by Cher Carson
The predatory look in eyes thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. She saw a different side of him on the elevator and it aroused her more than it should have. Giving him the upper hand was a bad idea; allowing him to claim control was akin to emotional suicide, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about him compelled her to surrender.
“About that shower,” she said, hopeful he would acquiesce without making her work for it.
“You want me to lather you up?” he asked, nipping her bottom lip. “How about I lube you up, bend you over, and…”
She shivered, wishing her response to him wasn’t so painfully obvious. “Guess I’m colder than I thought.”
Smiling, he slid his hand inside the waistband of her pants. “Liar, liar, your panties are on fire.”
“I’m not wearing any panties,” she said, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. He may insist on asserting his dominance in the bedroom, but she wasn’t willing to be his slave or his submissive. She was accustomed to giving as good as she got, and he would just have to learn to accept that or move onto a woman who was willing to satisfy his penchant for power.
“You look so serious all of a sudden,” he said, grazing her cheek with his lips. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to give you what you need in the bedroom.” She cleared her throat and forced herself to look him in the eye. “I’m not into BDSM.”
He threw his head back, laughing. “Who said I am?”
“You’re not?”
Brushing his thumb over her distended nipple, he spoke so softly she strained to hear him. “Would I love to tie you up and have you at my mercy while I lick and suck every luscious inch of you? Yes. Is it mandatory? No.”
When he put it like that, being tied up didn’t seem so bad. In fact, it sounded fan-freaking-tastic. She closed her eyes and posed the question searing her lips. “You seem like a dominant lover. Do you need someone who’s submissive in order to…”
“Get off? No. I just need you to be you. Believe me, I could get off just watching you come.” He pinned her wrists over her head as he kissed her neck. “Baby, you’re all I want. Dominant, submissive, whatever. It doesn’t mean shit to me as long as you’re in my bed, making love to me.” He opened his eyes to look at her. “That part’s non-negotiable. It’s never going to be just sex between us. You need to understand that.”
“You said something earlier…” She dipped her head, embarrassed to pose the question aloud.
“I told you I loved you. I meant it.”
She buried her head in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. Loving him, letting him love her, was the biggest risk she’d ever take. She still wasn’t sure if she could do it.
Gripping her face between his hands, he forced her to look at him. “You don’t think I recognize avoidance when I see it?”
“It’s not that I don’t care about you,” she whispered, wishing he was the kind of man who would let her run away from her feelings instead of forcing her to confront them. “I do, more than I want to.”
“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Either you’re all in, or I’m out. What’s it gonna be?”
She stared at him, wishing she had the strength to call his bluff, but she knew if she lost out on the chance to see where this might lead, she would live with that regret until she took her last breath. “Fine, I’m in love with you. Are you satisfied?”
Grinning, he said, “It’s a start.”
“A start?” She could feel the frustration bubbling up like hot lava, ready to explode. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve said that to a man, how long it’s been since I’ve trusted someone enough to let my guard down?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, tracing her bottom lips with the pad of his thumb. “Are you telling me you love me and you trust me? That you’re willing to let your guard down and let me in?”
She struggled with the tears, cursing her vulnerability. “I’m not going to lie to you, Ryan. I’m scared to death.”
“So am I,” he said, brushing her hair off her neck.
“You? Why?”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Honey, I’m forty something years old, and I’ve never been in love before, not like this.”
She could literally feel her armor dissolving. If he was willing to take the risk of being vulnerable, she wanted be courageous enough to do the same. Stroking his cheek, she said, “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Ryan.”
Turning his cheek into her palm, he closed his eyes. “You won’t as long as you never stop loving me. The second you do, I’m not gonna lie, I’ll be destroyed.”
She admired his willingness to open up and admit he felt as exposed and helpless as she did in this situation. “We both know there are no guarantees in life.”
He raised her hands to his lips, kissing them. “That’s where you’re wrong. I can guarantee that I’m going to make you my first priority. Not my practice, or my patients, or growing my business. You. I have to believe that if I do that, it’ll be enough to make you believe in me, in us.”
“I want to take a chance, to believe that kind of love exists,” she said, slipping her hands under the hem of his t-shirt to caress his rock-hard abs. “But I’ve never seen any evidence of it. I’ve never known anyone with a relationship like that.”
“I have,” he said, quietly, resting his hands on her hips. “My parents had a relationship like that until my father’s dying day. I always swore I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”
She sighed. “They were lucky. So were you. I wish I could say my parents were soul mates. Unfortunately, my father was always the giver, my mother the taker.”
“Are you so sure about that?” he asked, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her pants. “I mean, there’s nothing left to take, and she’s still with him. She’s remained by his side while he recovered from his stroke. Do you think she would do that if she didn’t love him, Alana?”
She considered his point. As abhorrent as leaving her father when he needed her most would be, her mother could have chosen not to stay. Maybe she had a modicum of decency, or maybe there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
“I’m a people watcher,” Ryan said, smiling. “And I noticed more than a few tender moments between your parents today. Maybe they’re both facing their own mortality and that’s helped them to put their relationship into perspective.” He slid his hands under her tank top. “Either way, it’s not for you to judge, baby. Your parents have lived their lives; it’s time for you to live yours.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m using their problems so I won’t have to face my own?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Sighing, he pulled her close. “Honey, I get that you’re scared. You’ve been burned before by a guy who lied to you, cheated on you, and abused your trust, but I’m not that guy, and we’re not your parents. We have an opportunity to start with a clean slate and get it right. We could be the kind of example to our kids that my parents were to me, proving to them that soul mates really do exist.”
She never thought she would lucky enough to hear a man like Ryan describe her as his soul mate. “You really think so?” she asked, feeling his love penetrate the last layer of armor guarding her heart.
“I know so, if you’re willing to take that chance. If you’re willing to trust me, I promise I won’t disappoint you. I won’t lie to you, cheat on you…”
She pressed her fingertip against his lips, halting his words. She didn’t need another declaration. He had already proved himself to her, over and over again. Now it was her turn to show him that his love and trust wasn’t misplaced. “I love you,” she whispered. “So much.”
Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that, sweetheart.”
“I know you’re taking a risk here too, Ryan, and I don
’t want to disappoint you.” After taking a deep, fortifying breath, she said, “I won’t let you down. I know that relationships aren’t easy. They’re a lot of hard work.” She smiled. “I’m already working hard at the dealership, but I’m willing to try to find a way for us to be together.”
“What if the dealership weren’t a factor?” he asked. “How would things be different?”
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to imagine what being free of the burden of her father’s business would feel like. “I’d start creating again,” she said wistfully. “I’d start working on my spring collection using beach inspired colors. Aquamarine, emerald, sapphire, topaz…” She opened her eyes, blushing. “Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.”
“I have a beautiful little cottage on the beach,” he said. “We could spend some time there. Nothing to do but make love and feed your creativity.”
The thought of being able to wake up and do something she loved every day without having to worry about how every decision she made would impact those she loved the most sounded like heaven on earth. She felt like she smothered her creativity this past year, and she was almost afraid that any God-given talent she’d once possessed had long since dried up until she made that piece for Jackie, a wedding gift she had yet to give her.
“You’re smiling,” he said, kissing her softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She hadn’t been happy, truly happy, in so long that she almost forgot what it felt like. “I was just thinking about my work. I haven’t really allowed myself to dwell on that in a while. I can’t get back to it for at least a few years, if ever.”
“Honey, it’s obviously a part of you. To deny that would crush your spirit.”
She looked up at him, in awe. Only one other person had ever understood her need to create. Her parents had insisted she pursue a “sensible” degree instead of the fine arts degree she’d desperately wanted to pursue. As a doctor, a scientist, she just assumed Ryan would share their opinion.
“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “Did I say something to upset you?”
“No,” she whispered, afraid that he’d unknowingly opened a floodgate.
“Come here,” he said, leading her towards the bed. When they were both seated at the foot of the bed, he asked, “Tell me what you’re thinking. Why the tears, sweetheart?”
She didn’t want to get into this with him. She was a grown woman with a boatload of responsibilities and resurrecting memories from her childhood wouldn’t serve any purpose now. “Ryan, please just let it go.”
“No, not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you. Why are you so upset?”
This issue was at the core of her troubled relationship with her mother, but she had no reason to believe he would understand. “No one’s ever understood my compulsion to create,” she said, her voice breaking. “They thought it was just a silly little hobby.” Her heart broke all over again as she allowed herself to remember how those she loved had ridiculed and chastised her, berating her for believing she could ever make money off “junk” jewelry.
“I started when I was a little girl,” she said, sniffling. Trying to suppress the pain had been like an insidious disease eating her alive from the inside out. “I spent hours in my room, making beaded friendship bracelets for the kids at school.” Looking down at her clasped hands, she saw the little girl she’d once been. “My parents wouldn’t buy me any supplies,” she said, swallowing the knot of sadness blocking her throat.
“What? Why the hell not?”
Shrugging, she remembered her mother’s harsh words. “She told me it was a silly waste of time. She didn’t want that cheap garbage littering her house.” That’s when she started resenting her mother, and that anger evolved into the barrier that stood between them every time they tried to forge a bond as adults. “She said it embarrassed her, knowing I went to school passing those ‘things’ out to the daughters of her friends, as though they were precious gems.”
“Oh, honey,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “I’m sorry she didn’t understand.”
Leaning her head against his strong shoulder, she allowed tears to fall unchecked as she cried for the hurt, sad, little girl who had craved love and acceptance from the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally and encourage her to believe that she could do anything she set her mind to. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said, knowing her childhood could have been much worse. “My nana, my father’s mother, was a gifted artist. She understood my passion.” Smiling, she said, “She always told me that I’d inherited my creativity from her.”
“I’m glad you had someone on your side,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She hated whining and complaining. She wanted him to see her as a strong, competent woman, but he’d somehow opened this Pandora’s Box and felt she couldn’t close it again without his help.
“She used to invite me over to her house on the weekends,” she said, remembering the woman who was her lifeline during the formative years when she was trying to figure out who she was and where she belonged. “She set aside a little space for me in her art studio.” She brushed away the tears, but they kept coming, as though they would never stop. “It was a beautiful little antique desk and stool that once belonged to her grandmother. She stocked it with everything I could ever want to make beautiful jewelry. She even bought little velvet pouches and wrapped my pieces carefully in tissue before I gave them to my friends. She said they were treasures, and if I presented them as such, my friends would understand that.” She’d never talked about this before and was unprepared for how raw she still felt after all these years.
“Tell me more,” he said, stroking her back.
To most men, it was a silly childhood story. They wouldn’t understand it was a turning point in her life, but he seemed to understand without being told. “Cici, that’s what I called her, always asked me to tell her about the girl who ‘earned’ my piece with her friendship. She asked to see a photo, if I had one. She wanted to hear about her likes, dislikes, hobbies, everything.” In her mind, she could see her nana sitting in front of her canvas, engrossed in her own work as she listened to her prattle on about her newest friend. “She said I had to make each piece different because each girl was unique. She said if I made each piece with love, the girls would treasure them always as a wonderful memento of our friendship.” Laughing through her tears, she said, “The crazy thing is, she was right. When I gained publicity with my jewelry line, a few of those girls contacted me and told me they still had the pieces I made for them way back then.”
“That must have made you happy,” he said, rubbing her shoulder.
“It did. Knowing they cared enough to save a piece of our history, to remember me, was nice.” Shaking her head, she tried to pull herself out of the past. “Okay, so now you know why my jewelry’s so important to me.”
“I want to know more,” he said, shifting back so they were facing each other as he took her hands. “What happened to Cici?”
Just the thought of losing her re-opened the gaping wound, as though it happened yesterday instead of more than twenty-five years ago. “She died of cancer when I was eleven.”
He lowered his head, focusing on their clasped hands as he said, “I’m sorry.”
“The last year of her life she kept getting sicker, but she still insisted I come over. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with me, while she could. The last few months she would just sit in her rocking chair by the window while I worked at my desk and we talked about everything. I told her how my mother made me feel so inept, and that I wished I live with her instead.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me that I only had one mother and no one would ever be able to replace her, nor should they. She also said that everyone has to wrestle their own demons, and my mother was no exception. That was my Cici, never a bad word to say about anyone. She had so much love in h
er heart, and she gave freely to friends and strangers alike, which explained why the church was filled to overflowing on the day of her funeral. She was an amazing woman,” she whispered.
“I’m sure she would feel the same way about you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“I wanted to do something to honor her,” she said, considering whether she was ready to share such a personal part of herself with him. “Let me show you.” She walked to the door where the bellman had deposited her carry-on bag and retrieved an item. Re-claiming her seat on the bed, she handed him the white velvet pouch. Engraved on the front were the words, “Cici’s Fine Jewelry” in fancy script.
He smiled, holding the pouch in his hand. “That’s the name of your business?”
She shook her head, brushing a fingertip over the soft velvet. “It is, and I still use the same kind of velvet pouches she bought for me back then.” After loosening the silk ribbon, she slid the engraved linen card out of the pouch. “She used to tell me that every piece has a story to tell. If it’s a custom piece, it has a story to tell about the person who ordered it and it’s the jeweler’s job to tell that story. If it’s part of a collection, it’s the jeweler’s story to tell. This is a piece I made for Jackie to wear on her wedding day, so this is the story of the love she found with my brother.” She handed him the small card, waiting for him to read it aloud. Holding her breath, she hoped he realized she was telling her own story, their story, in those words.
“Once in a lifetime, if we’re lucky, we meet someone who understands what makes us who we are. They celebrate our victories, share the burden of sorrows, love us conditionally, and are there to hold our hand when we draw our last breath. We call that person our soul mate. This piece is given with all my love to celebrate your love.”
He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting his unshed tears. “Wow,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Say that you understand,” she said.
