To him.
She wanted that.
Badly.
How it had felt being tucked under his arm, against his side as they watched various scenes going on throughout the night.
How everyone had seemed to welcome her at dinner despite her standing Bill up at class the week before.
Leah hadn’t lied to her to spare her feelings.
It had surprised her to find out over dinner that Sully was a former cop, although in retrospect it shouldn’t have. He had that watchful way about him, like she imagined she had, the way Bill had.
Most importantly, how it felt when he said “good girl” to her. And how he reacted when she called him Sir.
Tonight, he would drive up and cook for her. She knew from talks they’d had the night before that sex wouldn’t be on the table, although they needed to talk about it. She appreciated that he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to hop into bed with her, that he could control himself and not try to manipulate or pressure her into doing anything.
She also realized that, for once in her life, it was a good thing, because if he’d wanted to fuck her after the first time he said “good girl” to her, she would have gladly let him.
It’s my kryptonite.
She rolled over to find a text from Bill on her personal cell phone.
Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?
Normally, she might bristle at the term of endearment.
From him, it sounded…
Just right.
Good morning. I’m good. Just woke up.
Before she could set the phone back on the table, it buzzed in her hand, a response from him.
:)
She liked the way her pulse sped up.
In fact, for the first time that she could remember in her life, she was eagerly anticipating something. Someone.
I could get used to this.
* * * *
Bill arrived a little after five and had brought with him the ingredients to make a delicious chicken quiche. Her nervous tension this time stemmed from her anticipation, not dread.
He wouldn’t be rushed. She knew that while she had the option to press for deeper conversations, he wanted to be in charge of how and when it happened.
He waited until halfway through their dinner. “So let’s make a deal,” he joked, his tone light.
She looked up from her food. “What kind of deal?” She hoped he didn’t spot the wariness in her eyes, hear the hesitation in her tone. She didn’t want to ruin their good evening by putting a halt to things.
“Next weekend, I’ll come up here, and we spend from Friday afternoon until Sunday together. Go to the class, dinner with everyone, the club.”
She straightened in her chair. “Sex?” Frankly, she hoped sex was part of the picture. If it wasn’t going to happen soon, she’d be pretty damned disappointed.
She’d figure out some way to hide the worst of her scars from him in bed.
He shrugged. “Not a deal breaker. Although if you wanted to, that’d be nice. I’m hoping things lead to that eventually, even if not next weekend. That’s an instance where I’m not going to press too fast.”
She mentally swore when she felt her face redden. “It’s been a long time for me.”
“Me, too. I’ll go to the doctor and get a current set of test results if you want, but I haven’t been with anyone since Ella, and I’m clean. Or we can stock up on condoms. Your call.”
She glanced down at her plate again. “I’m clean,” she said. “On the pill, although I’m not sure why I bother.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “We’re both adults here, no strings attached. We don’t know if this can go anywhere unless we try, right?”
She had to vocalize her remaining fears. “And what if it goes south quickly and in a really ugly way? How do we work together?”
“I’m willing to risk it. I know I’m not going to be sleeping around or doing anything to jeopardize this. I suspect you won’t be, either. I trust you.”
“How can you say you trust me when you barely know me?”
“You’ve trusted me this far. I’ve trusted you. Trust has to grow from somewhere. It’s sort of what the word means. Not many people I’d give the benefit of the doubt to like I do with you, but it’s worth it to me to get to see where this might go. I think last night and today have been a very good start, don’t you?”
“Again I ask, what if it goes really wrong?”
He shrugged. “We back up, figure it out, and try again.” He squeezed her hands. “I can’t imagine anything so bad either of us could unintentionally do to blow this up so badly we can’t fix it. Can you? You’re a logical person. You tell me. Are you planning on deliberately screwing around or lying to me?”
She shook her head.
“Okay then. Neither am I. I say we’re both adults. I won’t play the bad kind of mind games with you. If you decide hey, you absolutely cannot do this, all you have to do is say so, and hopefully we can still be friends. And I’ll give you the same courtesy. Deal?”
She nodded. “Deal.”
He smiled. The way it tugged at her, hopeful, sexy, sweet, and sinful, all at the same time, it melted her insides.
Maria’s voice tried to pop up and she envisioned herself whacking it with a gigantic carnival game hammer before nailing a board over the hole from which it had crept into her brain.
Not tonight.
“Thank you for giving this a chance,” he said. “If nothing else, we get a chance to spend some time with another person instead of alone. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“No, that’s not bad at all.” She squeezed his hands back. “In fact, it sounds pretty darn good.”
Now all she had to do was make it to next Friday without climbing the walls.
Chapter Nineteen
A blob of tropical weather in the Atlantic ended up organizing enough to be classified Wednesday morning as a tropical depression that would hit directly across the state from them before giving them a couple of days of nasty weather as it slowly crept west.
The fourth shibari class ended up postponed until the next week because of the storm. Apparently the club’s parking lot had a bad tendency to flood during heavy rains, making it tricky to get into and out of the complex where it was located. Gabe felt disappointed by that, but at the same time relieved that she would get to have Bill all to herself.
This would be a make-or-break couple of days for them. To see if she could even tolerate someone’s close presence that long.
Or if he could tolerate hers.
“You realize we’re going to be stuck inside all weekend, right?” he told her with a playful smile. “Might as well get used to it.”
“How come they didn’t call you in to work?”
He shrugged. “No official tropical storm or hurricane warnings for our area. It’s coming in from across the state and won’t be more than a blob of weather by the time it reaches us. I’m surprised they didn’t recall you to Miami.”
“They don’t pull us in unless it’s a major storm,” she said.
He draped his arms around her waist, his expression turning somber. “I want to do a lot of talking this weekend.”
“Why?”
“Because I think we need to,” he said. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know. A lot about you I don’t know. I want to remedy that, even if I have to tie you up to accomplish it.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Or is that a problem?”
“Talk?”
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, I want more than just great sex or a fun time in bed. I do want a relationship with you.”
“Isn’t that moving kind of fast?”
“Did I say marriage?” He released her and cocked his head as he studied her. “Technically, we already have a relationship. Nothing formal or even permanent, but it’s a start.”
“I don’t even know if I know what I want. I hope you’re serious about wanting to take things slow.
Marriage is definitely off the table for me for the future, as far as I’m concerned. If that’s going to be a problem, say so.”
“It’s not a problem, and I really mean it. I know life wasn’t easy for you as a kid. I want to hear about it. I want to know all about you.”
“Maybe you won’t like what you hear.”
“Stop it.”
She flinched at his harsh tone.
He must have seen it, because he grabbed her hands again and held on, gentling his tone. “I am the only one who gets to determine what I do or don’t like about you. Understand? You don’t get to talk yourself down to me. I know I’m not perfect, and I won’t lie about my flaws or try to gloss them over, but I’m not going to try to influence your decision about what you think of me. I want you to extend me the same courtesy. You insulting yourself is like you’re insulting me and my tastes and preferences, because I like you. Got it?”
No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She stared into his hazel eyes, trying to read what was there. She eventually nodded.
That made him smile. “Good girl.”
She simultaneously loved and hated the way her heart sped up when he said it, the way he said it.
How could two words do that to her?
Then again, words had done a lot of bad things to her throughout a large chunk of her early life. Why wouldn’t two little words also be able to do good things?
It’s just that had never happened before.
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “What happens when I say that?”
She swallowed. “Say what?”
The smile again. “That. When I say, ‘good girl.’ What happens?”
I get wet. But she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. “I don’t know,” she softly said.
“Do you really like it when I say it, or do you think it’s condescending?”
Why deny it? “I like it.”
His smile widened. “Good.”
She felt her heart thrum again, anticipating the second half of that phrase.
He leaned in close. “Good girl.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Then he closed the distance, brushing his lips across hers, lightly, briefly, a sweet reward. He didn’t press for more and immediately leaned back again. “Why no bears?”
Her blood ran cold. “What?”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the amigurumi army invading the condo one stitch at a time. “I asked you about bears the other day, and you had a pretty hard reaction. I want to know why.”
She froze. No one had ever asked her about bears before.
No one had ever noticed.
Hell, no one had been close enough to her to ever notice.
There was a better than odds-on chance the man would be seeing her naked at some point over the weekend, if not in the next couple of hours.
Or sooner.
If she couldn’t open up enough to tell him this, then their relationship would be doomed before it even had a chance to put down any kind of roots and grow.
“Tell me, or code. Your choice.”
Turning, she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. With her gaze focused on the tile floor she said, “I had a stuffed bear my dad and mom gave me when I was little. Bear was my favorite toy. Went everywhere with me except school. When my parents died, Maria basically sold off everything except some of my clothes.”
“She sold your bear?”
She shrugged. “She didn’t say that, but I figured that’s what she did with him along with all my other toys. She told me I was too big for baby toys, and that she had to sell off everything she could to get the money because my parents didn’t have life insurance and the guy who hit and killed them didn’t have any insurance.”
When she risked a look, she read the anger on his face.
“She sold all your stuff? Toys? Everything?”
“Yeah.”
“That bitch.”
“That’s the nicest of names I’ve called her over the years.”
“So she just robbed you of everything?”
She shook her head. “No.” A harsh laugh escaped her. “No, ironically, she didn’t. She kept excellent records. When I turned eighteen before I graduated high school, she took me to the bank to have the account turned over to me. She’d spent the money only on me, and there was still quite a bit left over, nearly thirty-five thousand. It helped me not have to work full-time during college when I got out of the army.”
“Still, I don’t understand how she could be so heartless.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Did she ever explain herself?”
She shrugged. “No. She felt she was completely justified. She raised me, never starved me. Took me to the doctor whenever I was sick. Always made sure I was in school and doing my homework. Made sure I had clothes.”
“She just beat you.”
“Not all the time.”
“You’re not making excuses for her, are you?”
“Hell, no.” She met his gaze. “Just because I can see her logic doesn’t mean I understand or agree with it. I’m well aware of her many faults. I’m also well aware that I could have been through a lot worse. I was never sexually abused. I was, in most other ways, taken care of.”
“Do you remember much about your parents?”
“Some. I wasn’t really allowed to talk about them. Especially my mom.”
“I take it she didn’t like your mother?”
“Noooo. Despised her. Maria blamed her for my grandfather’s heart attack, the one that killed him not long after my parents got married. My grandfather apparently hated Mom because she wasn’t Catholic and she refused to convert. Because he hated her, my grandmother hated her.”
“Wow.”
She nodded and, before she realized what she was doing, she rested her head against his chest.
It felt right.
He slipped his arms around her and turned them so he was the one leaning against the counter, supporting her weight as she leaned against him.
He felt comfortable, their bodies fitting together perfectly like this.
I wonder how it’d feel together in bed.
Maybe, if she was really lucky, she’d get to experience it at least once before he came to his senses about her.
* * * *
Rage seethed through Bill. He wanted a crack at Maria himself. If he ever got to meet the bitch, he’d be sure to give her a fucking piece of his mind.
“Is she still alive?” he asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Gabe mumbled against his shirt.
He held her closer, firmly, a silent promise to never let her go.
A promise he longed to say out loud and knew had to remain silent. For now, at least. It was too soon. Way too soon for deep emotional declarations like that to her. If he tried to move faster than she was ready, he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to walk out of his life without a look back.
The more he learned about her, the more he realized that her walking away just might break his heart, and he barely knew her yet.
Resting his chin against the top of her head, he said, “Gabriella Villalobos, you are a beautiful, wonderful woman. Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“I’ve been a lone wolf most of my life,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I know how to do this stuff.”
“Living up to your name?”
She chuckled and finally looked up into his eyes again. “Sort of, in a way. My grandfather was the first of his family born in the US. They were originally from Spain.”
“Did Maria speak Spanish to you?”
“Sometimes. She was from an American family. And she spent too much time trying to fit in with everyone at her church, I think. I learned more in high school and college than I did at home. I was fluent by the time I left the army.”
“Good training, huh?”
“Rosetta Stone.” She smirked. “One thing I learned growing up was how to be self-sufficient in a lot of ways.”
&nbs
p; “What else did she do to you?”
He felt more than heard her tired sigh. “She was…stingy.”
“Cheap?”
“More than just that. My grandfather had good life insurance, but she made that last. She didn’t have to go to work after he died. You know, growing up in Illinois in the winter, it sucks having to walk around the house wearing three or four layers of clothes because she refused to turn on the heat until the temperature inside the house dropped below sixty degrees.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
He felt her relax in his arms a little. “It was one of the reasons I started crocheting.”
“Why?”
“To make myself afghans and sweaters. She taught me how to do it. It was the only hobby she had other than her church work. She made stuff and donated it. When I started doing it, too, it was a way to avoid her, even though we did it together.”
“How so?”
He tried to focus on her words as she snuggled even closer. She felt so right nestled against his body.
“Unless I was in church, or doing housework, homework, or crochet, I risked her ire. She’d criticize me during housework, correct me for not doing something up to her high expectations, but she vicariously took pride in my crochet. I got really good at it. Her church friends always praised my work, which she took personally in a good way, at least.”
“Raised her up in their eyes, or so she perceived?”
“Yep. She liked that. Liked the attention she got because her granddaughter was good at it.”
“I guess you never got normal toys.”
She snorted. “No. Buying books was only allowed if they were nonfiction or religious. I was allowed to check out books from the library. I received clothes and shoes. Practical things. She didn’t believe in ‘wasting money,’ as she called it.”
“I’m surprised you still enjoy crochet.”
“I enjoy being able to help others. And if I was crocheting, she left me alone unless I asked for help with something. Except for schoolwork, it was the only time I could ask her for help with something and she’d be patient with me. Otherwise, I risked punishment for a variety of things. Apparently she was raised by a very strict Catholic family, and her parents were from the ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ line of thinking.”
Broken Toy Page 14
