Chapter 14

Lilly

“Off the mark, is it? Maybe you can explain your arms around that woman?”

He was advancing slowly toward me, his eyes glued to my chest, and a fine sheen of perspiration blossoming over his forehead. Why?

“Well? Bolt?” I repeated, if a bit breathless this time.

“Did you hear the announcer say who she was?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then you know the whole story.”

“Bolt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why were you with her?” He put a knee on the foot of the mattress and was leaning toward me, his hand sliding up my bared thigh. “Why, Bolt?”

“Hmmm?” His fingers slid down the inside of my opened thigh, and his index finger slid inside the opening of my panties, pushing toward my tunnel.

“Bolt?”

“I was there on business. I saw a commotion and stepped in. She had security who took over. I just did what any man would do to protect a woman,” he answered, his voice thickening as his lips followed his fingers.

“I don’t believe you. You disappeared without a word, and the next thing I see is you, with her!” I tried to be angry, but my outrage was melting as his lips sucked upon my tender petals of flesh, making them quiver as though filled with an electric energy. Shafts of desire were shooting down my back and into my hips, causing me to open my thighs more widely and press forward to position his lips where I wanted them.

“I can only tell you the truth, sweetheart. It’s up to you whether you trust me.” He looked up at me, his eyes glazed with our heat. “You don’t trust easily, do you?”

His words haunted me, because there was truth in them. He knew me better than I knew myself. Why couldn’t it have happened as he’d said? Why did I jump to conclusions? Natalie had me well trained, but Natalie was not to be trusted. This was Bolt, and he’d never given me any reason not to believe him.

“Do you know how much I worry?” He’d slid off my panties, and my legs were opened before his eyes.

“Do you know how much I miss you when I’m gone? Don’t you realize I can’t wait to come home to you?” I couldn’t concentrate on his words. His hands were travelling upward, and his lips followed, up over my tummy and toward my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipples and I murmured my mutual consent. Our conversation had come to an end.

I folded my legs around his waist, trapping his strong chest against me. I gave in to the urge to grind my hips against him, searching for a piece of his body that would stimulate all the erotic spots I could summon. Bolt pulled back suddenly, trapping my wrists beneath his strong fingers. His index fingers smoothed the tender skin on the inside of my palms, luring me to relax, and then he rose high and with a fluid motion, impaled me.

The force of his penetration caused my body to fold upward and cling to him, unwilling to let cool air pass between our bodies. I breathed his scent and felt at home. I inhaled his breath and let my lungs fill with his warmth. I could not get close enough, and every time I looked at his face, I saw a worshipful adoration there that inflamed me even more. I wanted him to shield me—from the world in general, from Natalie’s crazed reality, from the fear and suspicion that each of his trips instilled in me. Couldn’t he see how hurt I was? Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t he choose some other business, or none at all? He could be with me all the time. I wanted him so desperately, and yet he stayed out of reach and cloaked himself with double-talk, mystery, and an almost ethereal sense of a higher purpose that I could not be party to. It was making me insane with jealousy and possessiveness—two qualities I’d despised in other women. Yet there I was.

Bolt was pumping into me like a steam engine, hard and regular, undeniable. This was for him. I could feel him cleansing his emotions and enveloping himself in me. He was being selfish—not as a lover, but as a man who placed his own needs and desires above all others. I felt anger pressing inward from my temples, overcoming the growing rise of my orgasm. Somehow, I managed to combine the two, powering the exaltation of my sexual crest with the fire that radiated from my jealous brain. I seized his cheeks between my hands and pressed inward. I saw surprise in his eyes, confusion about what was happening. That only fueled me further, and even though he was easily twice my weight, I used the momentum of my body, combined with his relaxed withdrawal to shift him onto his back. Throwing a leg over his waist, I rolled atop, my hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress. He could have fought me, easily, but he didn’t. He knew I needed dominance at that moment, and he let me take it. He couldn’t bring himself to be submissive, but he could allow me to release the fury I felt inside.

I pressed my palms into his chest and lifted my hips, slamming downward onto his rigid penis in a constant, relentless movement that ultimately lifted me above the arc of any orgasm I’d ever experienced. Bolt felt it, too, and for that brief space of time, he fed my orgasm with his body, saving his own pleasure until mine was realized.

On the other hand, I could feel him beginning to stiffen, and immediately, I rolled off his body and to my feet. I straddled his hips as I stood over him, my legs spread wide. His mouth was slack as he fought to maintain the rush of his orgasm while I stood above him, displaying that very thing he needed most, and I denied him. “Do you feel that? Do you feel how much you want to be with me and yet how powerless you are to make it happen? Do you, Bolt? Now you can understand how I feel on mornings when I roll over to snuggle against you and find a cold place where your body should have been. You give me no warning and no sense of duration—I just float in your life until you’re ready to be with me. No more, Bolt Symington, do you hear me?”

I knew I was shouting, but I didn’t care.

“Your days of using me like a doll that you put on the shelf while you’re busy and then take down to play with in the dark of night—that’s done. Over!”

Bolt reached for me as the tears of anger turned into sobs, but I avoided his grasp and leapt from the edge of the bed onto the carpet and with a backward look, went into the bathroom and locked the door. I turned on the shower, feeding steamy water into my injured soul. I punished myself for my weakness. I’d never stood up for myself before. It felt foreign, unreal, and I was afraid I’d done it badly.

I learned that I could cry in the shower and no one would know. My pain streamed down my body and swirled around the drain before disappearing forever. It was a personal exorcism of the build-up of emotions that fought to control my future. What did I have to count on, anyway? Bolt had stripped me of my car and my apartment, and Natalie had taken the rest. I had even less than before and no notion of how to restore myself. Did it even matter?

I turned off the water and sat on the vanity chair in front of the mirror, a towel turban around my head and another wrapped around my wet and shaking body. I knew I’d reached a split in the road. One branch led back to my previous life, and the second was to follow Bolt, grateful for whatever crumbs of himself he was willing to share.

I let myself out of the bathroom and crossed the room over the thick carpet. I could hear Bolt’s voice coming from the next room—his study. I’d never even glimpsed its interior. He kept the door locked, and not even Mrs. Polk was permitted in there to clean.

Hating myself, I laid my ear against my door, and I could clearly hear that he was speaking—and not in English. His tone was musical and intimate.

My blood turned to ice, and I flung the towels from my body and threw open the closet door. I pulled out the ratty black duffle bag I’d brought with me and quickly rooted through the clothing until I found what I’d brought from my previous life. A toothbrush, a small handful of makeup, and I was ready.

I threw back the bedroom door so hard that its knob dug into the wall with a crunch. I strode past his opened study door and in my peripheral, I saw him stiffen and reach out toward me, but he didn’t care enough to hang up. I was down the stairs and out the front door before he could stop me.

Bolt probably expected me to head for the road, but I went in search of Mr. Fred. He knew I was coming—it was evident on his face. He asked no questions but opened the door of the old farm truck he drove, and I climbed onto the bench seat beside him and slammed the door closed. He turned around, leaving the property by the farm road that headed east—away from the house, away from Bolt.

“Your sister is back,” Mr. Fred said in a low, solemn, and confidential voice. I nodded.

“Take me there, please,” I told him.

We pulled up in front of the building and I climbed out. He tried to follow, but I shook my head. “I can do this on my own,” I said.

“But the child…” he began.

I whirled around. How did he know? It was a rhetorical question. Of course he knew, perhaps even before me.

“We’ll be OK, Mr. Fred. I promise.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but I nodded. I knew how to reach him.