Debauched (Undone Book 3)

by Jennifer Dawson

  As strange as it sounds, I’m more comfortable with that. The lack of expectation makes me relax.

  This makes me nervous.

  Chad comes up behind me and puts his hands on my hips before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

  His voice sends tingles down my spine, and I try not to think of how much I want him.

  He takes me down a hallway with lower ceilings, showing me a half bath and a spacious room he’s set up as an office. It’s the messiest room I’ve seen, filled with computer equipment and three huge computer monitors. Piled with books. It makes me happy. Makes him seem more human.

  He walks me up a spiral staircase and shows me two spare bedrooms, another bathroom and his master suite.

  I try not to gasp as I enter the room. Try not to blush at the sight of the massive bed, or wonder if I’ll be lying in it. The headboard is wood with thick posts and it looks like dynamite wouldn’t move it.

  The covers are thick, charcoal gray and inviting.

  I have an image of tumbling across it, hot and restless. I tense.

  I can’t live up to the expectation of that bed.

  Chad comes behind me and circles my waist, pressing his back against mine. “You’re thinking about being in this bed, aren’t you?”

  My body grows even more ridged. “How do you know that?”

  I don’t know why I ask the question, why I continue to be surprised he can read me.

  “It’s written in your face, in the tension of your body.” He leans down and kisses me, open mouth on the neck, his tongue pressing against my skin. A part of me wants to lean into him but I can’t. His teeth scrape along my earlobe. “I’m going to take you to bed, but not before you’re ready to be there.”

  I draw in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  “Time will tell.” He straightens, his lips leaving a distracting path along my neck. “I need to show you one more thing. My favorite part of the house.” He goes to the closet and by the glimpse I get, it’s huge. He comes back and holds out a zip-up sweatshirt. “Put this on.”

  I stare him. Wasn’t he just talking about taking me to bed? I take the coat and put it on. Then he leads me out of the bedroom and down the hall to another staircase. We walk up and he opens a door, and we step out onto a huge rooftop.

  I stop in wonder. “Holy shit.”

  He has a three hundred and sixty panoramic view of the city. Fifty people could stand out here and not be crowded. I shiver against the cold, but walk over to the railing, gazing out over the city.

  He comes to stand next to me. “Crazy, huh?”

  “It’s fucking spectacular.” Because there is no other way to describe it.

  He laughs.

  Before I can process what I’m saying, I blurt out, “Can I come live with you?”

  He laughs again and winks. “I don’t know, what are you going to give me in return?”

  The question makes me ache in unexpected ways I don’t like. Because the truth is, I have absolutely nothing to offer a man like Chad. He’s got his whole life together. He’s a thriving member of society.

  I look back out over the city.

  Who am I? I don’t even know. I’m just drifting along, with no plan and no purpose. Something that never bothered me before, that now doesn’t seem like enough.

  From the corner of my eye, I glance at him.

  He makes me want more.

  I’m sitting at the table, on the high-back bench, trying not to fidget. Chad works in his kitchen, putting the last touches on the dinner he’s made for me. The politeness I was raised with makes me want to help, but he’d said no. Insisting I sit and relax. As though relaxation is possible. I run my finger over the tine of the silverware. The table already has warm bread, salad and red wine, poured into huge goblets.

  He places a plate of pasta in front of me, with marinara sauce and meatballs, before putting his hand on my neck and rubbing. “I thought this would be pretty safe.”

  “Thank you, it’s perfect.” I put my napkin on my lap and try and process that I’m in Chad’s house, that he’s kissed me, that I kissed him back, and now he’s made me dinner.

  He returns to the kitchen for his own plate, sitting down at the table, in the chair next to me.

  It’s silly, but nerves dance in my stomach. If you would have told me six months ago, when I’d first met Chad, he’d make me more nervous than any man I’ve ever met, I would have said you were crazy. But here I sit, unable to calm my anxiousness.

  I look up to find him watching me with that expression he has.

  I suck in a breath and say, “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  He smiles, grabs his wine and juts his chin at my glass. “Have some wine. It will relax you.”

  With trembling fingers I raise the goblet and take a sip.

  His fingers play over the stem and he narrows his gaze on me. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing here, and it scares you.”

  The guys I’m used to are filled with subterfuge. Filled with games. I’m not used to Chad’s directness. With anyone else I’d play it off, laugh at the notion that I’m scared, but I can’t help feeling Chad sees right through me. That lying to him is futile.

  And, for some odd reason I can’t articulate or understand, something deep inside me wants to be brutally honest with him. It’s a luxury I want to give myself. To shrug off the pretense and lay myself bare.

  As scared as I am, I trust him implicitly. It’s like everything about him calls to me, insisting I tell him my deepest, most closely held secrets. I pick up my fork, but make no move to eat. “I am scared.”

  He nods. “Tell me why.”

  The words come to my lips, and I don’t repress them even though my nature is insisting on it. “Because you know the truth about me, and I don’t like it.”

  He puts down his glass and leans his elbows on the table. “I don’t know the truth about you. I know one small thing, and your ability to have, or not have an orgasm, does not define you as a woman.”

  My brows knit and I’m glad I’m not eating because my stomach turns to lead. Of course, I know that. But this failure of mine is how I’ve defined my relationships with men for so long I can no longer separate it. I shrug. I don’t know what to say.

  His gaze pulls at me and I can’t help but respond.

  When I meet his eyes he says, “I will know you though.”

  “To what purpose?” My voice is more strained than I want. “I’m hardly your type.”

  He chuckles. “And I’m hardly yours, but here we are.”

  I clear my throat. “We have nothing in common.”

  “True,” he agrees.

  It’s weird how he doesn’t try and deny it, doesn’t try and talk me into why this is a good idea. I raise my brow. “So?”

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw, as though he’s contemplating. After several moments of silence, he says, “After that night, I was happy when you relieved me of any responsibility. I wanted to walk away.”

  I blink. Well, that’s honest. My grip on my wine tightens and I take a big gulp, letting it warm my empty stomach.

  He continues on, only giving my large sip a passing glance. “It wasn’t personal. I have a lot going on right now, I was recently promoted at work, and I have two buildings I’m trying to get ready to sell. I want easy and uncomplicated.” He gives me a smile. “You’re neither. So I was as eager as you were to walk away, willing to dismiss what happened between us as a one off.”

  “I can still walk away.” It would take care of this, put it to bed, and that can only be a good thing.

  “You can, but you won’t, and neither will I.” He meets my eyes with a direct, steady gaze. “That was decided as soon as I touched you last night.”

  “Why?” Heat rises to my cheeks, I clear my throat. “Did you touch me then?”

  “Because I meant what I said, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you
.” His eyes skim over my face, lingering on my lips. “I went out with three girls since Valentine’s, and I didn’t want any of them.”

  This fills me with such pleasure I’m almost embarrassed. A smile I want to hide tugs at my lips. I look down at my plate.

  He laughs. “You can be happy about it, Ruby.”

  The smile grows and I shrug. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sure as fuck happy that guy you brought didn’t touch you.” He points to my plate. “We should eat.”

  I pick up my fork again and spear a bite of pasta. “I only brought Tommy because of you.”

  “I know.”

  I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything Chad Fellows doesn’t know. I almost take a bite but then I pause, and ask, “Did Ashley offer to sleep with you?”

  “Yes.” The word is direct, without any hesitation.

  I raise my eyes to his. “I’m still afraid.”

  I don’t know why I say this, but I do. I want to admit it.

  “That’s okay.” Chad reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers. “All you need to do is trust that I’ve got you.”

  With those words, something inside me eases, because I believe him.

  Chad

  I kept the rest of dinner a light affair. I made sure Ruby had plenty of wine, and I steered the discussion to casual first-date conversation. We discussed our favorite books, movies, and music. I discovered we had more in common than I thought. How we both liked foreign art films that nobody else wants to see. That we both liked to think looking at the lake, and both hated the same best seller everyone else loved.

  It had taken a while, but she’d finally unwound and now she sat on my couch, tucked into the corner, a glass of wine in her hand. We were well into our third bottle and everything had become easy between us, except for the sexual tension that hummed like an electric wire.

  She took another sip and settled into the cushions. “I can’t believe you know how to cook.”

  I put my hand on the back of the couch, taking a long look at her body. She’s built lean, almost slight, but she has a full chest that’s out of proportion to the rest of her body. On another girl I’d suspect they were fake, but Ruby wasn’t a boob-job type. Sitting there, her black hair pulled back, her blue eyes glassy but happy; I have to work not to think of all the things I want to do to her.

  All things that will have to wait. I never break my promise and I’m not about to start with this fragile, scared girl.

  I smile at her. “Why’s that?”

  She shakes her head and her ponytail swings. “In my house, that’s women’s work.”

  I know Ruby grew up in a small town in Southern Indiana where her mom and dad, brother and sister and their families still live, but that’s as much as she’s told me. “Women’s work, huh?”

  She laughs, rolling her eyes. “When I go home to visit it’s like I’ve stepped back into another era. The women cook and clean and take care of their men. The men sit around with their feet up.”

  Another piece of the Ruby puzzle clicks into place. But I’m not going to call attention to how growing up like that colors her perception of domination. Those conversations are for much farther down the line. “Well, in my house, my mom was a diehard feminist. My dad is more traditional, but she put the kibosh on that—as she says—five minutes into the marriage. I have two brothers, one older, one younger. As the only female in the house she was determined to make sure we knew how to treat women.” I smile, thinking of my fierce mother. “She refused to raise helpless men.”

  Ruby’s expression is sheer delight. “She sounds like someone I’d like.”

  “You would, and my mom would love you.” I laugh and take another sip of wine, a pleasant, leisurely buzz sliding gently through my bloodstream. “I think my dad is continuously confused how he ended up married to her.”

  “Do they have a good marriage?”

  I nod. “They do. As my mom says, he’d go mad with a normal woman.”

  Ruby chuckles, cocking her head to the side. “I thought you’d said on Valentine’s they were a family of doctors and you were a disappointment.”

  I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “You remember that, huh?”

  “I do.” She bites her lower lip. “It’s how I felt in my house growing up.”

  I want to follow the thread, but know it’s smart to be open with her to get the answers I desire. “My mom is a neurosurgeon, my dad and oldest brother are heart surgeons, and my youngest brother is an orthopedic surgeon resident.” I smile. “And then there’s me.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  I answer honestly. “I try not to let it, but sometimes it does. I have their same work ethic and drive, but coding software doesn’t quite live up to saving lives.”

  Her expression softens. “It does if saving lives doesn’t make you happy.”

  “Good point. Growing up I thought being a doctor was the only profession available. I had no idea people did other things.” I laugh, as I continue the story, remembering. “I used to sneak off into my room and take computers apart as stress relief. When I went to college I tried, I majored in premed, like I was supposed to. I hated it, but kept trying to ignore how much I hated it. On break my mom decided it would be fun to let me watch a surgery, hoping to inspire me to follow in her footsteps.”

  I shake my head, thinking back to the embarrassment.

  Ruby’s eyes are wide. “What happened?”

  I blow out a breath, prepared to humiliate myself for her benefit. “I fainted.”

  Ruby bursts out laughing and covers her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  I squeeze her foot and she tenses under me. I grin. “Brat.”

  “Then what happened?” She’s still giggling and it makes me happy. Makes it worth it.

  “My mom figured out this probably wasn’t a good sign for my medical career. She sat me down and I confessed my dirty little secret: that I hated all things medicine, couldn’t stand the sight of blood, and I was miserable.” I drink down the rest of my wine, picking up the bottle and pouring the rest into our glasses. “She broke the news to my dad and I changed my major to computer science after the break. He’s forgiven me, and tries not to be too disappointed that he doesn’t have the trifecta of surgeon sons.” I have a decent relationship with my dad but he doesn’t quite understand me. My mom is the nucleolus of our family and everything revolves around her. “I tend not to have a lot to contribute at family dinners.”

  “I can relate to that,” Ruby says, her voice soft.

  “Tell me.” I keep the demand out of my voice.

  She takes in a deep breath and blows it out. “I’m a minister’s daughter.”

  And another piece of the Ruby puzzle falls into place.

  Ruby

  Surprise flashes across Chad’s features before the light of understanding dawns in his eyes. As though everything about me suddenly makes sense. And I suppose that’s not far from the truth. I normally don’t talk about my family, especially with guys, but Chad makes me want to tell him things.

  I don’t know why, maybe because he’s so forthcoming, but I want to tell him all the things that makes me, me. All the things I keep hidden. I feel safe, because there’s no coyness about Chad, he has no artistic sensibilities that make the guys I’m usually with so invested in being tortured.

  I blow out a long breath. “They’re great people and I had a normal, loving childhood. They’re not fire-and-brimstone types, preaching hell and damnation. They are just deeply religious and conservative. My dad is the minister in our small town. My mom’s a stay-at-home wife. We went to the Christian school, church on Sunday, choir on Mondays, bible study on Wednesdays, and church socials on Friday.”

  He wraps his long fingers around my ankle and I jump a little, repressing my desire to jerk away. It’s not that I don’t want his hands on me, because the truth is, I’ve thought of little else since he kissed me in the foyer. It’s the strength of my desire that scares me,
that makes me want to distance myself.

  He doesn’t say anything about my sudden tension, instead he nods. “That’s a lot of church.”

  “It is. My brother and sister are eight and six years older than me. They live in the same town we grew up in, within two miles of my parents’ house, and are just as devout. I’ve never asked, but I think I was a surprise baby.”

  He smiles and squeezes me a little. “In more ways than one, I’m sure.”

  The wine has gone to my head and I hold out my hands. “This is what you get for not using birth control.”

  He laughs, a rich hearty sound. He tilts his head. “So we’re both rebels.” His fingers work under my jeans leg.

  I rest my head on my open palm. “Can a software developer be a rebel?”

  “Oh yes.” He strokes over my skin and heat sears up my leg.

  Our eyes meet and I blurt, “I guess you think that explains my sex problems.”

  He cocks a brow. “Do you think it explains your sex problems?”

  I break the contact to stare into my glass, the dark red liquid a gentle sway. “I don’t think it helps. All that godliness, even though I’m not like that, seeped into my brain.”

  “I can understand that.”

  I frown; the alcohol has made my tongue loose. “It’s not like they even said sex was bad, but I was required to be upstanding, a proper minister’s daughter. They preached abstinence in school, and the dangers of sin. I didn’t buy a word of it, but somehow it made its way into my subconscious.”

  “So is there a part of you that thinks sex is bad?” His voice is gentle when he speaks, his words followed by another stroke of his fingers over my ankle.

  I swallow, thinking about the question. “Not exactly.” I bite my lip. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t relax.”

  He shifts on the couch, puts his glass on the table, and then takes mine and puts it down as well. I watch him with wary eyes, unsure of what he’s going to do and on guard.