Tempt Not the Cat

by J. C. Wilder

  “Also, if anything comes of our indiscretion, I want you to know I’ll not leave you adrift.”

  She froze as the implication of his words struck home. He was talking about the possibilities of her getting pregnant. A howl locked in her throat and she fought the urge to clutch her stomach. The vision of a son in Fayne’s image rose in her mind. He’d be a beautiful child as, no doubt, was Max.

  Her fingers tightened on the wineglass as she pasted a smile on her face. “You don’t have to worry about that, I won’t get pregnant.”

  “Erihn, I know you probably aren’t taking anything—”

  “It isn’t that,” she interrupted, her fingers clenching the etched crystal. “I can’t have children.” Her voice was cool. “He took that, too.”

  The wineglass shattered.

  Chapter Eight

  Erihn gulped when the broken crystal cut into her flesh. Dumbly, she stared at her hand as blood welled from the wound and spilled into her palm. The funny thing was that she couldn’t feel it, not really. It didn’t hurt. Mystified, she turned to Fayne as an odd buzzing sensation started in her ears.

  He came forward, lips moving, but she couldn’t hear what he said. Alarm crossed his face as her knees bobbled and, for a split second, the deck tilted beneath her. Strong arms scooped her off her feet, and she sighed and settled against his chest. This was where she wanted to be, wrapped in his arms. Maybe he’d let her stay here forever.

  Without ceremony, he sat her down in one of the chairs and pushed her head between her knees, promptly ending her fantasy. Within moments, reality reasserted itself and Erihn felt stable enough to raise her head. Fayne sat in the chair next to her, trying to stop the bleeding with a kitchen towel.

  She smiled faintly, her stomach rolling at the sight of the bloody cloth. She swallowed audibly. “Sorry.”

  He grinned and her heart stuttered. “My heart needed a jump start anyway. Do you always faint at the sight of blood?”

  “Only my own.” She made the mistake of looking at the bloody towel again and her stomach gave a heave. “Is it bad?” she hissed.

  “I don’t think so. Can you feel this?” He pinched the end of her finger.

  “Ow, quit that.”

  “Can you move your fingers?”

  Erihn wiggled her fingers cautiously. “It hurts.”

  “It should, you just put a dent in your hand. It might need stitches.”

  Emphatic, she shook her head. “Not an option unless my fingers are hanging off. Even then, I might learn to type with my nose.”

  “Afraid of needles?” His tone was gentle.

  “Nope, just the smell of hospitals and antiseptic will be enough to send me off the deep end. I had enough of them when…”

  He gave an abrupt nod. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

  Erihn was grateful when Fayne helped her to her feet, mainly because she was still feeling wobbly and also because it felt good to lean on someone for a change. He walked her into the house and directed her into the kitchen. He left her at the sink as he grabbed a stool from the corner. Positioning it in front of the sink. he guided her onto it.

  He turned on the cool water and removed the towel. She shut her eyes. The sight of the wound caused her stomach to roll again.

  “This is going to sting,” he warned.

  She sucked in a breath when he held her hand under the water. It did sting and then some. Tears blurred her vision as he rinsed the wound of blood and wine.

  “It doesn’t look too bad, it just bled a lot,” he pronounced. “I need to check for glass particles, though.”

  Erihn drew in a shaky breath then nodded. “Okay.”

  Fayne squeezed her shoulder then left to retrieve the first-aid kit from the downstairs bathroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the emergency center?” He set the plastic box on the counter.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Besides, we can’t get around the landslide.”

  “I’ll get you down this mountain on my back if I have to.”

  She gave a weak chuckle then risked a glance at her hand. Blood still oozed from the wound and her hand looked unnaturally pale. “I can fix it if you can’t.”

  “You’re right-handed and this is your right hand.” He popped open the plastic lid of the kit and rooted around, looking for the tweezers. “You’re so stubborn,” he muttered.

  She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She watched as he unearthed the tweezers and several types of bandages. He reached for her hand and she flinched when his fingers brushed her wrist. His gaze met hers. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Erihn’s throat tightened and tears spilled over. She wiped at them with her uninjured hand before smiling tremulously and nodding that she was ready. She flinched again when he poked at the wound.

  “Tell me about your son.” Her voice wobbled.

  Fayne chuckled. “My son is the best thing that ever happened to me. He’s bright, he’s gifted, and he’s a heck of a lot of fun to be around.”

  “And you’re not one bit biased, are you?” Her voice caught and she tried to clear her throat of the obstruction that had formed there.

  “Not one bit.”

  Erihn’s heart twisted. Had her father ever thought of her like that? Probably not. Arthur Spencer had been a frozen, forbidding man who’d expected his wife to manage the kids and the house without complaint. His children had been expected to do their chores, bring home good grades and never question his judgments. Loving his children or even playing with them had been a foreign concept.

  She gave a squeak as Fayne hit a particularly sensitive spot.

  “Almost done,” he soothed.

  She watched him, hunched over the countertop, picking slivers of glass out of her palm. His hair was damp from a recent shower and it brushed his shoulders. The florescent lighting made it appear a dull brown rather than the rich reddish-brown it was in the sun. His concentration was keen and his expression intense as he worked. He was beautiful, but he was also so much more than that. He was kind and generous and he seemed to love his son to distraction.

  What more could a woman want?

  Fayne stepped back and his backside brushed her leg, drawing her attention to the seat of his jeans. He had the best butt she’d seen in her entire life. It was almost impossible for her to believe this man had spent almost the entire afternoon making love to her. She shifted, savoring the faint twinge of her abused thigh muscles.

  Images of their bodies entwined brought a rush of heat to her cheeks and she glanced down at the floor. His feet. Damn! Even his feet were sexy. When in the world did she decide feet were sexy? What kind of a strange kink was that? Next thing, she’d get arrested for visiting shoe stores, hoping to catch glimpses of naked toes!

  He straightened. “There now, all done.” He frowned as he looked at her. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”

  She nodded jerkily and couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “This is going to sting.” Fayne picked up a bottle of antiseptic and liberally soaked the wounded area.

  The burning sensation brought more tears to her eyes, and he bent over to blow gently on her stinging skin. After a few seconds, the pain faded. Efficiently, he soaked a gauze pad in the liquid and secured it over the wound. Taking more pads and gauze bandages, he covered then wrapped her hand, securing it with tape.

  “There you go.”

  Erihn was impressed with Fayne’s efficiency in the first aid process. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

  “When you have kids, you learn fast,” he chuckled then looked at her, his expression appalled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

  She forced a smile. “I’ve had quite a few years to get used to the idea, Fayne. You don’t have to apologize.”

  He reached for her, cupping her cheek with his hand. His palm felt hot against her skin. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  Erihn slid off the seat and moved away,
her chest tight. “I was the lucky one. I lived.”

  “There were others?” His tone was incredulous.

  “Yes, six others. He killed them all.” She turned away. She didn’t know why she was talking about her nightmare. She didn’t like to think about it, let alone speak of it. There were times when it seemed so long ago, as if it had happened to someone else. It was almost like a dream she had once that lingered in the back of her mind. But there were times it was real, very real—like in the middle of the night when she woke to the sound of her own strangled screams.

  “What happened?”

  Erihn turned and walked into the dining room, fixing her gaze out the window. The darkness reflected her image. She wrapped her arms about her waist and embraced her nightmare.

  “There are times I fear I’ll never be warm again.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  In the window, she watched as Fayne entered the dining room. He carried a bottle of scotch and two small glasses. “Start wherever you need to.”

  She gingerly flexed her fingers, noting her hand was beginning to throb. She didn’t want to tell this story. It was one she’d lived through in her mind a thousand times and she avoided the darkness that lingered there still.

  “I grew up in a small town in Nebraska and all I ever wanted was to leave. I guess that isn’t so unusual. Many kids think their hometowns are the most boring places in the universe. In reality, mine wasn’t so bad.”

  The tinkle of liquid had her turning her head in time to see him pouring Scotch into the glasses. She smiled when she saw the plastic cup with cartoon figures on the outside.

  He handed her the cup, his eyes twinkling. “It’s Max’s, but I don’t think he’d mind. I didn’t feel up to doctoring you again.”

  She accepted the glass and tipped it in his direction as if to toast him. “Don’t worry, I think all is under control now.” She took a small sip of the liquid and winced as it burned down her throat.

  “Go on.”

  Erihn turned to the window. It was easier to speak if she wasn’t looking at him.

  “Like I said, I don’t know that there’s much to tell. My parents divorced, Mom and I went to New York and I never looked back. I stayed out all night and I ran with the wild kids.” She laughed and shook her head at her own misspent follies. “And do you want to know what the worst part is? I never did anything bad. I was too afraid.” She took another drink.

  “In New York I lucked out big time. I could have ended up in a mess and instead I landed a modeling job as a runway model. I’d traipse up and down the runway, wearing clothing no average mortal would wear in a lifetime. I picked up some other gigs and was just beginning to see a way to make a living when my moment of glory arrived.”

  Erihn swirled the liquor in her glass. “Serena Del Toro was looking for a model to represent her line of clothing. Serena was a scrapper and she couldn’t afford a name, so she set out to find a striking unknown she could mold into her image of the Del Toro woman. She found me.

  “In the months following my…accident, I’d wondered what would have happened to me if we’d never met. Where would I be and what would I be doing? Not that it really matters, I guess. What’s done is done. Jennifer says it isn’t what happens that can kill you, it’s the ‘what-ifs’.”

  She shrugged then downed the contents of the glass. A little Dutch courage never hurt anyone. “I’d taken an assignment to do the fall clothing catalog and the shoot was set up in Central Park. It was a normal shoot, took about three days, I guess. I was walking back to the clothing trailer when a man came up to me. He told me Miguel, Serena’s husband, had sent a car for me and they wanted to talk with me right away. I thought they wanted to speak to me about a spring shoot in the south of France. So I ran into the trailer, changed as fast as I could. I was so excited. This would’ve been my first trip abroad. I came out and the man was there, waiting for me, and we left.”

  She turned, her hand trembled as she reached for the bottle. “I knew something wasn’t right. The Del Toros lived in Tribeca in a loft apartment. When I questioned him, he said they were going to meet me at a friend’s house just north of the city. A few minutes later, I questioned him again and that’s when I knew something was up. He told me if I did him a little favor, he wouldn’t hurt me, and, afterward, he’d let me go.”

  Erihn’s voice broke and she fought for control. She wouldn’t allow herself to break. Crying wasn’t an option. “I was so frightened and I began to fight. I tried to grab the steering wheel and yank it out of his hands, and he hit me in the face.” She raised her hand and brushed her fingertips over her jaw.

  “I don’t remember much of what happened after that. My shrink thinks I have stress-induced amnesia and I don’t want to remember.” She shrugged. “I don’t know of anyone who would want to remember any of it. All I remember are fragments, odd bits and pieces that don’t make sense. I have…flashbacks, for lack of a better term.” She took another sip.

  “That’s what happened to you on the steps?”

  His voice startled her. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, but he’d been silent for so long, she’d been lulled into a false sense of security.

  She nodded, her throat tightening. “It doesn’t happen often, and I try to mitigate the risk of it reoccurring. I can’t sleep in the dark. I won’t go into any cellars and I can’t stand being underground.” She shuddered. “As long as I’m really dead when they bury me, they shouldn’t have any trouble.” Her attempt at humor fell flat.

  “He kept you in a cellar?”

  “Yes. A cellar dug under an old barn. It was dank, wet and very secluded. It was the perfect place for murder, as no one would ever find me. The police told me I’d been missing for three days, but I couldn’t remember. I had no way of marking the passage of time.” She fell silent, remembering the long hours of darkness, alternating between fear and anger. Praying Chapman would never return to hurt her and hoping he wouldn’t leave her to die in the darkness alone.

  “What did he do?”

  “You name it, he did it.” Her voice was flat and she congratulated herself on keeping her emotions under wraps. She took another drink of the numbing liquid. “Over and over and over again.” Her voice trailed off.

  “How did the police find you?”

  Erihn sighed. “An anonymous tip. They showed up on the third day and questioned him. Everything checked out, but the detective in charge had a sneaking suspicion all wasn’t well. He watched the house for several hours and saw Chapman packing his car to leave. The shovels and garbage bags were what gave him away.” She shuddered, not wanting to think about what he might’ve had in mind for her.

  “He came back to the cellar with the police hot on his tail. They didn’t realize I wasn’t in the barn, but under it. They surrounded the place and called to Chapman, but, by then, he was in the cellar with me.” Erihn closed her eyes as the images inundated her. The yellow light and the scent of the kerosene lantern, Chapman yanking her to her feet, his blade slashing her vulnerable skin. The sound of her screams bouncing off the walls, the earsplitting roar of the gun and the splatter on the wall.

  They were images she’d take to her grave.

  Erihn jumped when warm hands touched her shoulders, the cup tumbling from her numb fingers. The scent of Fayne surrounded her as he wrapped his arms around her, tugging her into the warmth of his body. She shivered.

  “He left me for dead.”

  “But you’re alive,” he whispered into her ear.

  “I’ll never understand.” Tears came, thick and furious, and she tried to blink them away, but it was too late. Silently, they raced down her cheeks. “How can someone do that to someone? He’d never met me, he didn’t know any of those women, and he destroyed their lives and their families.” Her knees buckled as she began sobbing in earnest.

  He wrapped his arms around her and turned her toward his abandoned chair. He sat down, pulled her into his lap and cuddled her to his
chest. Erihn shivered, clinging to him as if she could climb under his skin.

  “You may never understand why it happened.” His voice was deep as it rumbled against her ear.

  She went limp against him and closed her eyes. She was so tired and felt so old and she couldn’t bear the thought of having to move. She shivered. “I’m cold,” she blurted.

  “Do you want me to get you a blanket?”

  Erihn shook her head. She knew one thing that could warm her again. She opened her eyes and raised her head to look into those unforgettable violet eyes. As long as she lived, she would never forget the only man to hold her in his arms. “Make love with me.”

  Astonishment crossed Fayne’s face and her heart stopped.

  Stupid, stupid girl! What were you thinking? You sit there and tell him what some monster did to you, thinking could he want you after that?

  She averted her eyes and started to pull away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m a mess and I’ve just cried all over you and your shirt’s damp and…” She was babbling. Mortification heated her cheeks.

  His arms tightened around her, cutting off her words. He raised his hand, one strong finger stroked the line of her jaw, and she quivered beneath his touch. Cautiously, she met his gaze, finding only acceptance there.

  With reverence, he traced her lower lip, then moved to follow the line of her nose and stroke her brow. He migrated slowly over each inch of her face, tracing the scar from beginning to end, as if he were memorizing her every feature, every blemish. There was an almost worshipful expression on his face.

  “My lady warrior,” his voice was rough with emotion. “It would be an honor to make love with you.”

  Her heart gave a leap when he brushed his lips over hers. She held her breath as he repeated the gesture, this time lingering a split second longer. He touched her as if she were a fragile china doll, something to be treasured. She closed her eyes as tears gathered, threatening to spill over.

  He enticed her to open for him, his tongue teasing the seam of her mouth. She parted her lips, her tongue brushed the tip of his and a shiver ran down her spine as the taste of aged Scotch and Fayne dazzled her palate. Erihn moaned as his taste triggered an answering ache between her thighs.