“What does that have to do with anything?”
Turning to face me, he placed two cautious hands on my hips.
“There’s always been this undercurrent between us that I can’t explain. You’ve kept me at arm’s length for months now. I’ve been patient. I don’t know what your story is, but I hope you’ll feel comfortable opening up to me one day. Until then, I don’t want to say or do anything that might scare you off. And well…when I say you’re beautiful, I don’t mean it in a superficial way.”
“So then what way do you mean it?”
My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest. I don’t know why I pushed him to continue. I was afraid his answer would somehow cause a seismic shift in how we were together, both as friends and—assuming I could make it there—as lovers.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“At the risk of sounding like a damn poet, I’ll say it. You’re stunning. The beauty I see inside you is something I’ve never seen before in any other woman. You’re strong and there’s beauty in strength. But there’s also fear inside you too. I’m afraid that fear will hold you back from exploring this thing that’s been growing between us.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, terrified to tell him his fears matched my own. Instead of responding right away, I flagged down a waitress who was walking around with a tray of bubbly champagne for guests to purchase. I fumbled in my purse for a twenty, but Derek beat me to it. After paying the waitress, he handed me a flute and kept one for himself. I downed mine in one long gulp. I wasn’t a big drinker, so combined with the wine I’d had at dinner, the champagne went right to my head. I smiled weakly and shrugged.
“That was good champagne.”
Derek eyed me warily.
“Talk to me, Sparky. What’s wrong?”
I stared at him, trying to articulate all the ways to explain how I was feeling. I could tell him he made me feel safe, then immediately contradict that with all of the reasons he terrified me. I could tell him the truth about being legally married, which could potentially shatter the fragile trust we had. I could share all the terrible things Ethan did to me, but that would bring me back to that last night—a night I wanted to bury forever.
Right now, I just wanted to be happy—to feel good. I wanted to be kissed and feel like a whole woman again but the idea of wanting a man again nearly choked me. I would love to give in and completely surrender—to pretend I wasn’t broken for just one moment. But Derek was right. I was afraid and I wasn’t sure if my body was capable of physical intimacy or pleasure anymore.
I had been attending group therapy sessions at Stones Hope, a women’s shelter not far from my apartment. The sessions made me see that I wasn’t alone and stressed that there wasn’t a miracle elixir to heel my pain. Only time could do that. I worried that my mental scars ran much deeper than the physical ones. I’d relied too much on the shelter of my body to keep them safely hidden away and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to rip them open again.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, inhaling his scent that was already so familiar. The only way for me to know any of the answers was to dive into the dark and murky waters to see if I could swim again. Opening my eyes, I looked deep into the depths of his.
“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me?” I whispered.
“Is that what you want me to do?”
I blinked, not sure how to respond. I didn’t expect him to counter with that.
“Well, er…yeah. I mean, we’re on a date. Isn’t that what comes next?”
He looked at me like I was a mismatched puzzle and the pieces weren’t quite fitting where they should.
“We’ve covered a lot of ground since you moved here. I know you’re not ready for anything serious—that you want to go slow.” He paused and set his glass down near his feet, then stood and snaked his arms around my waist. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and ragged; his hazel eye a blazing inferno of desire. “I want you, but it’s up to you to set the pace here, Sparky. I won’t kiss you until you give me permission.”
I thought back to the day he first tried to convince me to take a self-defense class. He promised not to push me to do anything until I was ready—and he’s been following that motto ever since.
“You really are a boy scout, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean you’re a good man, Derek. Almost too good to be true,” I explained with a small smile.
He reached up and gently cupped my face. His hazel eyes turned hypnotic—spellbinding and alluring. I could feel his warm breath mingling with my own as his thumb grazed my cheek. His other hand reached up to grip the nape of my neck and my heart began to pound. His lips were only inches away from mine but he didn’t close the remaining gap. For a few moments, he simply looked at me. I could feel his uncertainty—as if he thought I was a scared rabbit who could be spooked at a moment’s notice. Perhaps I was, but I didn’t want to wait to find out. I wanted him to kiss me. Closing the small remaining gap between us, I pressed my mouth to his.
The moment our lips connected, I felt a current charge down my spine. Electric. Energizing. My tongue darted out to test the seam of his lips. He opened and allowed me to taste with savory, hungry licks. I felt his gasp more than I heard it. Cupping the nape of my nape, he angled his head and deepened the kiss. Our lips grew more urgent in frantic need, both of us terrified of breaking the electric thread holding us together.
The other people on the boat ceased to exist. We were in our own world, his kisses erasing away every kiss that came before his. His tongue tangled with mine in a tentative exploration that I felt all the way to the tips of my toes. I sifted my fingers through his misbehaving waves and my core tightened. Kissing him made me realize this part of me—my desire—hadn’t gone away forever. It had only been lying dormant.
And Derek Mills had awakened it.
18
Derek and I stood outside the door to my apartment, both of us reluctant to have the night come to a close. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my keys.
“Thank you for dinner.” I told him.
“You’re welcome. I had a nice time. I…” He trailed off in hesitation. I fiddled with the keyring as I waited for him to continue. But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze flitted to my mouth then back up to eyes. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he drew me in.
My heart stalled and my tongue darted out to moisten my lips. I wanted this man to kiss me again more than anything. I hoped like hell he wasn’t going to wait for me to give him permission this time around.
Heads bowed together, our breaths mingled as he slowly closed the distance. Electricity sparked. Our mouths tangled and I couldn’t get enough of him on my tongue. Aligning our bodies, he pulled me closer. He suckled my lips between his, then dipped his tongue in to taste mine. When his hand found the hem of my shirt, I moaned from the feel of his warm hand against the bare skin of my waist. My fingers curled at his nape and I contemplated inviting him inside.
However, before I could offer the invitation, the thumping bass from the dance club next door began to rattle the walls, effectively disrupting any thoughts I had about making a decision I would probably regret. Inviting Derek inside would only lead to one thing—the very thing I didn’t think I was ready for. Reluctantly, I pulled my lips away but kept my forehead pressed to his as I looked down at my watch.
“Right on time,” Derek said.
“What’s right on time?”
“The music. It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday. That’s when Club Revolution opens its doors.”
“It’s also when the walls in the hallways begin to shake,” I joked, pointing to one of the trembling light fixtures in the hallway. “I know it can’t be helped, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.”
“It’s easier to ignore if you’ve been there. When I hear the music, it makes me want to pop in. The club is actually a pretty fun place.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I mean
, I’m sure the older residents of the building don’t care much for noise they make, but it’s grown on me,” he admitted. Then he scratched his chin and cocked his head to one side contemplatively. “We should go together one weekend.”
“How about next weekend?” I suggested and one corner of his mouth tilted up in a knowing smile.
“Is this you asking me out on second date, Sparky?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I just might have to say yes,” he whispered.
He leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to my cheek before stepping back. The space he vacated now felt cold and empty but I knew it was time to call it a night.
“Goodnight, Derek.”
“Goodnight, Sparky.”
After I went inside and closed the door, I secured the deadbolt and lowered the wooden bar. Habitually, I walked around the apartment and double checked all the window locks. Confident everything was buttoned up tight, I yawned and headed toward my bedroom to change into pajamas. It was fairly early to go to sleep, but the idea of crawling under the covers with a good book seemed appealing.
Once I was dressed, I tossed my clothes from the day into the hamper and went to the bathroom to wash up. As I was removing the makeup from my face, something suddenly felt off. I stopped moving and stood perfectly still, taking in the sounds. The dance club music was a given. I could also hear the sounds of a neighbor’s television that had obviously been turned up more than normal in order to be heard over the club music. Neither of those things were anything out of the ordinary.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I said aloud to the empty bathroom. Shaking off the feeling of unease, I resumed getting ready for bed. When I reached for the toothpaste, I froze. Icy fear snaked down my spine and goosebumps pebbled my skin. The toothpaste wasn’t on the counter where I always left it. It was a thing I did—deliberately not putting it away as if I was somehow giving Ethan a big fuck you every single time I left it out.
A whimper escaped my lips as I wrenched open the bathroom’s vanity drawer. Resting in the drawer was the tube of mint paste. I shook my head. I didn’t believe I’d put it there. There was no way I did.
Running to the bedroom, I grabbed the wooden baseball bat from next the bed and slowly stalked through the apartment. I opened every closet door, looked under furniture and behind curtains. My heart thrummed wildly in my ears. I contemplated calling 911, then thought better of it. What would I say? That I think my husband moved my toothpaste? Whoever was working dispatch would think I was crazy.
When I opened the oven door and realized I had a very real fear that Ethan would jump out, I forced myself to come back down to earth. Slamming the over door closed, I gave myself a verbal scolding.
“The oven? Get it together before you really do go crazy. There’s nobody here.”
More than likely, I had probably put it in the drawer myself. After all—I’d been conditioned to never, ever leave it sitting out.
Climbing onto the bed, I slipped under the covers. Grabbing the latest Gillian Flynn release from my nightstand, I opened the book to where I’d left off and took a few calming breaths. I had simply overreacted. Everything was fine.
Nevertheless, I slept with the light on and the wooden bat pressed to my side.
I sit in the grass and watch my mother dig in the dirt of our garden. The earth sifts through her fingers as she makes room for new life. She hands me a small, pointed shovel.
“Here, Gia. Take this and start digging a narrow row for the impatiens.”
“I still don’t know why you refuse to plant daisies. The pink ones are so pretty and they come back every year,” I stubbornly argue.
“Daisies might be pretty, but they can’t be trusted to do as you’d like. They’ll be out of control within two years and take over the entire garden.”
“Well, I don’t care. When I have my own garden, I’m going to plant daisies.”
“That’s your prerogative. It’s up to you to decide if you want your flowers to have a shared space or if you want one flower to control everything around it.”
I look down at the tiny impatiens nestled in the dirt.
“Mom, do you think—” I freeze when I realize she’s no longer there. The air turns cold and my teeth start to chatter. I stand, wrap my arms around myself, and call out to my mother. “Mom! Where did you go?”
“She’s dead, Gia. You only have me now,” whispers a familiar male voice. The hushed words came from somewhere near my feet.
I look down to find the source of the voice but only see one lonely daisy. I think of my mother’s words about daisies taking over and I wonder how it got there. I reach down to pluck it from the dirt, only for three more to push their way through the soil. I pick those as well, but at least thirty more appear.
Moving as quickly as I can, I attempt to pull out the controlling flower before it’s too late. It’s to no avail. In a matter of moments, I’m surrounded by the suffocating plant growing taller and taller around me.
The flowers stretch on for as far as the eye can see, their stems and leaves intertwining through my arms and legs. I struggle to break free and hear the male whisper again.
“You can’t get away. I’ll just keep coming back.” I recognize the voice now and I feel frozen in time. I’m unable to move as a flower angles toward me. Instead of seeing the sticky bulb of the stigma, I see a face—his face—twisted in rage and hurling volatile obscenities at me. “You bitch! You’ll never get away from me!”
I scream as loud as I can and tug at the powerful stems holding me in place.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
I bolted upright and fought against the restraints. Tears streamed down my face, overcome by pure, unadulterated panic. It took me a solid two minutes to realize I’d only had a dream---or more accurately, a nightmare.
What I thought were flower stems wrapping around me was actually just my body tangled up in my own bed sheets. Flopping back down against the pillows, I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Tears slipped over my cheeks and I swiped them away in annoyance. Seeing my mother again—healthy and vibrant in her garden—was jarring.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled to the empty bedroom. Why was I dreaming about her now—and especially in that context? Then there was the other part of the dream. It wasn’t difficult recognizing the symbolism of it. The daisy—a controlling, overbearing flower. And Ethan—a controlling, overbearing husband. I loathed the daisies now. They were never a way for Ethan to tell me he was looking out for me—it was a way for him to remind me that he was always watching me.
It was just a dream. I’m in my own apartment. Ethan is not here.
Still, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Because of that, I knew I’d never get back to sleep. Instead, I stared wide awake at the ceiling, clutching the baseball bat until the sun finally began to rise.
19
Feeling sluggish from lack of sleep, I took my time making breakfast. I kept it simple—a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of mixed berries. Sitting at the kitchen table, I thumbed through a magazine as I ate, hoping the mindless content of the pages would be a distraction from the crazy dream I’d had.
It didn’t work so I decided to head over The Mill and jump on one of the treadmills. The gym would be quiet at this time of the day. The early risers would be gone, ensuring me a treadmill would be available for use. Derek usually took Sunday’s off. That would allow me a bit of solitude while I ran. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, but I hoped a good, sweat-drenching run without any distractions would help clear my head.
Thirty minutes later, as my feet pounded through mile number five, the sweat I’d been in search of began to drip down the side of my face. I slowed the treadmill to a walking speed, grabbed the towel I had draped over the siderail, and wiped the sweat away. As I allowed my muscles to cool down, I turned my attention to one of the flat screen televisions lining the wall in front of me. One of t
he twenty-four-hour news channels showed a picture of a man in a lab coat—a doctor I presumed. But it wasn’t the picture of the doctor that caught my attention. It was the caption at the bottom of the screen.
DOMESTIC ABUSE WARNING SIGNS PRECEDED NEW YORK MURDER-SUICIDE
Stepping off the treadmill, I walked over to the television and turned up the volume so I could hear the news reporter over the music playing through the overhead speakers.
“A two-day nationwide manhunt for Dr. Thomas Jenkins has come to an end after his body was found in a ravine near his home with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Ballistics confirmed it was the same gun that killed thirty-one-year-old Julia Walker.”
Images of a pretty blonde filled the television.
“Walker worked as a nurse at the Central New York General Hospital, the same hospital where Jenkins was the attending surgeon. According to friends, the two had been romantically involved until Walker broke it off a year prior. Hospital CCTV footage shows Jenkins luring Walker into a stairwell on Wednesday morning, where he shot her multiple times in the head and upper body. Walker was found after witnesses reported hearing shots just after 9 a.m.”
More images of the girl floated across the screen. I narrowed my eyes to look at her more closely. To the average person, she appeared to have been a happy woman—but I saw something else. There was a sadness in her eyes that was all too familiar. It was the same kind of sadness I saw in the bathroom mirror every single morning.
“Walker’s friends have stated that the relationship she shared with the prominent surgeon was abusive. He allegedly stalked her and once held her captive in her home, wielding a gun. Walker had lived with Jenkins but left him because she believed he was having an affair with another woman. Jenkins refused to move on and put a global positioning system tracking device on her car to keep track of her movements. After Walker discovered the device, she filed a police report and tried to get an order of protection. Friends say Walker was dismissed by law enforcement officials despite the fact there had been several documented cases of abuse from Jenkins ex-wife. Walker’s friends believe the police ignored her complaints because Jenkins is the brother to the newly elected county sheriff. Channel 4 has reached out to the sheriff’s office but they have so far declined to give a statement.”
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 40
