by Penny Reid
Shortly after, I placed a kiss on her cheek and went to bed, the shitty feeling still in my chest, persistent and painful.
She loves you.
No.
It was too early.
Kat wasn’t ready.
She needed time.
First, we needed to wait for the stench of gratitude to wear off.
Second, I still needed to prove myself.
One day I would earn a place in her heart.
One day.
But not yet.
For now, I’d just be the asshole sleeping next to her and waking up before she opened her eyes, because every night since we’d arrived had been agony.
I’d been a witness to Kat falling asleep three times—at the hospital in Chicago, once in my apartment when I’d come back from Australia, and once here, the first night we’d arrived in Boston.
The night in my apartment and the first night here had started out similarly. She’d lain on her side, her legs slightly bent. She’d toss and turn a little, flip from one side to the other. Both times it had been torture, having to feel her toss and turn next to me as she tried to fall asleep, the incidental touches and brushes of her skin against mine.
In Chicago, I’d eventually pulled her body to mine and she’d fallen asleep against me.
But here, I’d backed off. I made sure she was sleeping before I turned in. Given what happened at my apartment and what she was going through with her father’s death, I figured a wide berth was best, give her space to set the pace when she was good and ready. That was the plan.
However, by the time she’d fallen asleep, she’d curled herself into a tight ball next to me. I’d found her this way every night since.
Every. Single. Night.
Her knees to her chest; her chin tucked in; and she slept silently, didn’t move again once she was asleep. A few times I’d woken up in the middle of the night and looked over at her. I didn’t like how she slept, like she was cold, or protecting herself, or hugging herself all night. I’d wanted to reach a hand over and pull her against me like I’d done in Chicago, warm her up, loosen her limbs.
But that wouldn’t have been right either. She didn’t need me taking over, telling her what was best. If she wanted me, she knew where I was.
Plus, just being honest, Kat might’ve been an angel, but I wasn’t.
You’d think I’d be able to channel my inner gentleman, keep my mind out of the gutter, especially given all she was dealing with.
Nope. Not me. Not good old Daniel O’Malley.
It’s a freaking shiva, for Christ’s sake! Let the woman mourn. Give her some space. And stop thinking about her naked.
Not think about her naked? Fucking impossible.
So I continued giving her space, a lot of space, both day and night.
I worked long hours remotely, using my laptop in the study, taking care of business. I also stopped over at Mrs. Zucker’s a few times to meet with the old lady’s plumber. I took her car into the shop and did her grocery shopping, visiting for two of the afternoons.
Meanwhile, Kat knit, read books, and had quiet conversations with my mother over tea and kosher cookies. And slept.
My ma did her thing, Kat had a respite, I was a horny scumbag, and the days passed in quiet calm. But that didn’t mean I didn’t notice stuff about her, like how she took her coffee—two scoops of sugar, two tablespoons of cream—or how she bit her lip when she read a knitting pattern. Sometimes her mouth moved when she knit, like she was counting. She seemed to prefer sitting on the floor rather than a chair or a sofa.
She never wore socks, her feet always bare, and seemed to favor dresses over pants. Her hair was always down except right before bed when she’d braid it. Her nighttime lotion smelled like vanilla, like cake. Her daytime lotion smelled like coconuts and made me think of a tropical vacation, which made me think of Kat in a bikini, which had me taking a cold shower.
The only time she was messy—and this struck me as very important—was when she knit. Her yarn, papers, needles, and hooks spread out everywhere like she needed to see everything or have it within arm’s reach. All other times, everything was picked up, cleaned up, buttoned up, and put away. She put away her toothbrush and toiletries, back into her suitcase, after every use. Kat even folded and stored her pajamas.
Who folds their pajamas?
Just like my apartment back in Chicago, she was here, but she didn’t want to be seen. She hid behind orderliness and routine, making as little noise as possible. She held herself back, like she didn’t want to be a bother, like she didn’t trust us to see who she was and want her here anyway.
It pissed me off, but what could I say about it? Nothing. At least, not yet. Her father had just died, and she needed to grieve on her tidy terms.
And another thing, despite Eugene’s prediction, mourners did come to visit.
Katherine and Desmond Sullivan, Quinn’s parents, came by on Friday, bringing dinner and pictures of baby Desmond.
Eugene himself stopped over on Sunday for a short visit, during which Kat gave him the look of stone cold betrayal and left the room.
His eyes followed her as she climbed the stairs and disappeared around the corner. “He didn’t deserve her worry when he was alive.”
I studied the man for a moment, his sharp tie, the solid gold tie clip. “Is that why you didn’t tell her?”
His stare cut back to mine. “I needed her focused on more important things.”
“More important than her father dying?”
“Her future was more important. She didn’t need the distraction.” He sighed, looking tired. “She’ll come around.”
I didn’t know if he was speaking to me or himself, but I scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Eugene’s eyes cut back to mine, his eyebrows lifting in question.
“If you want her to talk to you again any time before your deathbed, or acknowledge your existence, you’re going to have to apologize in a big way. And I don’t know how you’re going to do that, since she won’t even look at you.”
“Fine. I’ll apologize on Wednesday,” he grumbled.
“What’s on Wednesday?”
“Reading the will, estate business. The appointment is for eight thirty, but the transfer process will take all day. It might be good for you to also attend. You need to get a sense of her properties, assets, investments, and material worth.”
“Yeah, all right.” I scratched my jaw. “I’ll move things around on my schedule, clear the day, and we’ll drive over together.”
“Good. Our estate management group will be arriving at noon, and I’ve arranged for the New York office vice president of estate finance at Brooks and Quail to join us at three.”
“Brooks and Quail?” Holy shit. Quinn and I had been trying to get a meeting with the elusive finance giant for years, and she had the VP of estate finance flying to Boston to meet with just her.
Eugene nodded, his shrewd gaze drifted back to the stairs where Kat had disappeared.
I tugged on my ear, continued inspecting him, trying to figure out this guy’s motivation. Cutting to the chase, I stated the obvious, “You love her. Like she was your kid.”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate, or seemed surprised by what I’d said. But then he added, his eyes turning shrewd, “But loving her doesn’t mean she owes you anything.”
We traded glares, because I got the sense he wasn’t just talking about himself. His words were a warning shot, a reminder not to get my hopes up or expect too much.
Or want too much.
He was right.
I’d had a front-row ticket to the implosion of my parents’ marriage, he didn’t need to remind me what tragic, one-sided love and unequal affection looked like.
And so, I continued to keep my distance.
But on Monday . . .
On Monday, she ambushed me.
I’d just finished a phone call with our main resource in Australia, a follow-up from my trip, whe
n Kat knocked on the study door and poked her head in.
“Hey,” she said, like she wanted to say more, or had a speech prepared.
I also noticed she was wearing a dress, a little black dress, with long sleeves and a short skirt. Not ass-cheeks hanging out short, but—you know—short. Her feet were bare, which meant her legs were also bare.
“Hey.” I swallowed and I stood. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but then I was stuck standing for no reason, like an idiot asshole. “Uh, how you doing?”
“Okay.” Kat walked into the study and I saw she was clutching her phone to her chest. Her hair was down. “Are you busy?”
I shook my head, walking slowly around to the other side of the desk. “Nope. What’s up? Are you hungry?”
“No. What time does your mom get off work?” She closed the study door behind her.
“I think seven.” My attention dropped to her legs, then I crowbarred my eyes back to her face. “Or maybe eight.”
She licked her lips, nodding, still clutching her phone. “So, I know this is short notice, and maybe it’s not appropriate—not that we have to take any action—but I just spoke to my therapist on the phone.”
“Oh?” I scratched my neck. I didn’t know why I was scratching my neck.
Because you’re picturing her naked, shitbird. Oh. That’s right. My bad.
“Yes.” She stood before me, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, staring at me like she hoped I would read her mind.
So I said, “That’s good.”
“It is. We’ve been talking for the last hour. I just talked to her about everything with my dad. We also talked about . . . other things.”
“Other things?”
She nodded, took a breath, and waited.
Her meaning dawned on me all at once, and I stepped away from the desk. She meant sex stuff.
“Oh. Did you want—I mean, is she—does she want to talk now?” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
“Dr. Kasai can’t, she has another client, but she did give me some direction, um, suggestions that I thought I’d go over with you.” Kat seemed to study me intently. “Do you think this is okay? I mean, while I’m in mourning? Does this seem disrespectful?”
“I don’t know the rules of shiva, but I think it’s fine,” said the horny scumbag. “I mean, we’re just talking here, right? And talking to your therapist about anything right now seems like a good idea.” Clearly, I had no shame.
She nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Good. That’s what I was thinking.”
“Is she—?” I gestured to Kat’s cell.
“No. I already hung up. Can we sit in here? To talk?”
Why am I nervous?
Don’t be a dummy.
“Yeah, over here.” I guided Kat over to the leather sofa parked against the wall. It was the same couch I used to sit on while we waited for my ma to pass judgment on us when we were kids; we’d called it the “discipline couch.” My mother didn’t spank us, but my dad did during the rare times he was home.
So, it was probably weird that my first thought was that I’d like to pull her over my knee, lift her skirt, and give Kat some sexy spanks, right?
Definitely weird.
Kat set her phone on the coffee table, sat at one end of the couch, and faced me. She tucked a leg under her, her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting.
Just as I took my seat at the other end, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Alex’s name flashed on my screen. I sent the call to voicemail and set it on the coffee table next to Kat’s. He was probably calling me about Caleb.
On a hunch, I’d asked Alex to look into the fitness of Caleb Tyson’s financials. Unlike most CEO’s in the USA, Caleb Tyson’s salary was capped. Bylaws prevented the Caravel CEO from earning more than a certain amount, which included stock options. In my cursory research, I’d discovered Caleb had cashed in all his stocks a few months ago. This raised a big fat red flag for a few reasons:
Firstly, that meant he was going to have a hell of a tax bill this year, unless he also had losses to report.
Secondly, Caravel was a solid venture. Selling now was just bad investment strategy.
Thirdly, what did he need with all that cash?
Alex had probably discovered something, but I’d call him back later. I didn’t know why I’d checked my phone at all. No matter who it was, I would have sent it to voicemail. I was busy with Kat. Everything else could wait.
“Did you need to get that?” Kat motioned to my phone.
“This is more important.”
Her eyes flickered over me. “Who was it?”
“Alex.”
“It might be work.”
“Yeah.”
“It could be about Wally.”
“I’ll call back later. So, what’d Dr. Kasai say?” I faced her, my arm along the back of the sofa, and did not look at her legs again.
“Uh.” Kat blinked at me, looking a little dazed, or maybe startled. “Um, so . . . Dr. Kasai. Yes. She suggested we find someone local, a—a—a sex therapist, if our early attempts are unsuccessful.” She was stumbling all over her words.
“That makes sense.” I nodded, trying to sound calm and objective, even though I really liked the sound of early attempts.
Kat was looking everywhere but at me, and her cheeks were the color of the Boston on the Red Sox game jerseys. “But that we should take it slow, really slow, and give it plenty of time. We should focus on the process and not the finish line. We should try to enjoy each other and not . . . orgasm.”
Um . . . what?
“Excuse me?” I was with her until the very last word.
“She said she thought it would be best if we—neither of us—orgasmed until I talked to her in two weeks,” Kat said on a rush. “She said it would take the pressure off, if we just focused on the enjoying part and not the finishing part.”
I sat back, my eyes moving over Kat, snagging on her fingers where they twisted the hem of her short skirt. She looked really anxious, like she thought I’d be upset by this news or something.
For the record, I wasn’t upset.
I was confused, not upset.
Because, wasn’t the whole point of this to try to get Kat to orgasm without alcohol? How could we do that if she wasn’t allowed? I didn’t ask this question, because she already looked stressed out enough.
Instead, I said, “Okay. Sounds good.”
Kat exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. Then she rubbed her forehead. Then she sighed again and her hair fell forward, hiding her face. Clearly, she was tense. Good thing I had some idea on a few ways to help her relax.
I slid closer to her, until our legs touched. Then I pushed my fingers into her thick, dark, glossy hair, rubbing her scalp, tracing the line of her neck to her back.
She leaned into my touch, angling her head toward me, like she wanted me to do it again.
She liked to be petted.
She liked to be stroked.
She liked affection.
So did I. Maybe once all this was over and things settled down, she’d trust me enough to let me pet her, stroke her, and hold her.
Or maybe she wouldn’t, not yet. Maybe never. The thought was depressing, but I couldn’t dismiss the possibility. Like Eugene had said, she didn’t owe me anything.
She sighed, sounding more relaxed, her fingers no longer folding and rolling her skirt.
What we did and when we did it, she had to initiate it. Or she had to give me a sign that I was supposed to take the lead. I wasn’t a mind reader, particularly where she was concerned.
It was just the two of us, the length of her leg pressing against mine, her soft hair brushing my shoulder, and I figured now was as good a time as any to let her know I was ready whenever she was.
“Kat.”
“Yes?” She studied her fingers for a sec, then lifted her eyes to mine.
Fuck me, but I could drown in her eyes. It wa
sn’t just that they were gorgeous, it was everything behind them—the smarts, the goodness, the toughness, the compassion—and they made me stupid when we were this close.
So I spelled it out. “Let me know if you want to take the lead, or if you want me to.”
Nice finesse, dumbass.
I would’ve rolled my eyes at myself, but I didn’t want to look away from her.
Her lips parted, and she blinked, like I’d surprised her. I’d been blunt, so perhaps I did. I watched her swallow, her stare dropping to my mouth, her eyes swirling with a shitload of emotion.
I thought she was going to kiss me.
Instead, she nodded, gave me a forced smile—making me suspect she didn’t trust her voice, or didn’t trust herself around me—and said, “Okay. I’ll, uh, let you get back to work.”
With that, she stood like she was in a hurry, grabbed her phone, and on bare feet silently walked to the door.
She opened it. She left. She closed it.
Meanwhile, I sat there, staring at the far wall and wondering why I was now alone rather than making out with my wicked amazing, wicked smart, wicked hot wife on the discipline couch.
Fuck my life.
Picking up my cell, I returned Alex’s call. I figured if I couldn’t be helping her feel good, I could do something to help her in general.
Three rings later, he hadn’t picked up. I was just about to end the call when Sandra’s voice said, “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s me. Alex there?”
“He stepped out.”
“Oh.” I sighed, real loud. Because I’m frustrated, OKAY? “I’ll call back later.”
“What’s wrong?” The sound of plates being stacked sounded from her side of the call. “Is Kat okay?”
“She’s . . . fine.”
Sandra didn’t say anything for a second, and it sounded like she’d stopped stacking the plates. “How is she dealing with the loss of her father?”
“Actually, she seems okay about it. After the first day, she was fine.” I scratched at a little mark on the couch that looked like it had been made with a Sharpie.
“And your mom? Are she and Kat getting along?”
“Yeah.” I laughed, knowing I sounded a little bitter. “They’re getting along great.”
