I was giving her a hard time again. A really hard time.
I couldn’t help myself. Whenever I thought of the mark on her neck – my mark – I felt that ache in my chest. She said it had been a mistake, but it wasn’t. Not for me. And every morning when she walked into my room, I was ready for her. She never stuck around long enough for me to finish myself off, but there was always the next day to look forward to.
Hope springs fucking eternal in the human breast.
She had amazing breasts.
When I wrapped my hand around my cock, that was one of the things that got me going. One of several things, actually. Also her perfect mouth. Her soft hair. Her gorgeous ass. Her sweet, tight –
You get the idea.
She kept asking me about the bandage on my hand, but I waved her off every time. The frustration in her voice whenever she mentioned it was starting to make me wonder if I should just tear the damn thing off and show her exactly what was underneath. But if she thought our night together had been a mistake, I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
She wasn’t the only one who’d been marked, though.
Friday morning was exactly the same as every other morning. Until it wasn’t.
“Take it off.”
Charlotte knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t something we ever discussed, but the first morning I’d started jacking off again, I’d asked – no, demanded – that she ditch that fucking scarf. I wanted to see her throat. Hell, I wanted everyone to see her throat. I’d never been a control freak; I went with the flow and rolled with whatever came my way. Since that night, though, I was having real trouble keeping my shit together around her.
Usually when she took off her scarf, she was cool and efficient, sitting there in the armchair in the corner of my room. Sometimes she’d avoid my gaze. But not today. Today was different, and I had no idea why.
She set aside her day planner and stood up. That was new. Then she started walking towards the bed where I was leaning against the headboard, my dick in my hand. That was also new. When she stopped and looked down at me, right into my eyes, I almost forgot what I was doing. She licked her lips, and my cock twitched. It was getting really hard to focus.
With slow, deliberate movements, she reached up and pulled the scarf from her neck. She hadn’t tied it in a knot, and if I’d been in my right mind, I probably would have wondered why. But I was too far gone. She dropped the silk onto my chest, and I groaned, squeezing my fist around my dick. I hadn’t bitten her hard enough; the mark was already fading.
She sat down on the bed, her hip pressed against mine. The warmth of her body and the sight of her throat was pushing me so close to the edge. The way she was looking at me, with those dark blue eyes and that faint smile, was killing me, inch by fucking inch. I was having trouble catching my breath, and when she leaned in and brushed her lips against mine, I lost it.
Not like that.
I let go of my dick and drove my hands into her hair, pulling her closer, kissing her like she was the last drop of water in the desert. Then I felt her hand close tightly around me, her thumb swiping across the head of my cock, spreading precum and making my whole body tense up. She gave me a firm, hard stroke, and then I really lost it.
Yeah, like that.
“Oh fuck, Charlie...” I pressed my forehead against hers as I came, my teeth clenched, my balls aching. She didn’t say a word; she just held my dick as it throbbed in her hand, spilling cum over her fingers and against my stomach. “Charlie, I...”
I couldn’t say it. Fuck me, I still couldn’t tell her how much I needed her.
She smiled quietly. “You have a fitting at eleven,” she murmured, and pulled away. I slumped against the headboard as she stood, picked up her planner, and slowly closed the door behind her. She’d left her scarf behind, and I lifted it to my face and inhaled the scent of cranberries.
At ten o’clock, I was wrestling with my muse, and losing. There was too much shit going on in my head: Charlotte’s touch; Walt’s temper; Natasha’s obsession with me, and her hatred of Charlotte. And then there was Wendy. When I’d seen her on Tuesday afternoon, she’d said that her husband was still planning to take off on his hunting trip, and I was impatient for her call.
I scratched at the bandage on the back of my hand, the one covering the tattoo I’d sat for on Tuesday morning. When Charlotte had said that our night together had been a mistake, I’d thought maybe I’d acted a little too rashly. But it didn’t matter what she’d said. And the itch on my hand just reminded me of what a fucking coward I was for not telling her how I felt.
I peeled back the gauze and checked the ink. It looked good. I’d always taken tattoos well; I healed fast and never had a problem with any of them. This was no different. I’d be able to take the bandage off in a couple of days at the most. Part of me was tempted to just let her see my new ink, take the pressure off actually having to say the fucking words. But that little voice inside me wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
Chickenshit. Fucking coward.
I slammed my fist on the table. This wasn’t me. I was a fucking rock star, with more money than I knew what to do with, and women lining up to spread their legs for me. I had a degree from UNT, bandmates who were like brothers, and a house that would make God jealous. I’d kicked ass on the football field, punched the shit out of the last guy who tried stalking Natasha, and made suggestive comments around my sixty-six year old housekeeper.
I had balls of fucking steel. So why couldn’t I tell this one little girl how much I needed her in my life?
My phone rang, and I grabbed it. Wendy. Thank god.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes.” She was talking at a normal volume for once. Well, normal for her. She’d always been soft-spoken. That’s probably what Tony had seen in her: a gentle, polite young woman who didn’t get into arguments and never raised her voice.
So, nothing like me.
“Can you make it to the diner, or do you need me to pick you up?” I asked. I glanced up at the clock behind the couch. If she didn’t need a ride, I could be there in fifteen minutes.
“I’ll make it there on my own,” she said. “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing your car here. He has...” She paused. “...friends in the building.”
I growled softly. “I’ll be there soon, little sister.”
“See you soon, tough guy.” She hung up, and I bolted off the sofa. As I raced through the foyer, Arthur stepped out of the living room and raised one eyebrow.
“Sir?”
I opened the door. “I’m going out for a drive,” I said. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Arthur nodded solemnly. He knew what I meant.
I slammed the door behind me and slipped behind the wheel of my Jaguar. Fifteen minutes. And maybe I’d be able to convince Wendy to come back to the house with me.
The diner was one of those places that tried to look like it was from the 1950’s. The décor was cheesy, but the service was good, and the food was amazing.
Wendy was waiting for me inside.
“How long do you have?” I hugged her tightly. She felt like a bag of bones in my arms. “And when’s the last time you ate?”
She smiled as we slipped into our usual booth at the back, away from the huge windows. “I have all day,” she said, sliding a menu across the table towards me. “He won’t be back before supper.”
I eyed her. The make-up had done nothing to hide the bruise under her left eye, and there was a cut on her lip.
“He hit you again,” I growled. She blushed slightly and looked down at her menu.
“It was my fault,” she murmured.
Anger bubbled in my chest, but I clenched my teeth against it as the waitress came over and set two glasses of water in front of us.
“Need a minute?” she asked.
Wendy nodded at her. “Please, Sandy. Thanks.”
Sandy snapped her gum and waved. “No prob. Lemme know.” She wandered away.
“Wendy, it’s never your fault,” I said, my voice low. I grasped her hand and squeezed her fingers. She winced, and I looked down, turning her hand over. There was an angry red mark on her palm. It looked like it was going to blister. I stared at her. This was a new thing. “What the hell did he do?”
She pulled her hand away and clutched her menu. It took a minute for her to answer.
“I touched him without his permission,” she said softly. “He took a belt to my hand.” The anger inside me turned to rage. That son of a bitch. I’d show him what a belt to the hand felt like. And then a belt to the fucking head.
“I told you Wendy,” I said, as calmly as I could. “He hits you again, and I’ll fu– I’ll kill him.” I was trying to keep my temper, for her sake. She already had one angry bastard to deal with. She didn’t need another one blowing up, even if it wasn’t at her.
She put the menu down and smiled faintly. “Can we just forget about him for a bit?” she asked, and I nodded. “Tell me about work. Or the boys. Or Charlotte.” I took a sharp breath, and she raised both eyebrows. “Oh, dear,” she said, and her smile turned mischievous. “Something’s definitely going on there.”
I waved the waitress over. “Yeah, yeah,” I said, and smirked. “You eating?”
Wendy handed her menu to Sandy. “Two eggs with white toast,” she said. “Scrambled.”
Sandy nodded and turned to me. “How about you, handsome? The usual?”
It was possible that Wendy and I had been here a few too many times.
“Yeah, please,” I said.
“’Kay.” Sandy snapped her gum again and took the menus. “Back in a bit.”
I leaned back in the booth and rubbed my chin. I hadn’t shaved since the interview on Monday, and I was starting to feel a little scruffy. Wendy giggled softly.
“You growing a beard, tough guy?”
I grinned across the table at her and dropped my hand. “Nah. Just been preoccupied.”
“With Charlotte?”
I nodded slowly. “Among other things, yeah.”
Wendy took a drink of water and held the glass against her wounded palm. “Tell me about the other things,” she said.
I did. I told her about how much trouble I was having with my muse. About how Natasha was still driving us all crazy, with her demands for more songs tailored to her higher range. About how Walt was furious with me for being a little late to rehearsal on Tuesday. About how my Jag was starting to sound like there was a dragon living in the engine.
Wendy finished her eggs and started spreading strawberry jam on her toast. “Sounds like you need to take the little beast into the shop,” she said, watching me while she ate.
I shook my head and looked down at my plate, still half-full. I shouldn’t have ordered French toast; it would forever remind me of Charlotte. I grabbed my tea and took a sip, liquorice stinging my tongue and throat, clearing away the taste of maple syrup. And the imaginary taste of cranberries.
“Like I have time for that,” I said. I snorted into my tea. “With the concert coming up, I spend most of my time...” I trailed off. Something was nudging the back of my mind, but I couldn’t figure out what.
“Yes?”
I sighed. “Writing music,” I finished. I settled back against the red leather booth again and stared into my mug. Wasn’t there something I had to do this morning? “Look, Wendy.” I looked up at her. “This shit?” I gestured to her eye, then to her hand. “This shit can’t go on.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know,” she said quietly.
I put my mug down and leaned forward. “Please, little sister,” I said desperately. “Please, let me find you somewhere safe to stay. You’ll never have to see that son of a bitch again.” I took her hand in mine and turned it over, revealing the red slash across her palm. “He’ll never do this to you again. I swear it on mom and dad’s grave.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. She sighed softly. “It does feel nice to be able to see you without having to keep track of the time.”
That was Wendy; no thought about her own pain. Just how good it was to be around another, decent human being.
“I’ll have Charlotte find you a place,” I said firmly. “She’s my personal assistant; let her assist me.”
Wendy chuckled softly and pulled her hand away. “Tell me about her,” she said, finishing her last bite of toast.
I lifted my tea. “What’s to say?” I took a long swallow.
Wendy squinted at me. “Something’s been on your mind since you walked in. And you haven’t shut up about Charlotte since you found her again.” She pushed her plate away. “But now you’re telling me you have nothing to say?”
We paused as Sandy came up to us. “All done, you two?” She looked down at my plate. “Not hungry today, handsome?”
I shook my head. “Got a lot on my mind,” I said.
Sandy smiled. “Yeah, I know how that goes.” She picked up our plates. “Y’all want anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Wendy said, smiling up at her. “We’re just going to sit for a bit.”
“No prob,” Sandy said, pulling a piece of paper from her apron and dropping it on the table. “Y’all can pay me when you’re ready.” She gave a little wave and disappeared.
“So,” Wendy said, once Sandy was out of earshot. “Nothing to say?”
I swirled my tea, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m a coward, Wendy,” I whispered. I set my mug on the table and turned it in my hand, staring at the bland whiteness of it. “I can’t find the words to tell her how much I...” I lifted my eyes. “I want her so fucking much, it hurts.”
Wendy gently placed her hand over mine, and it all came spilling out. The fury I’d felt when Natasha had slapped Charlotte at rehearsal on Tuesday. The ache in my chest whenever I saw the mark I’d left on her throat. My repeated attempts – and failures – to tell her how much she meant to me. And then this morning’s little wake-up call.
“It sounds like you really care about her, Kyle,” Wendy said. She gently brushed her fingers over the bandage on the back of my hand. “This wasn’t a mistake. The timing might be terrible, but we don’t always get to choose when and who we fall in love with.”
“Love?” I echoed. “That’s going a little far, isn’t it?”
Wendy raised her eyebrows again. “Is it?” she said. I frowned. “Look, if someone took me away from you, what would you do?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “I’d hunt him down and kill him,” I said darkly. “And then bring you back.”
She smiled. “And what about Charlotte?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I looked down at the table, at Wendy’s hand on mine. She patted it gently.
“From what you’ve told me about her, it sounds like she’s been hurt pretty bad. How does that make you feel?”
I clenched my hands into fists. “Helpless,” I muttered. “Angry.” I glanced up. “Like I never want her to go through that again. Like I want to...” I gritted my teeth together and shook my head, frustrated.
“Protect her from all the bad things in the world?” Wendy picked up her water and took a sip, watching me from over the rim of her glass. I looked away again. “You think about that for a bit, tough guy,” she said, setting her glass on the table. “When you see yourself chasing her to the ends of the Earth, then you’ll know.”
The ends of the Earth? Would I go that far for Charlotte?
Wendy stretched. “It’s a nice day; do you want to go for a walk? Maybe clear your head? You probably won’t be able to do much soon, since the concert’s in a week.”
I sighed and slapped a fifty on the table. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to being under all those lights in a pair of leather pants and –” I stopped and stared at Wendy in horror. “Fuck,” I breathed. “What time is it?”
She tilted her head, puzzled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe noon?”
“Fuck!” I scrambled out of the booth. “I gotta go,” I said, leaning down and giving her a quick hug. “I totally forgot I have a fitting.” Had a fitting. At eleven. Charlotte was going to kill me. If there was anything left after Walt had his turn with me.