and smiled. “A lot of people think the blood shimmers because he’s breathing and disturbing it.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
She smiled. She liked that he asked her as if hers was just one opinion, but one that mattered to him.
“He’s dead,” she said.
“Did you come across him when you were living on your own before Colin?”
“No. I mean I did paint this before I was with Colin, but the painting was inspired by a picture I saw of a man killed in Chicago. I saw it, and a whole story came into my head. It happens that way sometimes. Or used to.” She stole a look at him to see his reaction.
“You should never stop painting, Lace. Never,” he said emphatically.
She smiled, feeling as happy with that compliment and with the feeling behind it as any she’d ever gotten.
“You can skip dinner if you want to keep working.”
“That’s okay. I’m mostly done for the day,” she said, stretching. Her shoulders were sore. She was getting used to working long hours again. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“Take your time,” he said, glancing once more at the fighter painting before he left.
Chapter Ten
“Laci, get in here,” Eric called from the laundry room.
Laci glanced up from her tablet. She was right in the middle of watching a show he’d gotten her addicted to. She was tempted to call back, “Not right now,” but she knew better. Eric didn’t run her around the house following his commands just for the hell of it, so if he issued a command, she had better do what he said or there would be consequences.
“Laci!” he snapped.
She turned off the show and hustled down the hall. “Sorry! I was at a really good part. What’s wrong?”
He held up a pair of his shirts, and there were smudges of dark paint on both of them. How in the world? She hadn’t used his shirts as smocks. And she hadn’t taken the laundry anywhere near the studio.
“I don’t know how that happened. Maybe there was something on the front of my coveralls, and I accidentally tossed them on your shirts when I came in.”
“First of all, you’re supposed to hang your painting clothes on the hook for the paint to dry so that doesn’t happen,” he said, glancing pointedly at the laundry basket where one of her painting T shirts was lying on top of his trousers.
She grabbed the shirt and held it up. No damp paint spots, but of course it was from the day before. She lifted his fancy trousers and luckily found no paint marks.
“Second, that blue basket is only supposed to be used for items that require dry-cleaning. Why is an old paint-stained T shirt on top of my wool Armani trousers and jacket, which set me back two grand after custom alterations?”
Her jaw dropped. “Two grand? That’s ridiculous.”
“Now back to my shirts,” he said, pulling one more from the dryer. It had an enormous indigo paint stain all across the front.
She sucked in a breath. Wow, that was crazy. There was no way that mark came off her coveralls. It was almost like someone had squirted fresh paint on the shirt and smeared it around. Could he have done it just to get her in trouble? No, he wasn’t the type to pull a prank and then hold her responsible. Colin might have done it for fun, but then he wouldn’t have actually punished her.
“How did you not notice these stains when you put these in the dryer? And even more important, take a look in the washing machine.”
She bit her lip and walked to the machine. She stood on her tiptoes and peered in. An uncapped tube of paint lay at the bottom of the tub.
“Oh, no,” she said.
The crack across her backside startled her and pushed her against the cool metal.
“Ow,” she said, jumping to the side and turning quickly. “It was an accident. I must have put it in my coveralls pocket and forgot about it. It was a mistake.”
“Why would you wash your coveralls with my shirts?”
“I—you said to do your shirts! You said you were almost out of them!” She backed into the corner.
He narrowed his eyes. “We went over how you’re to handle my laundry. At no time did I say it was all right to mix my work clothes with yours.”
“I’m sorry, but six shirts don’t make a full load of laundry. I used to have a foster mom who would’ve gone ballistic if I ran the machine for just six lousy shirts. And if you don’t like how I do your laundry maybe you should stop treating me like Cinderella. I’m not your maid.”
He cocked a brow. “You’re in so much trouble. Is that the attitude you really want to go with?”
“I said I was sorry. It was an accident. You can just take some money from my account to buy yourself new shirts.”
“That is not the point. These are custom-made shirts that fit perfectly. When ordered, they take a minimum of three weeks to arrive.”
“Why is everything so complicated with you? Colin was not tall. He had costume-made clothes, too, but he ordered enough so there was never a crisis if a shirt got ruined. And also, Colin didn’t make me do laundry.”
