“I understand.” He holds out the dessert like it’s some kind of party favor. I accept it, even though I know I won’t eat it. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy for me to come here tonight. It was a battle for me to get out of the house, a battle I would’ve been fine losing.”
I tilt my head. More often than not, I forget he has a young daughter at home. The word battle alone makes my head hurt. “You wanted to stay home?” I ask. “Isn’t it a treat to get a night away?”
“Not really.” He half-smiles. “Believe it or not, I like hanging out with my kid.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes you did. It’s okay. To be honest, it’s kind of a relief that you’re not interested in Bell. A lot of the women I meet see her as a way to get to me.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure she’s . . . a nice child . . . but I assure you . . .” I don’t want to insult him by admitting I want nothing to do with his kid, so I change the subject. “If it was a battle you wanted to lose, why’d you come?”
“Sadie guilted me into it. And if I’m honest, I wanted to see you.”
He’s impossible to resist, but that isn’t the biggest problem. It’s that I don’t want to walk away. “I’m sorry. It’s just not the right time for me.”
“When will it be the right time?” he asks. “So I can put it on my calendar. See, I’ve got it in my head that we’re going to have one more night together.”
I lose the fight against my smile. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I need to focus on my career.”
“You said all this was bullshit.”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t sort of . . . want to win.”
He takes the award from me. “Then I feel awful you missed it,” he says, deepening his voice. “Let me make it up to you. I made you some promises earlier I’d like to follow through with.”
I inhale deeply, dropping my eyes to his red tie. I haven’t forgotten. He wants me slow. Blinded. Anticipating his next move. “I’ve been blindfolded before,” I say. “I was too tense to enjoy it.”
“Amelia.”
I look back up at him.
“You’ll enjoy it.”
Without even a touch, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. The more I try to fight off the fantasy of what he’ll do to me for the next few hours, the harder my heart beats. His red tie turning my world black. His skilled hands making slow love to my body. “I can’t decide if you’re confident or cocky.”
“Let me prove myself.”
“You already have.”
“I’ll do it as many times as it takes.” He trails his eyes down my dress. I get the feeling he wants to touch me, but he doesn’t. “Come upstairs with me. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable enough to loosen up, and if I can’t get you to, I’ll relinquish my sex god license.”
Just when I think he can’t get any sexier, he makes me smile. “Doesn’t anyone ever say no to you?”
“And get away with it? Just Bell.” He surveys the lobby briefly. “Now, I left my garbage man uniform at home, but—”
I laugh and against my better judgment, walk past him to the elevator bank. “I love it when you talk dirty,” I call over my shoulder.
FOURTEEN
ANDREW
Amelia watches me unknot my tie as if I’m about to strangle her with it. If she doesn’t like to be tied up, she won’t want to be blinded, either. It’s a small step toward stripping her control, though. I can’t give her much, but she can lose herself with me. I’ll make her forget for a few hours. When Shana left, I was tempted every day to open a bottle of whatever was nearest, to lash out at anyone who tried to help, to take a long ride on my bike and end up anywhere but where I was. I couldn’t because of Bell. If I can make things a little easier on Amelia while she’s dealing with her ex, I want to—especially since she’d never ask for help.
I slip the tie off and give it to her. “It’s not that scary.”
She runs it through her fingers. Next to her dress and matching nails, it’s a shade darker, like the inner and outer petals of a rose. “Just the blindfold,” she says. “No tying me up on a whim.”
I smile, pleased that she trusts me enough to try, and take the tie back.
She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Will you get my zipper?”
“Eventually.” I lift the tie up over her head. “You know this isn’t just about taking your eyesight away.”
“I prefer to pretend it is.”
“Defiant until the last second,” I say as I cover her eyes. I tie it only tight enough to keep it in place. I don’t want to scare her. She starts to turn back to me, but I stop her with a hand on each of her shoulders. “Just stay.”
She nods but pulls her hands into fists. I step back, watching her profile. After a few seconds of silence, she lifts her chin. She wants to speak, but she knows I’ll stop her. I’ve never seen her this still. Even in the bathtub, she’d shift whenever she started to relax. I move to stand in front of her, and she turns her head a few inches. Her chest rises and falls a little faster. Without touching her, I bend my head and press my lips to hers. It takes her a moment to respond, and I wait until she parts her lips before I slip my tongue over hers. Her breath stutters. I can’t tell if she’s shuddering or trembling, so I put my hands over her biceps to calm her.
“I can’t,” she says. “Take it off.”
“You can.” I keep a firm grip on her shoulders but run my thumbs over her skin. “I’ve got you. There’s no reason to be upset.”
“I’m not upset. I just don’t like it.”
“I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m holding you. I care about you, and I want you to be strong. You can be in control like this, but not if you’re afraid.”
After a few seconds, she nods slightly, and the white skin of her long throat ripples as she swallows.
I tilt my head. She is afraid. I figured she’d be resistant, given her need for control, but it’s unsettling to see how quickly a composed woman like her loosens at the seams. “What scares you about this?” I ask.
She shakes her head. I can’t tell if she doesn’t know or if she doesn’t want to say. She takes a few breaths, and I wait. “It’s not just giving up control. It’s giving it to someone else.”
“I understand. How does it feel to give it to me?”
“Not good,” she admits. “But not as terrifying as I would’ve thought.”
I run my hands down her arms, shoulders to knuckles and back up. “Just imagine this. I blindfold you. I tie your wrists and ankles to the bed. I explore every curve and tip and edge and crease of your body with my mouth and hands. How does that make you feel?”
“It sounds like heaven,” she says, “and hell. Just the thought of being bound makes my heart race.” She jerks a little, even though I keep my hands loose on her.
“Give me your wrists.”
She frowns and starts to object. I don’t stop her—I won’t push her further than she can go. She has to want this too. After a moment, she seems to change her mind as she holds her wrists up between us. I take them both in one hand and check her expression. She bites her bottom lip, but as much as I’d like to steal that lip from her with my own teeth, I don’t think it’s an invitation.
“Breathe through your nose,” I instruct. Her shoulders drop a little, but with my thumb pressed to her inner wrist, I can feel her pulse under the thin skin. “Are you okay?”
She nods slowly. “Just keep talking. Tell me something about you.”
“I don’t really like talking about myself,” I say. “That’s something about me.”
Even blindfolded, I can sense her rolling her eyes. “Fine.”
Despite the fact that she’s uncomfortable, I can’t help the arousal stirring in me. The red tie is stark against her platinum blonde hair, mussing it where it’s pulled around her head. Her lips are parted, her cleavage rising and falling. Then I remember that she’s bare underneath her dress—her panties securely
in my pocket. I’m tempted to lift her arms over her head and keep them there while I strip her. Instead, I force myself back to the task at hand. Amelia is letting herself be vulnerable with me. I’m not sure if I owe her the same, but the intimacy of the moment seems to call for it.
“All right,” I say. “There is something I’ve never told anyone and until now, never planned to.”
She tilts her head up a little bit. “What?”
I clear my throat, hesitating, but Amelia might actually be the right person to tell. Given her own views on children, she won’t judge me for it, and she won’t always be around to remind me I said it. “Every parent sometimes wonders what it would be like if they hadn’t had their kid,” I say. “That’s no secret.”
She nods.
“I never really felt that way. I mean, my life is pretty good. There’s this one thing that happens sometimes, though, and it drives me crazy. I’m pretty lucky Bell is clearly a Beckwith—she looks just like Sadie when she was Bell’s age. But occasionally she’ll make a face or say something a certain way or her body language . . . it’ll be exactly like Shana. And I get this gut reaction. Hate. Anger. For that moment, it’s directed at Bell, even though she’s innocent in all this.”
“That sounds normal,” she says. “I don’t think you’re alone in that.”
“Probably not. I don’t let Bell or anyone else see that reaction, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I feel so guilty after it passes.”
Amelia’s body has loosened considerably, and I don’t even think she notices. “Andrew, nobody would judge you for feeling that way. Imagine how many children look like ex-husbands or deceased wives, and how common—”
With my free hand, I slip the tie off her face. She blinks a few times as her pupils constrict. Her vision adjusts, and her eyes are unguarded, light.
“Still okay?” I ask.
She looks down at my hand around her wrists, how it binds them tightly together. “I think so,” she says.
“You’re okay.” I smile a little. “I shouldn’t have blindfolded you.”
“No,” she says quickly, glancing up. “It was fine, actually. It was . . . good.”
“I meant because I like to see your eyes,” I say and leave it at that so I don’t get sappy enough to send her running.
“Oh.” She takes a deep breath and smiles, albeit shyly. “So, were we going to . . . or is that it?”
“Believe me, we’re going to.” I release her hands. “But at least for tonight, I’ll let you see.”
She tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “Well, next time—”
She stops, but my imagination picks up immediately where she left off. What would next time be like? Amelia blindfolded on the bed? Or her hands bound behind her back, inviting my mouth to her tits? Maybe eventually, over time, she’d let me live out the entire fantasy—vision, touch, control, taste. All mine.
“Anyway,” she says, glancing to the side.
I pinch her chin and pull her face to mine, pecking her once on the lips. “Next time would be nice. I have your card.” Before she can object, because I know she will, I continue. “Let’s just worry about tonight. I still have loads more plans for you. But first,” I take my cell phone out of my breast pocket, “I need to be a daddy for a second.”
She blinks at me. “A daddy? Is that another . . . fantasy of yours?”
“God, no.” I grimace and as an afterthought, hold up my palms. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you’re into it—”
“No, I wasn’t saying—”
“It’s just that since I am a dad, it weirds me out—”
“Oh.” Her expression lightens, and she laughs a little. “You have to call Bell.”
“Just to say goodnight. It’ll only take a moment.”
“Of course,” she says, crossing and then uncrossing her arms. “I’m sure it means a lot to her.”
“And me. Putting her to bed—don’t get me wrong, it can be a struggle—but it’s one of my favorite parts of the day. She doesn’t go down easy, so I have to read to her or have her read to me—” I pause. Amelia’s eyes have glossed over. If it were any other person, dismissing Bell would piss me off, but with Amelia, it’s better that she isn’t interested in my daughter. “I need to learn when to shut up. I go overboard when it comes to her.”
Amelia looks down a second, which seems to be the only response I’ll get from her.
“I’ll, uh, just step out.” I take my phone into the hallway. It’s a non-smoking floor, but I light one anyway and dial the house.
“Beckwith residence,” Flora answers.
“Hey. It’s me. Bell still awake?”
“What do you think?” she asks.
I chuckle. “Bottom shelf of the bookcase in the living room. Look for The Frog Prince. She loves Grimms’ Fairy Tales, but she doesn’t yet know that one’s her least favorite. It usually puts her to sleep. I only use it in emergencies so she doesn’t catch on.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” she says. “But she’s been . . . more restless than usual. Maybe you could tell her a quick story? To calm her down?”
“Pass the phone,” I say with a sigh. Flora can normally handle herself, so it must be bad.
“Princess Bell,” Flora says away from the receiver. “Your prince is on the phone.”
“Daddy,” Bell screeches. I take a drag while she gets to the phone. “Are you coming home now?” she asks.
“Not yet, Bluebell. Are you being good for Mrs. Picolli?”
“You promised you’d be home before I went to bed.”
I exhale smoke up at the ceiling, shaking my head. This is exactly what I was just describing to Amelia. Bell gets the same tone Shana used to get when she’s testing how far she can push me. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did—”
“What have I told you about lying? We don’t lie. And you never, ever lie to your father. Do you hear me?”
She sniffles. “I’m sorry. I just m-miss you. Please come home.”
My throat gets thick in an instant, the way it does when I know she’s trying to keep tears in. It’s sometimes worse than when she actually cries. I shouldn’t have snapped at her, not when she’s already upset, but any form of lying is unacceptable in our house.
Suddenly, I can’t stomach the thought of smoking, but there’s nowhere to put out the cigarette. I keep it between my fingers and scratch my eyebrow. “I’m sorry, kid. I’m not angry. Go get in bed. Flora’ll read you a story, and you’ll fall asleep in minutes. By the time you wake up, I’ll be home.”
She hiccups. “No.”
Fuck. I know what’s coming. I try to stop it, even though I know it’s in vain. “Bell, please don’t—”
“I miss you,” she sobs into the phone. Unlike before, when she was throwing a tantrum, her cries are weighty, hopeless, as if I just confessed to killing her puppy or that I made plans to ship her off to boarding school. They’re the familiar, late-night sobs of a confused toddler asking where Mommy went months ago. “I won’t go to sleep. Not until you come home. Please, Daddy. I’m scared.”
I press the meat of my palm to my forehead. All the nasty things Shana ever said to me, all the names my dad called me growing up, nothing hurts an ounce as much as this. Listening to my daughter beg me to be with her when I’m not is sheer torture.
“Bell, honey,” Flora says in the background. “The sooner you let Daddy get back to his party, the sooner he’ll be home.”
“Leave me alone,” she says, but there’s no fight in her voice, just wobbling defeat. “He’s my dad. You don’t know him or me.”
“Come on, Bell,” I say. “That’s not fair to Flora.”
“No. I won’t go to sleep. I’ll stay up all night and wait for you. I swear, I won’t even get in bed—”
“Bell—”
“No! No, no, no, no, n—”
“Okay,” I say, anything to make it stop. “Okay. All right. I’ll . . . I’ll come h
ome.”
She sniffs. “You will? Now?”
“It’ll take me a while to get there. Please go lie down and let Flora read to you until I’m there.”
“You promise?” she asks, hiccupping again. “Swear?”
I look at the ground. I know in my gut she’ll be asleep when I get home. But if I lie to her, and she wakes up to find me not where I said I’d be, I can’t bear to think how it would hurt her. “I swear.”
“Okay. I’ll go to bed, but I promise I won’t sleep. Not until you come say goodnight.”
“All right.” I sigh, not sure what to feel about the fact that the heaviness in her voice has vanished. It’s one thing to be played for a fool by a six-year-old, but it’s another to let it happen repeatedly. “Put Flora on the phone.”
“I can’t remember the lyrics to Deep Purple. Will you sing it for me?”
“Deep Purple?” I ask, leaning back against the hallway wall. “I haven’t played that for you yet. You been going through my music?” I don’t wait for her answer, since I know what it’ll be. She loves to steal my phone at the shop and play with it. Instead of downloading games like regular kids, she explores my music. Quickly, I rattle off a verse of “Hush” and a string of nah-nahs. “That’s enough,” I say. “I’ll sing the rest when I get home.”
“Okay. Here’s Flora.”
Flora’s barely on the line when I say, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” She lowers her voice. “But she needs boundaries, Andrew. You can’t come running every time she cries.”
“I know.” I take one last smoke, even though I feel a little sick. “I should come back anyway. I’ll be home in about an hour.”
She sighs. “If you think that’s best.”
“See you soon.” I end the call, turn around, and freeze when I see Amelia in the doorway.
“I smelled the smoke,” she says.
“Yeah.” I hold it up. “I’m done with it.”
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 15
