by Toni Blake
He rested his head against her shoulder for a moment after, even as his legs threatened to fold beneath him.
When finally he looked down at her, she was staring blankly, sadly, at his chest, as if she couldn't quite believe what they'd done. He shut his eyes against her pain—he couldn't quite believe it, either. "I'm so sorry," he said.
She pushed away from his embrace, hurrying to pull her dress together in front. "So am I," she said, still not looking at him.
He ran one hand back through his hair. "I never meant to hurt you, Stephanie."
Only then did she glance up. "You still are."
After which she rushed to her door, dug her keys out, and stuck one in the lock.
"Stephanie, please, let me ..." He shook his head, so damn confused he didn't even know what he meant to say.
She stopped on the threshold and looked back. "Let you what?"
"Apologize?" He held his hands out in front of him. "It doesn't help," she said, disappearing inside to slam the door.
He heard the lock turn and felt like a jerk. She had every right to hate him. He almost hated himself.
A shame, a little voice whispered in his ear as he walked up the street toward his truck. Just when you were starting to like yourself again.
You lie in bed at the bayou house. Cool white sheets cover you; the fan turns overhead. The window across the room is open, as always, but everything is cool—cooler than you've ever felt it here. Brisk and refreshing, like you imagine the first day of spring must feel someplace farther north. An old Sinatra album plays across the room, Old Blue Eyes crooning "Violets for Your Furs." But you 're not alone.
She crawls toward you from the foot of the bed, her face hidden by a white Mardi Gras mask—white sequins outline her eyes, and soft, downy white feathers curve around her face, so that you see only lush pink lips. She licks them, as if she knows you're watching them. You want to kiss her.
Long white gloves rise to her forearms and a white corset of satin and lace pushes her breasts high and curves down over her hips. Snow white garters stretch to sheer white stockings below. No panties.
"You runnin' around without panties again?" you ask. You know this is a dream, and you're thinking if she
answers the right way, it will prove this is her. You know it's her, you always have, but still you're looking, reaching, for that little bit of confirmation. And if this is a dream, you should be able to control it, so you will her to answer.
But instead she only smiles with those pretty pink lips, like she has a secret. You know this is a dream, but it doesn't seem to be yours to create.
They never have been, a voice whispers in your ear.
She straddles you, and you hiss in your breath, ready to embrace her, but suddenly she is stretching your arm up against the headboard, tying you to the bed.
As she ties your other wrist with a shiny white scarf, you wonder if this is punishment. But as she bends to rain kisses across your chest, you understand: This is a reward. Something she's giving you. Making it so none of the decisions here are yours, putting you at her mercy.
She kisses her way down your stomach, her lips leaving a trail of cool sensation when the fan blows over their path. Then she peers up at you, her eyes mysterious and playful and oh-so-blue through the mask, and you tremble because she's pulling the sheets down now, hovering above your erection, smiling at you as if to tease.
Her gloved hands run up your length, one after the other, caressing you with her silken touch, and your body convulses beneath her, making you pull at the satin ties, wishing you could touch her, hold her. Gift or not, it's not as easy as you thought to take without giving.
She no longer smiles when she lowers herself onto you, bringing your bodies together in that ultimate union. A low groan leaves you and everything inside you contracts.
She looks into your eyes as she makes love to you. You can't look away, don't even want to. You read what's in her gaze and you're not afraid of it. You can't not feel it, too. And you can't hide it. She sees it. She knows.
She's waiting for you to say it. It's a dream, but you know she's waiting for you to tell her what's in your heart.
Yet, still, you can't—the fear is back, that quickly. It's so hard to need someone this way. The last time you needed someone like this, you lost her.
So you simply say, "I'm sorry."
And in an instant, she's gone, and you're alone. Music no longer plays, and drenching deep summer heat pours in the window to fill the room.
Chapter 24
Jake stayed in bed late the next morning suffering a familiar feeling of not wanting to face the day. Sleep was easier.
But Shondra had risen early and returned from another trip to the market with ingredients for pancakes, and when he smelled them cooking, he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her, so he'd dragged himself up and into a pair of jeans he found on the floor, entering the kitchen with a forced smile.
Now she was gone again—off to buy Scruff a leash so she could take him outside without worrying he'd run into traffic—so he'd made himself shower and put on clean clothes and now sat by the phone in the living room, the local phone directory open in his lap. He supposed being prodded to get out of bed had motivated him a little.
He dialed the number for Les Couleurs and a woman answered.
"Hello," he said, putting on his best good ol' country boy voice, "I'm hopin' you can help me. Would Robert Nicholson by chance be there this mornin'?"
"No, I'm afraid he's not, but this is his wife. Can I leave him a message?"
"I'm an old buddy o' his from way back, in town for a few days, and was hopin' to get together. Wouldn't be anyplace I could reach him right now, would he? My schedule's kinda strapped after today."
"I'm not really sure of his plans today, but you might be able to catch him at home. Let me give you the number."
After hanging up, he tried Nicholson at home, but the answering machine picked up. He'd hoped Nicholson's wife might give him some other places to try, damn it, or a cell number.
Looked like he was back to the stakeout plan. Truth was, though, he wasn't sure he could pull it off. He was so tired the last couple of days, wrung out and on the verge of slipping back into a depression that seemed to come and go at will. A stakeout would mean getting up awful damn early, and he wasn't even sure he could talk himself into getting out of bed if the alarm went off in the middle of the night.
But maybe he should get up in the middle of the night. Might get lucky and avoid another one of those damn dreams. He was sick of them. They were incredible while he was having them, but he was disgusted with the after-effect, trying to figure out what the hell they meant. He was even more disgusted by what they made him wake up feeling— feelings he couldn't be having. He'd told her that, and God knew he'd told himself that—now his brain had to grasp it.
He couldn't love her.
And he wanted the dreams to be done.
"Five minutes," Tina told the cabbie, hauling her shopping bags from the car to the sidewalk. Almost more than she could carry, so she was glad to be home.
Although the apartment was beginning not to feel all that much like home. Old elegance and wisteria aside, suddenly nothing felt right.
She and Robert had had another explosive argument on the phone this morning, their third or fourth in as many days. To appease her, he'd suggested she go shopping, then to the spa. She'd ended up spending nearly a thousand dollars and had come home to drop off her bags before heading to her massage and facial.
Strange, she thought, teetering slowly up the brick walk, weighed down by her purchases. Before Robert, spending a thousand dollars on clothes in one day would have sounded impossible, but for him, it was merely a drop in the bucket. And, oddly, the spree hadn't made her feel any better. It didn't fix the problems standing between them. She doubted a facial would clear them up, either. These are bigger problems than the ones you 're used to.
She sighed, wondering exactly how s
he'd got herself into this mess. Why had she turned to prostitution in the first place? Devastation. You were in love with Russ. Maybe you still are. Even so, it was hard to believe she'd been upset enough to start selling her body, selling herse// Just a culmination of everything, she supposed.
Doesn't matter, though. You're in it up to your neck now.
She was beginning to think Robert wasn't going to leave his wife. Both his kids had set off for the fall college semester yesterday, and he'd promised that last night he'd tell Melissa the marriage was over. This morning, of course, it had been a bunch of "it just didn't seem like the right time" crap, and in her heart, she had an ugly feeling it was never going to be the right time.
Worse yet, she actually thought she was starting to love the big lug. She felt more and more lonely when he wasn't around, craving his company and attention, feeling empty when she had to fall asleep without him. Was it possible to love two men at the same time? That didn't matter, either. She was beginning to suffer a familiar sense of desperation that—as she circled the luxurious mansion to her door in the back—made it easier to remember why she'd become an escort. She'd been running away. To something totally new, something that had seemed glamorous in some way. Or at least exotic. She'd wanted to be someone else. Tiana.
She finally pushed through the door, heaving all her bags through—to find Robert seated on the antique sofa with a pretty brunette wearing nothing but a lacy purple teddy.
All Tina's blood seemed to drain to her feet. "Who the hell is this?"
Robert looked up, not nearly as startled as she thought he should be. "I thought you were going to be out all day, darling."
Her stomach pinched to hear him use her favorite endearment in this damning moment. "I said, who the hell is this? What's going on?" Stupid question, though. She could see what was going on.
"Tiana, this is Amber. Amber, Tiana."
The bimbo in lingerie lifted her hand in an uncertain wave. Tina curled her hands into fists, unwittingly gathering the fabric of her skirt. She hated her life in this moment, hated everything.
"Well," Robert said on a sigh, "inconvenient that you should come home just now, but maybe we can make this work for us, hmm?"
"What?" she asked, still too stunned to do anything effective.
Robert gave his head a persuasive tilt, flashing a seductive smile. "Why don't you join us, darling?"
Bile rolled in Tina's stomach. She knew what she'd become—a whore—and she knew she was in the Big Easy, but she still couldn't quite believe what he was suggesting. "Are you out of your mind?" she uttered too quietly. She wanted to scream and yell, rant and rave—yet all she could seem to do was whisper.
"Come here, Tiana." He motioned her closer, but she stayed rooted in place. "This will help. Make you feel better. Make everything easier." He pointed vaguely to the coffee table, to a small mirror lined with what she presumed was cocaine.
She held in her gasp, but still felt breathless. She knew it was part of the scene she'd fallen into here, she knew her friend Raven had been into drugs. But Robert? She simply stared, agape. / hate my life. I hate it. I hate it.
"Don't be afraid, darting. Coke's not always in vogue these days, but I still like it. Try it with me. You'll like it, too." He held out his hand.
That was how he'd first invited her to be his for a night; also how he'd suggested she come live here. Something about the gesture combined with the power in his eyes was so alluring that she knew why she'd never turned him down for anything before.
Maybe it was time to start. "No."
Robert blinked, looked mildly displeased. "Tiana." The tone used on a misbehaving child.
"No," she said again.
He looked disappointed in her—an expression she was too used to, and it made her stomach curl into a tight ball. You 're always letting someone down. Always.
"Well, darling, there are two ways to go here," he said. "You can turn around and leave, pretend you didn't come home at an inopportune time, and we'll never have to speak of this again. Or you can come have some fun with Amber and me. I'd prefer the second, because I'd prefer for you to understand and respect my wants and needs— but the first will suffice as well."
Tina's mind spun. She just wanted some respect, and she'd thought Robert was the man who would give it to her. Fantasies of her future that, moments before, had been fading now vanished completely.
But wait. Maybe you can save this. If you stand up for yourself, show him you won't be kicked around, maybe you can change this into a victory.
"There's a third option," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "I have a cab waiting outside to take me to the spa. You can put Amber in it and send her home. Then you and I can talk this out, get back on track, and make some decisions about our future."
"I'm sure I don't need to remind you who pays your bills, darling," he said, his tone still bizarrely even and kind.
"No," she said, her hope crumbling. He didn't want her to stand up for herself. He wouldn't respect her, even if she earned it. He wasn't going to leave Melissa. This wasn't her home. It all became shockingly clear, and her strength diminished as she spoke from her heart. "I thought you loved me."
"I do love you."
You're sitting on our couch snorting coke with a woman wearing lingerie. "I guess you think I'm pretty stupid," she said on a hard swallow. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Robert gave her a long, scrutinizing look. "Stupid? No. But stepping beyond your bounds—yes. There are unwritten rules to the kind of relationship you and I have. You need to understand that, once and for all. You've been far too demanding lately. Downright needy, if you want the truth."
She girded herself, kept herself from trembling. "Rules? Like that you get to do whatever you want with whoever you want, right under my nose, in the place you told me was my home?"
He looked unfazed. "Well... yes, frankly." When she didn't reply, he went on. "I take care of you, Tiana. I give you everything. Every stitch of clothing on your pretty back. Every scrap of food that goes into your pretty mouth. In return, I expect your obedience or, at the very least, your tolerance. Not much to ask for all I've given you."
From a technical standpoint, she couldn't argue it. And she supposed most girls in her position would shut up now and accept the situation—go to the spa.
One problem, though. She couldn't live like this. If she was with a man, she needed his devotion—that simple. And in that moment, she realized that as much as she loved all the material things Robert had given her, it had been his devotion she'd found most endearing, his devotion that had earned her growing love.
Now that she no longer had that—and realizing, in fact, that she'd never had it—she had nothing. Less, perhaps, than when she'd found him. "You're a bastard!" she spat, then reached for the nearest thing—an antique Chinese vase she knew he particularly valued—and flung it at him. It hit the wall above his head and shattered into pieces that rained down on him and Amber.
Amber gasped, putting her arms up to shield herself as Robert shot to his feet. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"No, you have—if you expect me to live like this! I'm outta here!" She spun, snatched up a couple of the shopping bags, and started to walk through the door.
But he crossed the room in a flash, grabbing onto her wrist, wrenching one bag free until it dropped to the floor. "Oh no, darling, that's not how it works. You leave, you leave with nothing."
She drew in her breath, then let it back out. "Fine! I don't need you anyway!"
She swung the other bag around, hitting him with it, and stormed through the door, thankful she had her purse and what cash was left over from her shopping spree. Not that she had any idea where she would go, what she would do. Oh God.
She ran back around the house and down the walk; she was shaking when she got back in the cab.
"To Jardin de Beauté now, miss?" the middle-aged cabbie asked, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
He seemed
like a nice man, but she didn't want him to see her fear, or her sadness. She didn't want anyone to see it. "Change of plans," she said, pleased she'd kept her voice from quavering.
"Where to then?"
"Um, just a minute—I need to think through the rest of my day." The rest of her day, and the rest of her life. God, where could she go? What should she do? She knew she could call her mom or Stephanie, and a certain comfort lay in that idea, but... Even if her fantasies of life with Robert had just turned to impossibility, she still couldn't give up and go crawling back with her tail between her legs. Maybe if she'd never told Stephanie she'd become an escort. Maybe if she hadn't heard Stephanie's nasty Utile sounds of disgust over the phone. She just wanted to do something on her own that would make them proud.
And she didn't have to give up yet—she just had to think. And right now she needed ... not to be completely alone in the world—she needed to find Raven. Her only friend since hitting the city, Raven had shown her the ropes of the business. Raven wasn't happy doing it, either, so maybe together they could figure a way out of their problems.
So that's what she would do. She'd head to the CBD and find Raven.
Only, first, before anything else, she had a stop to make. "Les Couleurs on Royal Street," she told the driver.
Jake stood behind the bar at Sophia's, serving up drinks to the regulars, giving his well-practiced smile, keeping conversation to a minimum, and wishing the night would go faster. He felt like crap inside and wanted to be alone.
