Chapter Thirty
Dinner the first night was simple—grilled lamb chops dusted with a special Moroccan seasoning mix she’d concocted, along with a fresh spinach dotted with dried cherries, pecans and goat cheese, plus two loaves of crusty bread. For dessert, she’d made a batch of double chocolate brownies. Everyone raved about all of it, even the teenagers who were at first appalled that Mary’s Little Lamb was being served to them to eat.
She and Ross had chosen a rich Zinfandel to complement the food and three bottles had quickly disappeared. Afterward, she supervised the teenagers as they loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the table. She’d already cleaned the counters and there hadn’t been any pots or pans so the tidy-up was easy.
“I love your hair, Elle,” Taylor had said. “How long did it take you to grow like that?”
She touched her dreads, which were hanging down past her shoulders. “Almost eleven years,” she admitted, sipping the last of her wine.
“I love your tatts,” one of the other girls chimed in. “What is that for?” She pointed to Elle’s neck. Elle put her fingers on it, pondering her answer, and noting that she didn’t feel self-conscious about it for a change.
“This was a mistake.” She smiled as the girls clustered around her on the barstool she had pulled up to the island. Breakfast was to include a massive fruit salad so she’d decided to cut the mangos and kiwis tonight, and sleep in…or something…in the morning.
“What about those?” Taylor asked, leaning across the island and pointing to the line of stars up the inside of her arm. She had on a utilitarian sleeveless T-shirt, which exposed all her ink.
“These are not a mistake,” she said, holding her arm. “There is one star for each year I was…here, in the US.”
“Cool.” Taylor’s eyes shone. “When I got this,” she said, pointing to the small jewel in the side of her nose, “my dad almost had kittens. But I want more. I love that one.” She pointed to Elle’s lower lip.
Melody came in bearing the decimated platter of brownies. “Leave Elle alone, girls. Go on. Shoo.”
“No, it’s all right. I enjoy their energy.” Elle turned to the cutting board again.
“What’s for dinner tomorrow?” Taylor was still staring at her. “How’d you learn to cook like that? I thought you brewed beer, like Ross.”
“I do brew beer.” She held up a bite of mango. Taylor smiled and ate it. Melody was standing behind the line of teens, tying an imaginary rope around her neck and sticking her tongue out in a parody of suicide. Elle could only imagine how hard it must be to be in love with a man with a nearly grown daughter. She waved Melody away, determined to make the most of this, and put in a good word for Taylor’s no-doubt future step-mother.
“I went to the most famous cooking school in France. L’ecole Cordon Bleu, in Paris. After I graduated there, I moved to Chicago and worked at a famous restaurant. But…I got tired of that life. It’s full of prima donnas and assholes. Whoops,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
The girls fell all over themselves laughing. Taylor extracted herself and propped her elbows on the granite top while Elle continued cutting the fruit, putting it in separate plastic containers. “So you learned how to brew beer from Ross?” One of the other girls asked with a dreamy look in her eyes. Elle sympathized with her. Ross Hoffman would qualify as any girl’s dreamboat.
“No. When I left Chicago I went back home, to Germany. My Oma—grandma—had died and I needed to take care of some things. Then, with extra money thanks to her will, I came back to the US, all the way to Oregon and enrolled myself in their brewing science program. Took me two years to get it but I never thought I’d make it. So many men in the program being…you know…”
“Assholes,” the girls intoned in unison.
“Exactly. And I was…well…anyway, I got my degree and my first job on the west coast. I bounced around for some years after that and found myself here, at Fitzgerald.”
“Where you met Ross,” the dreamy-eyed girl said.
“Indeed. I did.”
“All right, it’s poker time,” Trent called from the living room. “Who’s in?”
Taylor retreated, rolling her eyes at the annoying fact of her father’s existence. “Do you play poker, Elle?”
“I do. I learned it while in cooking school. I’m told I have a great poker face.”
The girls chuckled and elbowed each other. “You know,” Elle said, handing the sealed containers to Taylor’s friends to put in the huge double-doored fridge. “Melody is pretty cool. She taught me to swear in Spanish.”
“Whatever.” Taylor officially disengaged from the conversation.
“Give her a shot, Taylor,” Elle said. “I think you won’t be disappointed.”
The girls all looked at each other a minute. “Can we help you tomorrow?”
“Of course you can. We’re making lasagna so it has a lot of steps. I make the sauce from scratch.”
“Cool. Thanks, Elle.”
Trent poked his head in the kitchen. “Who in here is ready for me to beat them at Texas Hold ’em?”
“Can I play?” Taylor wandered over and hip-bumped him. He bumped her back.
“Of course. I taught you how to play myself. How about you, Elle?”
“Sure. Give me a few more minutes to put some things away.”
“Sounds like a plan. Ladies, I need your help to uncover the poker table, and get it set up.” They followed him out, leaving Elle to contemplate the day, the meal, her new friends, and Ross.
* * * *
Within two hours, it became clear the Elle was a total ringer. More wine had been opened while she’d tripled her stack of chips and eliminated almost everyone from every single round. Ross sulked, while Evelyn and Melody picked up her chair and paraded her around the room singing We Are the Champions.
The teenagers had given up after the first hour in favor of draping themselves on the couch and texting boys. Rose had been asleep, but a loud bleat from the baby monitor indicated she wanted to join the party. With a soft, summer breeze blowing the gauzy curtains along the wall of glass to the deck, the teens led half of them in a video game dance contest, leaving everyone but Melody gasping for breath.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Taylor said to her, reluctant admiration clear on her face.
“Si, chica,” the woman snapped her fingers. “Stick with me and I will teach you to samba and tango.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Trent said from his perch on one of the recliners, gasping for breath.
Evelyn was tucked into a bay window, nursing Rose. Austin, Ross, Trent and Brock returned to the card table, leaving the women sitting on the couch, scrolling through the movie options. Elle headed into her haven, the kitchen. She ran her hands along the expanses of cream and brown granite, the top-of-the-line appliances, the under counter wine cooler, the natural cherry cabinets.
Someday, she thought. Someday I’ll have a kitchen like this again.
“Hey,” a male voice said, interrupting her daydream. She jumped and turned, a hand to her neck to find Trent pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m so glad you and Ross came up.”
“Me too. Thank you for including us. And for letting us hang around a few more days.”
“No problem.” He waved a hand, drank half the water, then leaned against the counter opposite her, much to her dismay. Trent was an Alpha Dom. She’d been trained to know one when she saw him. Plus, Melody had filled her in on how their relationship had begun, then ended, then picked back up again. She’d hinted at the D/s nature of it, but never given much detail. Which was fine with Elle.
Trent Hettinger oozed confidence. His body language—a languid, sexy comfort in his own skin—combined with the super deep timbre of his voice and with his shocking, unconventional handsomeness made for quite a man. She studied him in the gloom of the kitchen. Her first reaction to him had been to drop to her knees. But she’d settled for not looking at him. Then, they’d gotten busy with dinner and the cards, and everything else and she now realized she’d become comfortable in his presence without even realizing it.
Her hand went to her neck on reflex. His gaze rested on her hand, then on her face. She flushed hot and directed her gaze downward. “Sorry,” she muttered, trying to figure out how she could get out of here and over to Ross. She was tired. She wanted to go to bed and have him hold her as she fell asleep.
“I’m sorry that you were so badly treated, Elle,” Trent said, shocking her to her toes. “That never should have happened to you. And I want you to know that I think you’re braver than any woman I’ve ever met—well, almost any woman.” His eyes flickered to the doorway where Melody’s raucous laughter could be heard coming from the living room. He sighed and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. Trent was completely bald but he rocked it better than that famous, sexy, bulked-up movie star whose name she could never recall. He was even taller than Ross, tanned from his time in the sun, with a lean strength to him that she admired. But right now, all she knew was mortified horror.
“I didn’t know…that you knew…about it.”
He smiled at her. “Melody thought I should know, before we met.” He put a hand on her shoulder. Instead of making her want to drop to her knees again, she felt comforted by it. Safe. Protected.
But yet…
“I guess I didn’t realize that Melody knew either.” She’d told Evelyn some things but not all. Ross was the only other human on the planet who knew about the worst of the abuse. Well, she guessed now that number included her host and hostess for this weekend. She ground her teeth together, trying not to blurt out something rude. It wasn’t Trent’s fault that Hoffman couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.
“Oh. Well, um…” Trent seemed rattled, which on some level amused her. He was, after all, only a man, with a man’s weaknesses, needs and emotions. And he was so head over heels for Melody, she couldn’t wait for him to pop the question. Elle and Evelyn had a feeling he’d be doing it this weekend since they knew Trent and Melody enjoyed playing to an audience.
“So, maybe we should shut it down for the night. I hear you have a delicious breakfast planned.” He backed away. “Thanks for cooking, Elle. I hope we didn’t make you feel like you had to.”
“No, I like doing it. If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to have a word with Ross.”
She marched over to him. He was laughing with Austin and Brock over something, sipping amber liquor from Trent’s cabinet. “Come over here, sexy lady,” he said, reaching for her. She stayed just outside of his range. He stopped, reading her expression. After knocking back his whiskey, he rose, shot a salute to the men and took her hand. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, grabbing a sweatshirt, then leading her to the open door onto the deck.
Silently, she followed him down the flight of steps to where the fire still spluttered in the pit. He drew two chairs closer to it, and handed her the sweatshirt. She tugged it down over her head, relishing the Ross-ness of it—the malt, hops, leather, and outdoors smell that suffused the fabric. Before he had a chance to get situated, she spoke. “Why did you tell Melody about…what happened to me?”
“I…um…”
“That was not anyone’s business but mine, and I made it yours, thinking you’d keep it private.”
“You told Evelyn,” he began. She held up a hand.
“I didn’t tell her even half of it. Just enough so she’d know I had…issues.” She pulled her legs up to the large wooden Adirondack-style chair and wrapped her arms around herself.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I wasn’t doing it to betray your confidence. I’d talked with her before our first date, you know? To ask about this lifestyle thing she and Trent are into, so I could understand you better. Then, after I got the whole story, we talked again. It’s all out of concern for y—”
“Stop it,” she said, jumping up and pacing around the fire. “Stop trying to justify it.” Her voice rose. “I trusted you with the most intimate details of my life. And you…you blabbed them around like some kind of a cheap gossip rag reporter.”
“Elisa,” he said, trying to grab her wrist. She jerked away from him, shaking her head.
“I’m going to bed. I suggest you find a couch for tonight.”
“But…”
She ran up the steps, tears burning her eyes before he could finish. Austin and Brock were at the poker table with Trent. They all studiously ignored her as she walked past them. Without speaking to anyone, she headed for the kitchen, drank down an entire bottle of chilled water, then let the empty bottle drop into the deep sink. Her heart ached, and her skin itched all over. She already missed him. But he had to know that this wouldn’t fly. He couldn’t spread her story around as if she were the sad sack heroine of some romance novel.
“You all right, chica?” Melody asked as she grabbed her own water bottle.
“I’ll be fine, thank you. I need some sleep. Good night, and thank you again for inviting me to your lovely home.”
Melody waved a be-ringed hand around. “It isn’t my home, trust me. Taylor reminds me of that every chance she gets.”
Elle sighed and slumped against the counter. All these lovely people and their ideal lives she’d admired—not so ideal after all, she supposed.
“Anyway, go easy on the Kraut, all right? He didn’t mean anything by telling me.”
Elle closed her eyes, her innate sense of privacy violated yet again.
“Don’t be mad, Elle. That damn sap is so in love with you, it’s downright sickening.”
“If you’ll excuse me? I’m nearly asleep on my feet.”
Melody grabbed her and squeezed her tightly, putting her on edge again with the unexpected intimacy. “Relax, Elisa. We all love you here.” She let her go, kissed both her cheeks, then left the kitchen, calling for her amour and telling him it was time to take her off to bed.
Without saying anything to anyone else, which made her anxious for being rude, she ran up the wide wooden stairway and found the room that contained hers and Ross’ luggage. Each room had its own private bath so she turned on the hot water and filled the tub, dumped in some kind of flower-scented bath beads, shed her clothes and slid into the water with a satisfied sigh.
She was mad. But it felt blunted, its edges rounded—not her usual type of anger at all. Likely because she knew Melody was right. She’d flown off the handle at Ross and owed him an apology. But only if he apologized first, she decided, as she slid farther down.
Underwater, she studied her body for the first time in years. It had been something worshipped by The Monster—by Nolan—for several months. He’d really bamboozled her into thinking that all that build-up, all those sexy times in his ‘Playroom’ would continue. Obviously, she’d been a good target. Young, even younger looking than she was, and a virgin. He’d probably sniffed that out the first time he’d seen her in class. She’d been eager for friendship, attachment of any kind. And he’d pounced.
She let her fingertips wander across her breasts. Ross liked to pay special attention to her one poor mangled nipple, giving it as much love and caresses and kisses as he did anywhere else on her body. He totally ignored the ugly scar on her ass, not that she blamed him. And his favorite place on her entire body was the spot he’d claimed for himself—right above the tenth small star on the inside of her upper arm. She touched that spot, making herself shiver.
It made her horny is what it did. And she had no idea how he’d managed that, other than with his constant, loving care.
Love?
Without a doubt.
Did she love him?
With everything in her.
“You’re a silly bitch,” the nag said, as loudly as if she were under the water with Elle.
“I’m going to find you,” The Monster insisted, just as stridently. “And when I do, you are going to wish you’d never been born. But first, I’m going to gut that fucking Viking with my filet knife and make you watch.”
With a loud gasp, she jerked upright, spilling water all over the floor. “No,” she said, slapping her hands over her ears and curling into a ball in the cooling tub. “No, no, no!”
But the words kept rolling around in her head, which had turned into a giant echo chamber. Nolan was more than capable of that and it would just like him to wait almost eleven years to exact his revenge.
Shivering, she got out of the tub and wrapped up in a towel that was so big it went around her twice. Her knees wobbled so she sat on the closed toilet seat clutching her arms.
He. Him. Sir.
That Monster had her so well-conditioned she kept using the capital letters in her own damn head. But He was right. She’d never be normal. Never be allowed to live a normal life. She was shit. But she was His shit. His to do whatever he wished. She was kidding herself that any other ending would come for her life.
“Elisa…?” Ross’ voice floated through the closed door, breaking through her semi-trance. He knocked. “You all right in there?”
“I’m fine. I just need…a little time alone. Go to bed. I’ll be there soon.”
“I am truly sorry, my love,” he said, using the sweetest possible German word for the endearment. “Please forgive me? I’m an idiot for telling anyone.”
She sighed and pressed her forehead to her knees as His voice filled her head, drowning out anything good. Scrambling off the toilet in a vain attempt to escape it, she crawled to the corner behind the claw foot tub, grabbed her knees and began to rock back and forth. The self-soothing action had seen her through many a long day or night, alone, in pain both physical and emotional. She slipped back into her safe space, even with the man who promised to save her from it asleep on the other side of the bathroom door.