by Dani Wyatt
In the meanwhile, I’ve even been making changes at my place. I already border on ‘neat freak’ territory, but I’m organizing and making other changes as well.
Making the place feel more like a home instead of a hotel. I like my house, but no one would guess a anyone lives there. I jet in and out on my way to work or the gym, but for the most part I hadn’t thought of it as a home until recently. Until Leah.
She’s never been there of course, but I imagine her in each of the rooms: sitting at the kitchen table, laying in my bed. It makes me want to change everything for her. I’ve even gone shopping.
I bought fucking throw pillows for crissakes. And sheets and towels that I think she would like. Even stop every few days and buy her flowers and put them in vases around the place. Practice, I tell myself, for when I get her there for real. Because I need her to see it as a home.
A home where she would want to be, but also a place where we could raise a family. That’s how gone I am over this girl and we haven’t even been on a date. Not that I really want to date her, because I already know what I need to know, and she’s mine, she just doesn’t realize it yet.
I think of her life before now.
The mansion.
The staff.
The limos.
It’s a different world and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a moment of doubt that what I can provide for her would be enough.
Where she grew up is a castle. Money clearly was no object in her former world.
But I want to take care of her in other ways.
I’m not poor by any stretch. I’ve saved almost every dime I’ve ever made because I haven’t had any interest in spending it on anyone until now. I do take care of my mom, but that’s about the only other source of my spending.
But I want to take care of Leah’s body and soul, not just her material possessions. I want to make sure she eats right, sleeps well, smiles and laughs. That she’s tucked in at night and has sweet dreams. I want her happiness as my obligation, because when she smiles, nothing else matters.
And I want to know about the Poptarts.
“So.” Henrietta pulls a side of beef out of the oven, a cloud of steam coming up around her as she sets the roasting pan on the stove, grabs the knife and starts carving out pink and brown pieces of meat. “Now what? You coming back to the house? What do you want to do now you can do anything you want?”
“Well...” Leah looks over at me and sees me looking right back. “I’m not sure what else I’m going to have to do with the police and the attorneys——”
“You let those attorneys worry about that. You pay them. That’s it. They take care of the rest.” She waves the towel in her hand around her head. “Victor already took his deal and Simon will plead guilty to something smaller. That’s what you said, yes? So that means there is no trial. Yes?” Henrietta raises her eyebrows at Leah as her hands go back to serving heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and cooked carrots onto two plates. When she’s done, she reaches for that knife again. Seems she’s more comfortable with it in her hand.
“Yes, but——” Leah launches a protest which is quickly aborted by a glare from Henrietta.
“No but. You get on with your life, Zabka, they stole enough from you already. Right?” She stabs the knife in the air toward me again and I grin. She’s a tough piece of leather, I’ll give her that, but she’s not intimidating me. I like her. “Am I right? She needs to go live her life. Young, beautiful girl like her, locked up in that house for all those years. It is time she looks after Leah.”
“I agree. One hundred percent.” I lean back in my chair watching Leah roll her eyes but the smile pulling at her lips can’t be fought.
What I want to say is it’s time someone looked after her. And that someone is going to be me.
“Good. See?” Henrietta swishes her knife, pointing it at Leah. “May doesn’t need you taking care of her anymore. You did a good job, but now you take care of Leah. Look after Leah.” Henrietta’s eyes shift and she sets the knife on the table, opens up a cabinet and pulls out a white-capped, orange prescription bottle. “You haven’t been taking your medicine. I count and they’re all still here.” She shakes the full bottle like a rattle.
Leah’s shoulders pull up and she leans her head away from me. “Henrietta.” Her voice falters as she shifts in her chair, her hands folding on the table as her fingers toil and tangle with each other. I look at the thin, rose gold band on her right ring finger. It’s worn, slightly bent and there is an inscription engraved around it which I can’t read. Leah’s face hardens. “I told you, I’m not taking them. I’m not.” She looks up at the ceiling and the light coming in the kitchen window glints in the welling tears at the corners of her eyes.
I lean slightly forward, softening my voice. “Why don’t you take them?” I desperately want to help her, and the way both Wilson and Henrietta lord over her like a child sets my teeth on edge. I want to understand about the medication. I need to know so I can take care of her. “Leah. Can you tell me why you don’t want to take them?” My brow draws together and I watch her face turn a deep pink.
Henrietta doesn’t give her a chance to answer. “This is for her own good.” Henrietta says, echoing my thoughts. “This is not the same as that man that hit her, high on drugs, high on pills. I wish she would see. These are for her pain. Zabka, please.”
Henrietta’s voice softens as she sits the bottle back on the counter. She draws in a long breath, her shoulders slumping, and I get the impression that this is an ongoing battle. Not one that she expects to win today, but she needs to fire off a few volleys to let Leah know that she’s still dug in.
Letting the sigh go, she reaches over to grab the two heaping plates of food, then walks to the table and sets them in front of us both.
“I won’t take the pills. I won’t take drugs.” Leah’s voice rises in pitch, making me think of a child refusing to eat what’s been put in front of them. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You seem to forget that I’m in charge here.” Leah’s manner turns cold. Whatever this conversation is about, it’s hurting her and I hate it. “I will not be like that man.”
“What man?” I ask, already angry at whomever he is.
Leah’s eyes dart from Henrietta to me and her voice rises another notch when she speaks. “The man that drove the car that hit us that night. He killed my parents. He was taking all kinds of prescription painkillers. And he walked away with barely a scratch. How’s that for justice? I can’t stand anyone that has anything to do with drugs. No one in my life will ever bring that around me. Ever.” Her lips tighten as she picks up a fork and stabs a carrot, pushing it around on her plate.
“Fine. You the boss. I’m leaving.” Henrietta announces slapping her hands down her apron. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening. You call Fredby or Wilson if you need anything tonight, yes? I have to go to my son’s wedding otherwise I be right here. Why he needs a wedding for third marriage... stupid.” She mutters then adds something in Polish I can’t decipher before going on. “He’s too American. All this modern living. Marry. Divorce. Marry. Divorce.” She reaches for her jacket and purse, picking them up from the end of the counter. “Take the pills, don’t take the pills, but make sure you eat. You make sure she eats, yes?”
“I will.” I smile, my heart thumping around in my chest as I think of all the other things I want to have her do. Then I realize, she will be alone here tonight. May and Decker are gone and that’s not sitting well with me at all.
With that, Henrietta swears in Polish as she bustles out the back door, leaving me sitting there with a hard-on that can’t be contained and a heart that aches for this beautiful, broken girl sitting next to me. I can’t help it when my fingers come up to brush a silken tendril of her hair behind her ear.
“And I don’t think she means Poptarts.” I add and Leah smiles. “But, just so you know. I love blueberry ones myself.” My hand rests on the side of her head for a moment too long.
<
br /> And to my surprise, rather than slapping me away, she leans into my fingers.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
LEAH
My skin is tingling and my chest is warm with the way he keeps finding reasons to touch me.
First, it was my hand getting out of the car, then holding onto me, leading me to the door. Those could be explained, as they were sort of necessary.
But now, he’s managed to make me nearly gasp twice when he tucked my hair behind my ear, held his hand there then a few moments later his fingertips grazed up and down the back of my upper arm as he talked about how he takes care of his mom.
After Henrietta left, I couldn’t think of anything to say and Allister just started talking, filling in the empty space with his warm voice. And I realized how much I want to listen to him. He’s not just talking to hear his own voice; he knows he’s settling me with his stories. I think I could listen to him talk for hours and never wish him to stop
“When my father died from a heart attack, mom sort of died with him a bit. She had some rough years, but managed to get herself back together. Now, I just do my damnedest to make sure she stays that way. Not always easy.” The low chuckle that comes out of him makes me smile in return.
“Where does she live?” I fold and unfold my hands in my lap. Then reach back for the fork and murder another carrot which I have no intention of eating.
Allister’s golden-brown eyes follow my hands. It only makes me more nervous so I leave the carrot to die a slow, agonizing death and I hug myself, rubbing my arms, trying to rasp away the last of the tingle he left there when he touched me.
“Not far from me. I bought her a condo about a half mile from my house. Any day I can’t get over there to check on her, I send one of the girls.”
The girls.
Hearing him use that word sends up a flash of jealousy.
At the Monarch clubs the staff are mostly women and I’m sure that is to whom Allister is referring. But that hardly assuages the green eyed monster rising up in my gut.
I know from Decker and May that they have a tight group at the places they run. But, let’s just say, the women that work at the clubs are the things from which male fantasies are made. In my case, add in the scars, the leg braces and the general inability to walk on my own, I’m not thinking I’m in that fantasy category.
The women that work there are glamorous to say the least.
“That’s nice.” I push around the murdered carrots on my plate, hating the bratty tone that blankets my reply. Neither of us have taken a bite and the steamy aroma has cooled.
Allister takes a deep breath and I’m once again captivated by the veins on the backs of his hands. The hint of deep brown hair that shows under the white cuff of his shirt sleeve is also more interesting to me than is probably appropriate. Never before have such innocuous parts of a male being been so fascinating and elicited such a visceral response in me.
Stop looking at all his man-ness, ding-dong. Clearly you cannot handle it.
The voice in my head thankfully doesn’t mention the demise of my panties as well.
“It’s not like that,” he says, and I hear in his voice that he’s trying to alleviate my insecurity, but that only makes me more insecure.
I turn and look out the window over the sink. The streaming sunlight hurts my eyes but I’d rather not look at him right now. “I want——” He stops and his hand shoots out to embrace mine, fork and all. “I need you to know that it’s not like that. Leah, I’m their boss, that’s all. Some of us have known each other a long time, but it’s never been, and it never will be, more than professional or platonic friendship. Never.”
“None of my business,” I snap turning back to meet his eyes which immediately sends my heart racing.
“Leah, listen to me. It’s not like that.”
His eyes are so open, so honest. It makes my face hot. I nod and he lets go of my hand, but a part of me wants him to grab me again.
How can a man that looks like him exude such softness?
I haven’t been at all charming and never, not even for one split second has he shown me anything other than acceptance and kindness. It’s as though he wants to draw out the petulance inside me and absorb it into himself, take it from me and in its place he gives me back something warm and comforting.
For a second, I’m lost in his calm power. I shiver, thinking of what that caged intensity would show when drawn out.
In anger.
Or passion.
Thoughts of the latter cause my nipples to draw tight. A flash of him naked, arms locked, caged above me nearly makes me whimper audibly. Instead, I shift in my chair, squeezing the muscles in my core as the tension there grows by the second.
“I’m still stuffed from earlier.” He breathes a sigh and for some reason I wonder when the last time was he was with a woman. “Are you still full?”
All I can do is nod, but it’s enough. He traces the backs of his fingers so lightly over my wrist it leaves both a tingle and a burn in its wake.
“I know I promised to get you to eat. But that can wait. For now, let’s set it aside.”
“I used to cook,” I blurt out, for some reason wanting him to know I wasn’t always like this.
And dance, I want to add, but I keep that one to myself.
“Yes? But Henrietta scared you out of the kitchen? Because that would be understandable.” Allister picks up the plates and stands up, making his way over to where the pots and pans sit.
“No. Getting around in the kitchen became such a hassle. May and I used to spend hours in the kitchen with the cooks at the house before the accident...it was my constant craving for blueberry Poptarts that started her baking.” I let my words trail away, and worry about the silence in their wake. But if he notices it at all, he doesn’t let it show.
“I’ve been lucky enough to taste some of May’s pastries.” He chuckles. “My God, Decker will be the fat man from the circus within a year. And, let’s face it, you and I have our favorite flavor of Poptarts in common, so I can’t be all bad.”
He sets the plates down and smiles as he pats his stomach. It’s broad and flat, his dress shirt stretched tight across. For a split second the thought of what he looks like underneath his clothing hits me again. Is his body covered with the dark hair that I see dusting the backs of his hands and knuckles?
Would I like that? Yes, I believe I would.
And, God, what about his abs? I imagine them defined and hard, my fingers discovering the valleys that run between each. Does he have those indents that run from his hips, downward toward——
“Leah? Where’d you go?”
“What?” I shake off the burning in my cheeks, I’m sure my thoughts are appearing like a bubble over my head. “Did you say something?”
“I said, I want you to come to my place.”
To his place? My mind starts to analyze each of those words in an attempt to find the sense in them, but comes up blank. “What?”
“I can’t have you here alone. I’m sorry, I just can’t. And this place.” He looks around the streamlined modern kitchen. “I don’t feel comfortable with you here. I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I’ve got a guest suite on the first floor. It’s all made up already, you won’t have to do a thing. I keep it clean. I want you to come. Or I’m going to stay here with you, sleeping on the couch. And that couch doesn’t look like it will last a night with me.”
We both look over and chuckle at the squared off, white leather sofa that centers the living room off the kitchen. Barely half of him would fit.
“Decker gave me a cell phone. I’ll be fine.”
The truth is, I’ve never been alone for a night in my whole life. Unless you count the nights I spent locked up in the basement. Even then it was odd, I knew there was a guard outside the door so I actually didn’t feel alone.
Staying here with May and Decker over in the main house is as close to being alone as I have ever been. But now with them gone tonight,
this guesthouse is feeling lonely already.
I put on a brave face for May when she asked if I would be okay tonight knowing Henrietta wouldn’t stay tonight. But, well, I’m worried Allister won’t argue with me and I’ll end up staying here when against my better judgment, I really, really want to go with him.
I don’t want to stay here by myself. I could suggest we both stay over in the main house, but I hesitate to add anything. It might seem strange I’d be willing to accept his invitation when I barely know him, but it feels right. I’m silently pleading with him to try again, and he takes the cue.
“A cell phone won’t help if you can’t get to it. Or you need someone to run out and buy you some Ben & Jerry’s at midnight. Or there’s a spider in the bathroom and you need me to come with a flamethrower and kill the rat bastard. These are things I can do. A cell phone cannot. I’m better than a cell phone, you’ll have to trust me on that.”
A giggle spurts through my lips at this enormous man. I’ve never met anyone quite like him. Decker comes close, they do have similarities, but Allister is harder and softer at the same time.
Decker tends toward serious and May gets his feathers ruffled with barely a wink, but he’s remained generally quiet with me. Allister feels like a giant teddy bear that could turn grizzly at the drop of a hat.
I’m dragged down from my moment of euphoria by the weight in my stomach. If I stay with him, there’s no hiding all my contraptions and the hardware that’s necessary to keep me mobile. I may have been like this for a while, but having others see it all makes me wildly uncomfortable still. All my insecurity kills what could be a perfectly lovely moment.
I have to look away because the desire in his eyes only makes me feel more humiliated that he may not understand exactly what my life entails.
