Intimate Geography

by Tamsen Parker

  “Okay. Come on.” I extend a hand and tip my head toward my car in invitation. The sooner I can get us out of here, the better off all of us will be. A weight lifts as I slip into the backseat with Allison and Crispin pulls away from the house.

  Half an hour later, we pull up to the valet stand of a hotel in the Gas Lamp District. I’d made a call on our way, so they’re expecting us and check-in is a breeze. The concierge is even on hand to discreetly pass me the first aid kit I’d asked for. We must make a strange sight, Allison clutching me like I’m a life raft in the middle of a roiling ocean, the lot of us unkempt and bleary-eyed. But we aren’t the weirdest thing the hotel staff has seen, I’m sure of it.

  We make our way up to our suite, where I shut the door and slide the deadbolt home.

  “Do you want a bath? Taking a bath always makes me feel better.”

  Allison nods, and I show her into the bathroom where I turn on the tub. Her hand is still wrapped around mine, and she’s started shaking as the adrenaline drains from her system. “Do you want me to stay, or would you like some privacy?”

  “Please stay. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Sure.” We wait while the tub fills up, hand in hand, and I help her undress when it’s ready. I can tell where he’s hit her not in fun, and it’s all I can do to tamp down the rage building in me. That fucker. That fucking fucked-up fucker. Allison gets settled into the bath, and I ask her some questions, trying to figure out how bad this is without getting her too upset.

  Luckily, it sounds like an isolated incident, but she’s pretty shook up and it takes a while for the hot water to have the soporific effect it always has on me. I offer her some clean sweats and a T-shirt I brought. When she’s dressed and I’ve gotten her patched up, I tow her into the living room. She clutches me tighter when she sees Crispin sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

  “We’re going to bed.”

  “Sure. Rey should be here around nine. You girls get some sleep. I’ll crash out here.”

  I send Crispin a silent kiss in my head I hope he feels. Giving the couch a wide berth, I steer Allison toward the bedroom and the waiting king-sized bed. We burrow under the fluffy covers, and though I offer her space, she wriggles tight against me. She smells like bath salts, and her skin is soft and warm. It’s so dark I wouldn’t be able to see my hand if I held it in front of my face, and I can almost forget why we’re here. We snuggle like kittens, and it doesn’t surprise me when she starts to cry.

  I pet and soothe her, tell her she’s going to be okay, he can’t hurt her anymore. She’s probably weeping more from the betrayal of trust than from her injuries, although those must hurt, too. But the level of devastation when the person whose hands you’ve literally put your life in turns on you… I’m familiar with the scars that leaves. I hope she won’t go back.

  Allison falls asleep in my arms, and I follow not long after, drifting into a deep and exhausted slumber. When I wake, it’s to Allison’s warm body still encircled in mine.

  It’s pitch black in the room, but the clock says it’s almost ten. What tells me Rey is here is the scent of coffee. Crispin doesn’t drink coffee—we might be doomed. Such a silly, sweet thought. It makes me smile and feel a pang of sadness for Allison.

  I sneak out to the living room and am greeted by two dark heads hovering over mugs at the dining table. Crispin and Rey don’t notice I’ve come out until the latch on the bedroom door catches, and then their eyes are on me.

  Crispin looks his usual self, if scruffier, but Rey looks tired. And not like one-night’s-missed-sleep tired. The man has the constitution of a draft horse. He once stayed awake for three days straight and still aced his finals. This is more serious, deeper, etched into his handsome copper face. Is that my fault? Or is there something else that’s got him stressed out and distraught, that I haven’t been there for him to confide in? I want to drape myself over his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, but I can’t. I’m too angry at him.

  I shuffle over and stand between them. “Allison’s asleep. She was pretty upset last night, but she’s going to be okay. I don’t think she’s going to go back. She wasn’t making excuses for him, and she has her own place.”

  Rey nods. “Good.”

  I give him a rundown of her injuries and everything she told me, leaving off the part about how I know the guy. When I’m finished, he thanks me.

  “Yeah.” I want to ask him how he is, what’s wrong, but I’m cracked open and raw and it’s too hard. What I want is safety, comfort, ease, and he’s not in a position to give me that. Instead, I kneel beside Crispin and lean my head on his thigh. He strokes my hair, kneads my scalp. My eyes are closing when I catch a glimpse of a satisfied smile on Rey’s face.

  That’s when it dawns on me. I am so fucking stupid, and he is such a genius. Goddammit, Rey, you’re annoying sometimes. He’s done this deliberately, orchestrated this scenario to his own purposes. Crispin and I are both being topped by the wiliest Dominant I know.

  Rey knew if he gave him my address, Crispin would come. I bet he gave him hell before relinquishing it, too. He knew I’d consider his giving Crispin my address a betrayal of the highest order and banish him to no-man’s land. And Rey knew if I were so furious with him, Crispin wouldn’t be threatened by our relationship anymore and we could ride off together into the kinky sunset.

  Rey’s done this for me. Because after all this time, he’s kept his word. I will always be his responsibility, and this is what I want, what I need—and I’ve been too stupid to admit the truth. Would’ve continued to be stupid. Would’ve settled for something less than perfect, which is what he’s given me. But Rey is masterful, on so many levels, and he’s gotten me out of my own way. One day I’ll be able to thank him for it, but today is not that day. My lids fall closed, and I let Crispin’s solid strokes ease my hurt.

  Crispin and Rey talk half-heartedly about current events until the bedroom door cracks open and Allison comes out. We all turn to her and the look on her face when she sees Rey… I remember that look. I miss that look. It says, I trust you with my life. I needed you, I called, you came. Rey meets Allison in the middle of the room where he takes her up in a hug, murmuring to her while she clings to him. I have to look away, so I bury my face in Crispin’s thigh. When I look up, Rey and Allison have disappeared into the bedroom.

  I help myself to a mug of coffee and curl up with Crispin on the couch, talking in hushed tones about Allison. I tell him I’d been to the house before. That I know the man who did that to her. Well enough he would’ve recognized me last night if we’d run into him. I keep the tears at bay, but I’m shaking and I don’t argue when Crispin takes me in his lap and rocks me, telling me what a brave girl I am.

  “It’s okay, mili. He wasn’t there. He can’t hurt you.”

  After half an hour, I’ve settled down and I’m ready to go home.

  “They might be a while, but I’d like to get back. Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “Sure.”

  We stand and gather our things, but when I head toward the door, Crispin stops in the middle of the room. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think you should?”

  “No. This is not your fight. You didn’t start it and you’re not going to finish it, so stay the hell out of it. Please.”

  Crispin studies me, the set of my lips, the angle of my brows, and I glower back.

  “Well, if you don’t want to let them know we’re leaving, I will.”

  “Fine.”

  His fist is millimeters from rapping on the door. “Crispin.”

  “Yeah?”

  Though it makes me sick to say it, I do. “Make sure Allison has my number. Tell her to call if she needs to.”

  There are few things more important to me than my privacy, but someone’s safety is one of them. I don’t know Allison, but what I do know is that there but for the grace of god go I. If she trusts me to help
her, I want to.

  Crispin drops a nod before he knocks, and in a few minutes, we’re heading out of the hotel, hand in hand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‡

  Over dinner on Sunday, I tell Crispin he should go home.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you here, but I’m going to be gone for the next two weeks. I’ve got my final Chicago trip, a stop in Phoenix, Jack wants me to swing by a potential client in Henderson before I get back, and I can’t cancel.”

  “Yeah, of course. I was surprised I got to keep you for this long. Every night I went to sleep thinking you’d probably kill me in the morning. Or you know, send me away.”

  My mouth is full of pork chops and applesauce and a good thing, too, otherwise I’d answer his mocking. As it is…

  “No, I don’t want to send you away. And when I get back, I’ll come see you.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind coming here, and if it means more time with you—”

  I cut him off. I’ve been planning this conversation all night. “Yeah, you know, I was thinking. Did you know I’ve never been to a barbecue?”

  “Never?”

  I shake my head. “Not really a thing in Manhattan, and my parents hated the Hamptons.”

  “And this has to do with coming to visit me how?” His grey-blue eyes have narrowed to slits, and he regards me suspiciously. How indeed.

  “Well, you have that grill out on the porch. I thought you might like to cook me some…things.”

  “I’d be happy to, but—”

  “I thought you might like to cook for some other people, too.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if you wanted to.”

  “We could do that.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  *

  And that is how I find myself slicing a heap of zucchini, onions, and peppers two weeks later. Crispin’s kept me busy with a mixture of kink, sex, and chores since I got here, not a bad strategy for distraction. It’s kept the worry from flooding my head: What if they don’t like me?

  He’s taking it easy on me, not making this the social event of the season, but just inviting Holo and Lani over for dinner. The three of them grew up together, and while Holo’s never left the islands for more than a vacation, Lani went to college on the mainland before coming back to Kona to teach in the schools she went through. They’ve been married for fifteen years but, according to Crispin, still act like newlyweds.

  “It’s kind of gross, actually, so I apologize in advance,” he’d said this morning while we swept off the porch.

  I’d tsked at him. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  He’d responded with a theatrical roll of his eyes. “You say that now…”

  “Well, good. It’ll give me an excuse for the vomiting.”

  He’d leaned his broom up against the railing and strode across the porch, stopping me mid-stroke and taking my own broom, letting it clatter to the floor.

  “Hey, what’re you doing? I’m trying to clean here.”

  He’d taken up my wrists behind my back and pulled me to him.

  “If you’re teasing and this is in fun, that’s fine. I know it’s easier to joke about stuff than say how you feel. But if you’re so scared that you’re going to be sick, I’ll call and cancel. I appreciate the gesture, but this isn’t so important that I’d be willing to let you make yourself ill. Nothing’s that important. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

  I’d rubbed my cheek against his chest. “I am nervous.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know who to be.”

  “Be yourself.”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  Holo and Lani know about Crispin’s…preferences. Holo’s a contractor and has done most of the work on the house, including building the studio. According to Crispin, they don’t practice, but they don’t object. They’ve met his subs and are duly curious about me, the anomaly. Crispin had shifted my wrists into one hand and nudged up my chin with the other.

  “I do. You’re one of the toughest, most intelligent, and funniest people I know. You also happen to be the most gorgeous woman I’ve had the pleasure to set eyes on. And when you offer yourself to me, gift me with your submission, it makes me feel a hundred feet tall. No matter what you do tonight—whether you want to talk about books or architecture, crack jokes about the insanity you call your job, or sit at my feet with your head in my lap—it doesn’t matter. They’re going to have plenty of time to get to know you, so do whatever makes you happy.”

  “Okay.”

  He’d slid his fingers into my hair and kissed me, hard, before releasing me and smacking me on the ass. “Get back to work, wench.”

  And now the veggies are sliced and sitting in marinade, the house is clean, I’m showered and dressed in a skirt and camisole, and the echoes of our scene this morning are just that: echoes. I take comfort in the cane stripes laid across my ass in a pretty gate that Crispin tweaks when he walks by…but more from being able to slip my hand into his whenever I get the chance. Like now. He’s toweling off his hands when the doorbell rings—a sound I’ve never heard in the nearly two years I’ve been coming here—and I lace my fingers between his damp ones.

  There are three figures at the door, two big and one small. I’m confused until I remember Crispin said they might bring their dog. They do have a dog. Crispin tugs me across the house to the door, and when he opens it, I’m greeted by two broad smiles and a lick at my hand.

  I’ve got this.

  *

  Two weeks later, I’m on the wrong end of a phone call.

  “India, is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

  “Oh.”

  Crispin sounds surprised, suspicious, and I consider hanging up. But I can’t.

  “India?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Why’d you call? What’s up?”

  “Can’t I call to say hello?” Brilliant stall tactic, Burke. Good thing you’re not a hostage negotiator.

  “You could. But you don’t. You never call.”

  “I do so,” I say, feeling defensive.

  “Only if I’ve called you first.” He’s got me there. Shit. I try to think of a clever retort, but I’m at a loss. “So is this an alien who’s taken over India’s body or is something going on?”

  “I…wanted to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead, you’ve got my attention.” I bet I do. He sounds amused now that he knows it’s not an emergency. My heart is racing, and I can’t believe people do this all the time. This is awful.

  “I have to go to this thing.”

  “A thing?” I can picture his eyebrows heading skyward as he lounges at his desk with his feet up, twirling a pen in his fingers. God, he’s annoying. But I can do this. I’ve landed multimillion-dollar contracts for my firm. I deal with the press all the time. Surely I can ask someone on a date, be seen in public with a man who I’m in a relationship with and share my life with him. Right?

  “Yes, a fundraiser.”

  “Okay.”

  Crispin knows I have to go to these stupid things on a regular basis. I’m sure he’s confused as to why I’m mentioning it in more than passing.

  “I was wondering…” Oh, god, Burke, spit it out already. “…if you would come with me.”

  I’m met by silence, and I feel like I’m going to fall off a cliff so I start to backpedal. “If you aren’t free, it’s fine. You don’t have to. I’ll—”

  “Are you asking me on a date?”

  Oh, he is so smug.

  “I ’spose.”

  “And when is this thing?”

  “In three weeks.”

  “Let me check my schedule.” I do not appreciate him mocking me. I know very well he has nothing on his calendar that weekend.

  “Crispin, please.”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Yes, I’m free, and I’d be happy to be
your date.”

  “Thank you.” My tone is less than gracious, but he either doesn’t notice or more likely chooses not to comment.

  “What do I have to wear to this thing?”

  Of course this is the first thing he asks.

  “It’s black-tie.” I know Crispin doesn’t have a tux hanging in his closet for the myriad galas he attends, and this was one of the reasons I was worried about asking him. “So you’ll have to wear a tux. I thought…I thought maybe when I come this weekend we could meet in Honolulu and take care of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll have Lucy deal with your plane tickets. Do you have anything a few days on either side you need to be home for?”

  “No.”

  I appreciate his cooperativeness. He could’ve given me such a hard time about this. It would be a fraction of the irritation I’ve caused him about being his plus one. I’m lucky Crispin is by far a better and more mature person than I am. He has had several more years practice than I have, but I won’t go there.

  “Okay. Well, thank you. That’s all.”

  “I’m being dismissed?” I’d wipe the smug right off his face if he were here.

  “Yes. I’ll see you on Friday. Bye.”

  “Bye, mili.”

  *

  Three weeks and one weekend in Honolulu later, I’m in San Diego on my way to the airport, my stomach in knots. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Why does this freak me out so badly? But freaked I am. There’s no other way to describe it. Except maybe flustered. Panicked. Terrified. Yes, all those would do. My heart won’t stop this rapid hammering. I’ll be lucky to make it to the terminal without passing out. I’m counting on Crispin to drive home.

  When I pull up to the curb, he’s waiting for me with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Seeing him douses my nerves a bit. He’s scanning cars, looking for me, but he’ll be hard-pressed to find me. When the SUV in front of him leaves, I pull up and slide my sunglasses down my nose. “Hey, sailor, need a lift?”