Crave (Splendor Book 2)

by Janet Nissenson

  Tessa was shaking in his arms as he gently eased her to her feet, wrapping her in a fierce embrace.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I didn’t mean to lose control that way, to be so rough with you.”

  She shook her head as her arms banded about his waist. “Don’t be sorry. Especially since I liked it that you were a little rough, that I made you lose control a bit.”

  “Did you now?” he asked, amused. “I think if I let you, darling, you could turn me into a wild animal. Once again, I’m not certain I could even spell my name right now.”

  She shivered in his arms, and he hastily grabbed a bath sheet from the neatly folded stack on a nearby shelf to wrap around her.

  “Let’s get you into a hot shower, love,” he murmured as he picked up their discarded clothing. “Unless,” he added with a wicked grin, “you’d rather make it a bath. That way we can check another item off that list of firsts you’re going to write up for me.”

  ***

  Tessa seemed quiet and pensive the rest of the afternoon and evening, as though something was troubling her. But Ian tactfully didn’t push or pry, sensing that she was having an inner struggle with some matter.

  He’d made love to her again during their bath, but it had been a far cry from the frantic coupling they’d shared in the gym. He’d taken his time with her in the huge sunken tub, petting and soothing her with soft kisses and exquisitely gentle caresses. Their lovemaking had been slow and tender, but she had still been so wrung out afterwards that he’d had to physically lift her out of the tub and dry her off, despite her feeble protests that she could do it herself. Tessa had been sleepy, clearly not used to the multiple demands he’d made on her body in less than twenty four hours, and he’d laid her down carefully in his bed. She’d been asleep within minutes, and he had watched her for almost half an hour before forcing himself to leave the room.

  The fierce storm had finally ebbed, and he took her out to dinner, this restaurant a far more casual place than Le Mistral. It was a charming Italian café not too far from his house, and the owners knew him well. Ian chatted with them briefly in Italian, and introduced them to Tessa.

  Over a shared Caesar salad, platters of steaming, fresh pasta, and a bottle of red wine, he studied her with some concern. Even her appetite was off tonight, as she ate only sparingly and drank more water than wine. She looked beautiful, of course, wearing some of the new clothes he’d bought her - skinny black jeans, a dark blue sweater that skimmed over her lush breasts, and black, high-heeled ankle boots. Her cheeks were still flushed becomingly from her nap, not to mention all the sex they’d been having, and she was damned near irresistible. The restaurant was crowded, and Ian’s perceptive gaze didn’t miss even one of the very interested male glances that fell Tessa’s way. At one point he reached across the table and took her hand in his, sending out a silent message to anyone looking that this one belonged to him.

  He longed to ask her what was wrong, if there was something he could do for her, but continued to keep quiet. Instead, he only made occasional small talk over dinner, giving her the space she so obviously needed, and tried to tamper down his unsettled feelings. He was more than half afraid that Tessa was having second thoughts about all of this - about him, them - that she was realizing he was in fact too old for her, or that she wasn’t ready for another relationship so soon after being divorced. She was likely agonizing over how to tell him, especially given the fact that he was her employer and she didn’t want -

  “Ian.”

  He glanced up at her softly spoken word. She was worrying her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. He took a swig of wine, needing the fortification. “What is it, love?”

  She slid her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “I want to tell you everything. About my mother. And my marriage. And, well, about me. I’m ready.”

  He felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the exact time a wave of empathy washed through him. He squeezed her hand back reassuringly. “All right, darling. Let’s go home and you can tell me whatever you like.”

  Chapter Eight

  “My mother was bipolar. I didn’t know that’s what her illness was called until I was about eleven or so, when I was finally old enough to ask questions and do some research. Up until then all I knew was that sometimes Mom was happy and liked to do fun things, but other times she was very, very sad and didn’t get out of bed most days. As I got older, the sad times started taking her over more and more, until that’s all there was.”

  Tessa paused to take a tiny sip of the brandy that Ian had insisted she drink. She’d never tried the stuff before, and while the first couple of tastes had made her shudder, there was no denying that the undoubtedly expensive liquor was beginning to warm her up.

  “Mom was a writer,” she continued. “She actually had several books published, and the royalties she got from the sales helped support us for a while. Then she started falling deeper into depression and could barely function most days, much less write. And when she did try writing during her manic episodes, it was just a bunch of nonsense, nothing that made sense or that she could ever hope to have published.”

  Tessa and Ian were sitting in his library, one of the coziest rooms in his house. He’d started a fire since she had felt chilled, and he was now sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, giving her the space she needed as she visibly struggled to tell him about her life.

  “You never tried to find your father?” he inquired gently.

  She shook her head. “There was really no place to even begin to do that. One of the few times in my mother’s life when she was actually lucid enough to talk about it, she admitted that I’d been conceived during an especially manic period of her life. The research I did later referred to it as hyper-sexuality. In other words, she slept with a lot of different men in a very short period of time. Any one of them could have been my father. So, no, there’s absolutely no chance of ever learning who my father is.”

  “What about the rest of your family - grandparents, aunts, uncles?”

  “No.” Another shake of her head. “My mother never talked about her family, not really, but I always had the impression that she’d had a very unhappy childhood, maybe even an abusive one. The few times I tried to ask her about them she always became agitated and changed the subject. I’m guessing she left home at an early age and never tried to keep in touch with any family that she might have had.”

  He touched her cheek softly. “Was there no one else then to help you, Tessa? No friends, neighbors, a doctor perhaps?”

  “No. We moved around - a lot. When Mom got into one of her manic phases, she’d be full of all these plans, ideas for a new book, and most of those times she’d decide we had to move somewhere different so she could find inspiration. We lived all over the Southwest - Arizona, New Mexico, southern California, west Texas. We’d move at least once a year, sometimes as many as three or four times.”

  He frowned. “That couldn’t have had a positive effect on your schooling.”

  Tessa gave a bitter little laugh. “It was absolute hell, as one could imagine. I was always the new girl in class, having to play catch up with what all the other kids were learning. I was constantly getting used to a new teacher, a new book, a different way of learning. My grades suffered, and it was usually a struggle just to keep up. And my mother certainly wasn’t any help with studying or schoolwork. When she was manic she’d actually encourage me to skip school so that we could go out and have fun that day instead. And of course when she was down - well, she couldn’t even look after herself, much less take care of me.”

  Ian gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “I’m assuming that with all the moving around you did it was difficult for you to make friends. Is that why you had no one to help you?”

  “Partly, yes. I was shy to begin with, so it took me a long time to make friends. And just when I’d finally begin to settle in, my mother would uproot us agai
n and I’d have to start over. So there were never any long term friendships, people I could count on. And then, as I got older, I’d start hearing horrible stories about foster care, especially for kids my age. I was afraid that if I approached a teacher or a doctor and told them about my mother that they would separate us - that I’d wind up in foster care and my mother in some sort of mental institution. So I - I began to look after her as soon as I was old enough.”

  “What?” Ian looked and sounded shocked. “How is that even possible, Tessa? How old were you?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe seven or eight. When she was in one of her down phases, I’d try to get her to eat, encourage her to get up and about. I learned early on how to look after myself - fixing meals, getting to and from school, even doing the laundry. I was terrified someone would take me away, Ian. My mother might have been sick, but she was all I had.”

  “Take another sip of your brandy, darling,” he urged. “I’m sure this all must be upsetting for you to relive.”

  Tessa drank a bit more before continuing. “Things got tougher as I grew older and my mother got sicker. When she was manic she’d usually be able to find some sort of job - waitressing, a cashier, a hotel maid. There was never much money, barely enough to keep us going. But when she was down, she couldn’t work, basically just slept most of the day. We - we lived on welfare during those times, sometimes in homeless shelters, sometimes in our car.”

  He paled visibly before drinking down the rest of his brandy. “My God, Tessa. To think of you in a place like that - being homeless. Christ, I want to wrap you up in my arms and never let go of you,” he told her fervently.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said softly. “It really wasn’t as bad as I know it must sound.”

  “No, I’m guessing it was far worse and you’ll never admit to me just how bad it really was,” retorted Ian. “But I won’t press you for more details right now. Go on.”

  Tessa began to twirl a lock of hair between her fingers, betraying her agitation. “As soon as I was old enough I got a job. Fortunately I matured early, so I looked two or three years older than I really was. At thirteen I bluffed my way into working at a summer day camp. Some of the kids attending the camp were older than I was.”

  “Thirteen. Bloody hell, you were still a child.” He shoved a hand through his hair, mussing it, clearly displaying his distress. “But it’s beginning to sound like you never really were a child.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she agreed solemnly. “But at least I was able to earn enough to keep us out of homeless shelters. When I turned sixteen, I started working in retail, one job after school and another on weekends. My schoolwork suffered even more, but I made sure to pick easier classes that I could keep up with. No calculus or chemistry for me, I’m afraid.”

  Ian hauled her against his side, as though unable to keep from touching her a moment longer. “It doesn’t matter, love. You’re the brightest, most brilliant girl I’ve ever known.”

  Tessa sighed. “I always felt stupid in school. Except in my computer classes. I knew early on that I wouldn’t even try to go to college, and worked on improving my computer skills instead so that I could get a good job. I had always figured on taking care of my mom, you see, hoped that once I graduated from high school and got a real job that I could finally get her some help, get her on the kind of medication that might allow her to have a normal life. But I ran out of time.”

  She started to tremble then, finding the next part of her story the most difficult and painful. She took another fortifying sip of brandy, not even flinching from the burn this time.

  “By my junior year of high school, my mother wasn’t even getting out of bed most days,” she continued haltingly. “We were living in Tucson then, had moved there in January. It was October when it happened – and on a Wednesday, of course. Because almost every bad thing that’s happened in my life has been on that day of the week.”

  Tessa hid her face in her hands, struggling to find a way to resume her story. The next part of her tale was by far the most difficult, the most gut wrenching, but it had also been the catalyst that had set so many other things in motion.

  She kept her eyes downcast and fought hard to prevent her voice from breaking. “When I was driving home that evening from work, I could smell the smoke in the air three blocks away. I pulled up in front of our apartment building and it - it wasn’t there anymore. There had been a fire earlier in the day and the entire building was destroyed. When I got there a fire truck was still on site making sure the flames were under control.” She raised tear filled eyes to Ian, her jaw wobbly. “My mother - she didn’t make it out, Ian. Most other residents weren’t at home at the time, and the few who were heard the smoke detectors and got out. My mother was probably too deep inside her dark place to pay attention, probably didn’t even hear the alarms or the sirens or smell the smoke. She was - gone. Everything was gone - our furniture, our clothes, dishes. All I had left were the clothes I was wearing, my purse and school books, and our old car.”

  Tears were running freely down her cheeks now as she whispered in a broken voice. “I should have been there with her. I knew how bad off she was, how far into her depression she’d fallen. I could have saved her, could have -”

  “Stop it.” He crushed her against him, lowering her head to his shoulder and holding her while she wept. “Hush, love. Don’t do this to yourself. I’m guessing you’ve blamed yourself for years, but it wasn’t your fault. Your mother was very ill from the sounds of it, and you were at work when the fire started. Working to help take care of her, I might add. So stop feeling responsible, Tessa. It was just a terrible accident.”

  Ian continued to rock her gently in his arms until her sobs began to subside, and she was calm enough to continue telling her story. She didn’t resist when he refilled her brandy glass, and obediently took a swallow.

  “So what happened to you after that?” he prodded gently. “You were what - sixteen? Were you forced into one of those foster homes you had heard awful things about?”

  “No.”

  She gave him a somewhat abbreviated version of what had happened after that horrific night - living on her own in a motel for a week or so; moving in with Michelle and her family, only to bitterly regret that decision very quickly; how things had gone from bad to worse when Brittany and Sean had moved in.

  Ian made a low, snarling sound when she told him about Sean and his unwanted attraction towards her. “If you’re about to tell me that piece of filth touched you - or worse- I swear that I will hunt him down like the animal he is and beat him to death,” he vowed darkly.

  She laid a hand on his arm, soothing his barely controlled rage. “No. It never got that far.”

  She continued with her story reluctantly, knowing that the next part would only incense him further. When she admitted to having lived in her car for long weeks, Ian shut his eyes and didn’t speak for several seconds, almost as though he were silently counting to ten to keep his rage in check.

  “God.” He surged to his feet and began to pace around the library. His entire body was tense and almost shaking, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, as though he longed to hit something.

  “If it’s any consolation,” she told him meekly, “I only lived that way for about four months.”

  He spun around to face her, his handsome face livid with rage. “Four hours would have been too long for you to live like that. I feel - sick, Tessa. Bloody sick at the thought of you all alone and helpless. Jesus, anything could have happened to you out there. You could have been raped, robbed, murdered.”

  “I know,” she admitted reluctantly. “I never slept especially well those months, was always cautious to make sure no one bothered me.”

  “What changed after those hellish months?” he rasped. “Please, for God’s sake, tell me things got better after that.”

  “They did. And what happened after that was Peter. My hus - my ex-husband. He - well, there’s really n
o other way to say this. He saved me, Ian. In more ways than you can possibly imagine.”

  Ian refilled his brandy snifter and drank half the contents in one gulp. “Continue, Tessa. I’m sorry if I seem upset but - Christ, to think of you all alone that way…” His voice trailed off as he shuddered.

  “It’s okay, honestly.” Tessa found it a bit odd that she was the one offering him comfort under the circumstances. But then, she already knew how the story ended.

  She recounted how Peter had helped her, looked out for her, became a true friend, the only person in her life she’d ever been able to depend on.

  He leaned back against a low table that held a marble chess set, his feet crossed at the ankles as he sipped his brandy. “And how long did this new arrangement last?”

  “Just a few months. Until Peter graduated from high school and turned eighteen.”

  Ian raised a brow. “What happened then?”

  “He married me.”

  ***

  Ian was damned glad he hadn’t chosen that particular moment to take a sip of brandy, because he most certainly would have choked on it. When Tessa had told him rather uncertainly at the restaurant that she wanted to tell him about her past, nothing in the world could have prepared him for all of the terrible things that had befallen her in her relatively short life thus far. But this latest revelation, while certainly not terrible, might have been the biggest shock of them all.

  He stared at her in disbelief. “So exactly how old were you when this marriage took place?”

  Tessa looked down at her lap where she was clasping and unclasping her hands in agitation. “Seventeen,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Seventeen.” Ian shook his head in disbelief. “Why, Tessa? Why couldn’t you have waited until you were a little older? Were the two of you that much in love?”

  Her gaze flew up to meet his at this question, and she shook her head in denial. “That - that’s not it at all. We rushed to get married as soon as possible so that Peter could be legally responsible for me. The social worker assigned to my case finally figured out that I wasn’t living at Michelle’s any longer, even though her mother kept cashing the support checks. So Peter offered to get married in order to - well -”