by S. E. Lund
"Running away so soon? I hope you’re not trying to avoid me..."
I frowned. "Why would I be trying to avoid you?" I said through the window.
"Because I hit on you the other day. Don't be offended. I hit on all beautiful women. It's my nature."
"No offense taken," I said and pressed the ignition. "Now, I have to leave. Big night planned."
"You going to the gallery opening? My work will be featured."
"I don't know," I said and put the car into drive, my foot itching to let off the brake. "I'll have to see."
Damn... I didn't realize that Sean's work was being featured at the gallery exhibit and that he would be there. I'd have to rethink going. But then again, if Drake showed up with me, surely Sean would get a big hint and leave me alone.
"If you do come, pop by and say hello. We each have a table and are happy to take commissions and sell our work."
"See you later," I said and forced a smile.
"I hope so. Bring along your husband, if you want, but it's always optional."
I laughed at that. "Not with me."
"A man can dream, right? "
I drove off. "Dream on," I said under my breath, watching him in the rear-view mirror.
When I got home, Drake was asleep on the sofa and Sophie was in her room taking a nap. I quietly tip-toed around the house, trying not to wake either of them. I went to the kitchen and took out some frozen chicken breasts for supper and then started to wash and prepare vegetables for a salad. In the background, CNN was muted, but I could still read the ticker tape along the bottom. Then, a headline caught my attention.
BREAKING NEWS: Suspect in slaying found dead in cell...
The news story showed a picture of Mark Jones, Lisa's lover and co-conspirator in the attack on me and the murder of Derek Richardson.
"Oh, my God," I said, louder than I intended. On the sofa, Drake stirred and sat up, glancing at me where I stood in the kitchen, the chef's knife in my hand and a head of romaine in the other.
"What?" He rubbed his eyes.
"Look at the television."
Drake took the TV remote and turned up the volume.
"...sources say that the suspect was put on suicide watch the previous week, but that he had been taken off heightened surveillance when doctors okayed his mental condition. The day after the more restrictive conditions were lifted, he managed to hang himself with his own shirt, dying before guards could get inside his cell and rescue him. The warden at the facility said that he had been in recent contact with his co-accused, Lisa Monroe, through letters that were smuggled into the facility by a family friend despite being ordered not to have any contact with each other. Preliminary evidence suggests they used pseudonyms so that their contacts would not be detected."
I had a very bad feeling about the suicide. Had Lisa encouraged him to kill himself? I'd read of cases before where a lover had convinced a suicidal partner to commit suicide and I could believe Lisa might do something like that.
"Do you suppose Lisa talked him into killing himself?"
Drake shook his head. "From what I know about her, and what I've read, I wouldn’t put it past her. She's a sociopath and would think nothing of it. If Jones is dead, he can't really testify against her in court, can he?"
I finished chopping the romaine and dried off my hands so I could go and sit beside Drake and watch with him. When I was done, I plopped onto the sofa and he slipped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his body. He kissed me and then we turned back to the television. The station went to a commercial break so we switched channels to see if the news was being covered on any other channels. There was nothing, so we turned back and waited for CNN to continue its coverage.
"I wouldn't have thought he would kill himself," I said and snuggled closer to Drake. "He was quick to blame Lisa for planning the murder."
"She must have had something on him," Drake said, turning up the volume. "Something he either couldn't face coming out or was just too incriminating."
"What a witch."
"You're right about that," Drake said, sighing. "I had no idea she was this deranged. When I met her, she was this meek submissive, and never spoke a word. We performed for Derek and that was it."
"Derek never said anything about her?"
"Just that she liked to be used. He liked to watch her with other men. It was their kink. I'm glad I never did become involved with her beyond those few times at Derek's parties, but even so, what little did happen between us never warranted her becoming fixated on me."
"Erotomania isn't rational," I said, having read up on the issue after the attack when I was trying to understand everything. "It's an obsession and isn't based on reality but on the fantasy life of the individual with the obsession. The object of the obsession may not have even spoken with the individual."
Drake nodded. "In our case, I actually had sex with her in front of Derek. Unfortunately, he's no longer around to testify in my defense."
"You don't need a defense," I said and stroked his hair back. "You did nothing to encourage her. This is all on her, not you. The police know that. They may not approve of the lifestyle, but they understand that you're the victim in this as much as I am."
"I'm so glad that we're no longer there to be seeing this every day. I'm sorry we have to go back and face it. I'd rather stay here and just enjoy our lives."
"Me, too, but we have to get this out of the way and then we'll be free."
We listened as they moved on to another story and both of us sighed.
"If Jones is dead, do you suppose they'll postpone the trial?"
"They'll cancel his trial, but they'll go ahead with hers for Derek's murder. Who knows? They might even charge her with a crime for encouraging him to commit suicide."
I sighed, wishing we could avoid returning to Manhattan as well. I didn't relish the paparazzi hounding us when we went to the courthouse to testify. I had put those memories, such as they were, behind me out in sunny California. Dredging up everything, enduring the lurid gossip about Drake and BDSM, was not something I looked forward to. Still, we had to get it over with, and so I steeled myself and decided to try to get as much enjoyment out of our trip as possible.
"You'll never guess who contacted me," I said and raised my eyebrows when Drake turned to me.
"Who?"
"Miss Priss herself – Dawn."
Drake's eyes widened. "And?"
"She heard about the trial and wanted to connect with me when I'm in town."
"You should meet with her," Drake said softly.
"Do you really think so? After what she tried to do to break us up?"
Drake leaned back and exhaled. "Honestly, if I'd been her and had her background, I'd probably have warned you off as well."
"She did a bit more than warn me off you. She threatened to expose you to my father and to the hospital administration."
"Oh, yes, that's right," Drake said and rubbed his chin, which was a bit scruffy in a very sexy way. "Maybe I'm being too nice." He turned to me, mischief in his eyes. "You should kick her ass."
I laughed out loud at that. "Nah," I said and leaned in to kiss him. "I don't feel like resorting to violence anymore. It does no one any good."
"You know I was just kidding," Drake said and kissed me back.
"I know," I said and scratched his chin and jaw. "I would have liked to at one point, but now? I just want it all to be behind us. All of it."
"It'll be behind us, soon," Drake said and while I hoped he was right, I had a feeling that we would be fighting old battles for quite a while longer.
We dropped Sophie off at my dad's and Elaine's and went right to the gallery. On the way there, I told Drake about my encounter with Sean.
"He's one of those guys," I said. "You know the type – won't take no for an answer."
Drake chuckled. "I seem to recall I wouldn't take no for an answer with you. Was I one of those guys?"
I shook my head. "No, because I wa
nted you to not take no for an answer. I was just afraid to admit it. I was afraid that if I admitted that I was attracted to you, and wanted to be one of those women in your letters to your new subs, that it would mean I was a fraud. That I wasn’t really a feminist."
Drake shook his head. "Feminists are for freedom and equality for both men and women. Freedom means being able to choose what you prefer – as long as it's legal. Too often, those who call themselves feminists think it means that women have to act and feel a certain way, but that's exactly what patriarchy did to women – and men – for ten thousand years."
I turned and looked at him, amazed at what I heard coming out of his mouth.
"Drake Morgan, MD. I could have sworn I was in a Women's Studies class and not a Mercedes SUV on the way to a gallery exhibition."
"I studied social science in college, you know. I have this stuff memorized and filed away waiting for the right time to pull it out and impress during dinner conversation."
He gave me this brilliant smile, pleased with himself.
I smiled to myself and watched out the window at the passing scenery. I always knew Drake studied the social sciences. He once considered becoming a psychiatrist when he went into medical school. I had no idea he was up on feminist theory. My gaze moved over him, dressed in a crisp white button down shirt, black chinos and casual shoes. His hair was longish, his jaw covered in a few days-worth of scruff. He was gorgeous. I smoothed my sundress as I sat beside him, adjusting the light sweater I wore over top against the evening's cool breezes. The sundress was his favorite – thin straps, a built-in bra, and a back zip that he liked to slowly undo when he helped me undress. I hoped it would bring back fond memories of other times I wore it and he undressed me after.
We arrived at the venue and found a parking spot about a block away. Drake rushed around to my side of the car and opened the door for me, taking my hand and helping me out. Then, we walked arm in arm down the street to the gallery, which was lit up with floodlights and bright decorative lights at the entrance. The front door was open and we could hear music coming from inside – something soothing and classical. It sounded like a Mozart string quartet.
We went inside and picked up a glass of wine and brochure from a table just inside the front entrance, which gave the names of the exhibitors and a brief biography as well as one of the works of art. Then, we went from exhibit to exhibit, examining the works and discussing what we thought of each piece. There were watercolors and acrylics and sculptures and collages. The subjects were diverse and ranged from complete abstract to complete photo-realism and everything in between.
Drake held my hand the entire time and I felt relieved when, after half an hour had passed, we hadn’t run into Sean. It was when Drake slipped into the men's washroom that I did run into someone familiar.
I was admiring one of the watercolors of a local redwood trunk when I felt someone behind me. I turned abruptly, fully expecting to see Sean there with that grin on his face, but it wasn’t him.
It was Sefton.
Sefton deVilliers.
Just as I remembered him from Africa – smiling like he was the king of the world. Dressed in a dark blue suit with crisp white shirt, opened to display a thick gold chain. His hair was a bit longer, still blond, his eyes still a piercing dark brown.
Just the sight of him gave me shivers – but not the good kind. The creeped-out, bad news kind.
"Oh, God," I said and covered my heart with a hand. "I thought you were someone else."
"Sorry, but it's just me." He smiled, standing just a bit too close to me. "Fancy meeting you here. I guess it really is a small world."
"It is. Checking out the competition?" I said, glancing around at the other paintings, hoping that Drake would arrive quickly and rescue me.
He looked around as well, his hands in his pockets. "Some of them are good, but I'm not too worried." He turned back to me, a quizzical expression on his face. "You don't seem all that surprised to see me."
I shook my head. "I saw a flyer announcing your North American tour and that you were going to be in town this week. Quite impressive."
He smiled and seemed to puff up a bit.
"I looked you up when I was in Manhattan, but sadly, I was told you and Drake and your baby left for San Francisco. I thought I might find you here but I didn't expect to find you so easily."
"You were actually looking for me? After what happened in Africa?"
"Nothing happened in Africa, much to my chagrin," Sefton said, a quirk of a grin. "But I did want to see if I could find you."
I shrugged, not wanting to display any emotion towards him but disdain.
"I have a studio across the street." I gestured to the building where my studio was located.
"A studio?" he said and raised his eyebrows. "You're getting serious. I'll have to stop by and see your work."
Just then, Drake walked up and put his arm around my waist.
"I don't think so," he said, giving Sefton a curt nod.
"Are you speaking for your wife or do you let her make her own decisions?"
I squeezed Drake to indicate he shouldn't let himself get baited by Sefton's cracks.
Drake glanced at me quickly so I raised my eyebrows suggestively. He turned back to Sefton and I heard him exhale softly.
"I'm only letting you know so she doesn't have to. You’re one of those guys who can't take a hint. Last time I saw you, I believe I bloodied your nose because of it. I should have done more, considering how you practically assaulted my wife in Africa."
"You did, and she wasn't your wife yet, if I recall," Sefton said and ran his hand over his chin. "You threw a lucky sucker punch or I would have taken you down. I am taller and heavier than you."
"That you are," Drake said and stood a bit taller. I could feel his body tensing under my hand. "I figured you could take me, so I had to use whatever advantage I had at my disposal."
I glanced between the two of them, amazed that even now, they were acting like two cocks of the walk. They were both smiling, but their smiles were cold and didn’t reach their eyes.
"Hey, you two," I said and slipped my arm through Drake's, pulling him away gently. "I'd like to see the rest of the exhibits. Sefton," I said and gave him a nod. "Good to see you again. Maybe Drake and I will drop by your exhibit and see your latest works."
Sefton had locked eyes with Drake and held his gaze, not looking at me.
"I look forward to it."
Then he turned and walked off. I felt the tension drain out of Drake's body, his muscles relaxing under my hand.
"Let's go," I said softly. We walked in the other direction, and were barely ten feet away when Drake muttered something under his breath.
"What did you say?" I asked, leaning closer.
"I said he's a fucking jerk."
"Drake!" I pushed him as he walked beside me, his hands stuffed into his own pockets. "You were ready to get into a fight with him. I could tell by the way your body tensed."
"Damn right I was. He did practically assault you in the tent in Africa. You texted me right after and were really upset, Kate. By all rights, I should plough him one now."
"Drake!" I stopped him and rested my hands on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. "I'm a big girl and was able to look after myself."
"He could have raped you," he said, his voice deep and emotional. "Out there on the savannah. What could you have done to stop him?"
"Scream? Hit him? Luckily, Claire came in and that shocked him back into reality."
"That's my point. If Claire hadn't come in, what then?"
I sighed. "I'm fine. Nothing more happened and it was all just a bad memory I tucked away in the back of my mind. Seeing him again brought it back and I'm glad nothing more came of it, but let's not allow Sefton and his pompous snark ruin our evening."
Drake leaned closer to me, his eyes half lidded. "When I get you home tonight, I'm going to tie you to my bed and make you come three times without a brea
k."
That sent a jolt of lust to my core. Drake hadn’t spoken to me like that for a long time nor had I seen the possessiveness in his eyes like that for a while either.
It totally turned me on.
"When we get home, I promise you can do whatever you want to me, especially if you look at me like that when you do it."
"Oh, yeah?" Drake said, his tone lightening a little. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like a lion regards the lamb he's just about to eat."
He smiled slowly, but not a full smile. It was a lusty smile that promised so much pleasure.
"You like it when I look at you like I'm just about to eat you, do you Ms. Bennet?"
"Oh, yes, I do, Dr. Morgan. I do, very much."
"Hmm," he said and quirked an eyebrow, totally ruining the effect. Then he chuckled. "I'm sorry I was such an idiot, but the thought of any man touching you makes me feel like a raging bull."
I ran my fingers along the lapel of his sports jacket. "Raging bull, hmm?" I said in a soft voice, aware of the people milling around. I leaned closer so that only he could hear me. "I think I like that image almost as much as the hungry lion image. You with your nostrils flared, examining my naked body with salacious intent, standing over me like you own me."
"Salacious intent?" Drake leaned down and kissed me, a smile on his lips. When he pulled back, I could see the humor in his eyes. "I do own you, Mrs. Morgan," Drake said. "In a totally feminist, full equality, sort of playacting ownership way."
"You do, Dr. Morgan," I said and stood on my tiptoes, my mouth beside his hear, "and you could put a collar on me and lead me around a dungeon and I'd do anything you asked of me."
"Oh, God," Drake said when I moved back. He leaned down, his mouth beside my ear this time. "Are you trying to make me hard right here in the middle of the art exhibition? Because if you are, you're succeeding. I'm going to have to walk bent over and with a limp the rest of the evening because of all the hard inches I'm going to give you later..."
I smiled up at him, my own eyes half-closed. "You know what I'd love to do with all your hard inches, Dr. Morgan?"
