Chapter Six
“Baby girl, why you holding out on me?” Vincent’s painting his toenails neon pink on the shop counter. “Roy spent the night? That’s it?”
“In the guest bedroom, and this morning he made coffee and left.”
“No sex?” He paints the nail of his big toe and fans a magazine over it to dry the polish faster. “Why not? It’s not… I mean, you still aren’t broken up about Charlie, are you?”
I pretend to read the Excel spreadsheet in order to keep my expression impassive. “Nothing to do with him.”
“’Cause you know that accident wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.” The web of my secrets entraps me.
His hands fly up in exasperation. “Then why? This sexy beast of a man is sleeping in your house. Naked.” He shivers dramatically. “And you don’t think maybe I should join him? Have I taught you nothing?” He exhales a whistle. “What I wouldn’t give for a little of that.”
“I’m not ready,” I protest. “And he was hurt.”
He turns his head from side-to-side. “Probably the first time he’s been turned down. Not a bad strategy.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“True, but he’s assuming certain things about you.” He wiggles his toes. “Does he know?”
I give up and close my laptop. The previous week’s accounts will have to wait. “Know what?”
He uses a pencil like a microphone and sings in his best Madonna impersonation, “That you’re a virgin.”
I can’t help but laugh. “No.”
“You better tell him.”
If I tell him, he might not want to have sex with me. Did I think that?
“You know, pants can’t hide what he’s packing.” He leans back against his hands. “I bet he has to jack off with both hands.” He jumps off the counter and walks around bent over and bow-legged. “You’ll be like old lady Carter when he’s done with you.”
“Stop it.” I throw my pen at him and miss. Roy’s definitely packing, as Vincent calls it.
“Just saying.”
“He told me he’s thirty-one. What does he even see in me?”
He leans against the counter. “You have no idea the way men react to you. Trust me, I know these things. You’re beautiful, and kind, and…” He looks me over. “You’ve got this mysterious vibe about you. Why wouldn’t Roy be interested?”
“I don’t know. He’s overpowering and handsome and intense. I’ve never met anyone like him.”
“It’s obvious the attraction is mutual. Go with it. See where it takes you.”
I know Vincent’s right. “He’ll be here soon.”
He feigns interest in passing tourists. “To do what?”
“Look at a few properties for sale.”
“In Middleburg?”
“He wants a home near his D.C. office.”
“How bicoastal of him. I’d say he’s found something he likes in Middleburg and it’s not the real estate.”
“I don’t think he’ll remain interested in me long.”
Vincent bats his dark lashes at me. “If he’s smart, he will.”
I had been ten years old, riding shotgun with Reggie on deliveries when I met Vincent. From that day forward we’ve been fast friends. It’s hard to think of a more unlikely pair, but there you have it.
“…the parties are going to be epic.”
I’m half-listening as he prattles on about his extensive social life while I organize the pickups for tomorrow and place them on the middle shelf behind the counter.
“…best male actors in Hollywood are gay.”
“Not everyone is gay,” I mutter.
“Remember, I told you Jason King was—”
“What?” A package slips from my hand.
“Oh, right.” He comes around and places the dropped parcel on the shelf for me. “I didn’t tell you. I went to a little soirée with those movie people. Mr. King showed quite an interest in me.” He pulls out his phone and points the screen at me. “I got a text from him this morning. I’m invited to a private party next week.”
“You can’t go.”
Vincent places his hands on my shoulders. “What’s gotten into you? Of course, I’m going. There can’t possibly be a party without moi.”
“I don’t think Jason’s a good man.” Vincent looks at me like I’m having a stroke. “I mean, you know, there’s been gossip.”
“Gossip.” He laughs. “I’m sure there has been, love. He’s deliciously wicked.” Vincent slaps his butt. “And a switch.” He dramatically flares his eyes like a silent movie star.
“You really need help, you know that, right?” Would Jason use Vincent to get to me? “I thought you were going to New York.” How can I deflect him from this? “This stupid party will be provincial compared to what’s going on in the clubs.”
Though Vincent and I are best friends, we don’t inhabit the same worlds. He flits back and forth between continents while I remain rooted in Middleburg like an old oak tree.
He gives me his best side-eye. “True.” He turns his head. “Perhaps I should warn you against what’s opening the door.”
We’re conspirators, caught when Roy walks in.
“Good afternoon.” He extends his hand to Vincent. “Nice to see you again.”
“Roy.” Vincent returns the handshake.
“Will you be accompanying us?” Roy asks.
“Oh, I’m sure it will be a lovely time, but I have a prior engagement.” Vincent plants a kiss on my cheek and swaggers to the front door. “Ta-ta, baby girl. Don’t do anything I would.”
“Baby girl?” Roy lifts his eyebrow.
“Nickname.”
He doesn’t press. “Are you ready?” He gives me a quick once-over. His eyes remain on my breasts for a few ticks too long.
I’ve abstained from my usual attire of shorts and Mangler polo to wear a summer dress. It’s rounded neckline showcasing my ample cleavage. Though the calendar says autumn is almost here, the weather hasn’t gotten the memo. Today’s temperature is forecast to reach into the mid-eighties with 70 percent humidity.
I nod and fetch my purse, and meet him at the front. His hand is warm on the nape of my neck as he accompanies me to a black Range Rover.
“How’s your shoulder?”
He closes my door, walks around, and slips into the driver’s seat. “Better.”
“Did you take your pills?”
“You and Scott seem unable to comprehend I can take care of myself.” He pulls onto Route 50 West towards Upperville. “What were you and Vincent talking about so intently?”
“Vincent’s interested in someone and he…”
“He what?”
“This guy sounds sketchy. Vincent’s really into him and…” Is he? Or is it just fun to hang out with the cool kids? Probably the latter. Still, I’d like to know what the term means, and I want Roy to explain it. Or, rather, I want to see how he deals with it because if I’m to tell him the truth, I have to know I can trust him. I swallow. “He said this guy was a switch. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
Roy takes his eyes off the road for a moment, giving me a curious glance. “Yes, I’ve heard the term.” He taps his finger on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
“Is it bad?”
“Hang on, let me pull over.” He crosses over Mosby highway onto Atoka Road and parks in the General Store lot. Turning to face me, he starts, “I think he means it as a sexual term.”
He’s waiting to see if I still want to know. I nod that I do.
“It has a few meanings. A person likes both top and bottom during sex or an individual who is both dominant and submissive.”
Did not expect that. A nervous laugh escapes. “Kinda like being ambidextrous.” I sink farther into the soft leather seats. Dominant, submissive. What exactly does that mean? “In a relationship?”
He starts to speak, stops, gazes out the window for a moment, and starts again. “It’s more role-playing during sex. There are…more extreme versions, but in general, while having sex one person is dominant, and…well, this can take different forms.”
I haven’t seen Roy at a loss for words before and I enjoy it. “Such as?”
“The dominant may inflict punishment or restraint.”
“Oh.” I scrape off some nail polish stuck on my cuticle. “It’s not just a gay thing.”
Roy’s lips quirk. “No, Daisy.”
“Vincent faints at the sight of blood. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. The last time I asked him to kill a spider for me, he relocated it outside instead. Maybe he meant something else?”
“Perhaps, though I doubt it. Most people don’t advertise their sexual habits.”
No, I guess they don’t. “Are you a switch?” It’s a valid question, though slightly intrusive. Okay, it’s highly invasive, but I did see him naked and he’s the one all about honesty.
“No, Daisy, I am not.” He reaches across and places his hand over mine. “I don’t want to be dominated nor do I want to dominate. For me, sex is about pleasure. I derive pleasure from giving and receiving.”
I press my lips together. He’s not upset or angry or dodging my questions. “But if I wanted some of those things…with you, it would be okay?” I hear his sharp intake of breath.
He leans in and runs his hand around my neck, cupping the back of my head, and brings his lips to my ear. “If it’s something you wanted, needed…yes,” he purrs, placing soft kisses down the sensitive line of my neck, over my collar bone and at the line of my cleavage, where he stops. He must feel my heart beating against his lips. I don’t want him to stop and almost protest when he separates from me and clears his throat. “If it would make you feel better, I can run a background check on this guy Vincent’s seeing.”
“Oh God,” I whisper and struggle to catch my breath. “What?”
“You’re worried about this guy. I can see if he’s been in trouble.”
Who cares? Why did he stop? He’s composed and straightening his tie while I’m disheveled inside and out. “Didn’t that affect you?”
“Oh, it did, Miss Aldridge. Tremendously.” He runs his finger across his lips as if to remind me of how they felt on my skin. “Now, anything else?”
“Can we do more?” I asked that—me, frigid queen extraordinaire. What is he doing to me?
His eyes dart to my breasts and back up again so quickly I almost don’t catch it. Mr. Lethal is a breast man. My nipples approve. His sexy grin and tilt of his head have me slamming my knees together. Roy chuckles and resumes driving.
I’m dazed and aroused, and don’t know whether to laugh like a loon or rip my dress off and beg him to take my virginity by the side of the road. Is this a sign I’m not frigid? I hold my breath and wait for Charlie to pipe in with a foul comment. Not a word.
To calm myself, I inhale through my nose, exhale out my mouth, and gaze out the window as the Virginia horse country rolls by. I’m still trying to contain my raging hormones when he turns onto the lane of one of my favorite estates.
“Chadwick. Really? I didn’t know they were selling.” We usually hear all the gossip at the shop.
“The family’s keeping it quiet. There are liquidity issues.”
“I’ve heard the house needs work.”
Before I can say more, we pull up the circular drive, where a red Jaguar’s parked. Long legs shod in red high heels appear as the car door opens and are quickly followed by a tall woman. She’s wearing a black dress hemmed to mid-thigh emphasizing her long legs. Even her hair is perfect, straight and blond and hanging like a silken curtain to her lower back.
I slide out of the Range Rover with my toenails painted neon pink—courtesy of Vincent—wrapped in my favorite flip-flops. My Target dress I thought was oh-so-cute now seems juvenile and rumpled. My red curls are probably a frizzy mess in the high humidity. In short, I am the antithesis of the impeccably coifed creature greeting us.
“Mr. Blackwood.” She nods to him and gives me a quick once-over. “I have the keys and the agent’s permission to view the house and grounds as you see fit.”
“Ms. Darwin, this is Miss Aldridge. Please proceed.” Roy is all business.
Acutely aware of my flaws, I follow along inside the mansion as she runs a commentary on when the house was built, the acreage, the taxes, and all things important. Finally, I motion to Roy I’m going to roam on my own. I’ve been in most of the estate homes making deliveries or occasional parties, but this one I’ve always wanted to see up close. The scale of the home is intimidating. My farmhouse has eight-foot ceilings. Changing the light bulbs is a real pain. I tilt my head back. Do they bring in scaffolding when a bulb goes out? These have to be at least fifteen feet.
I wander through the great rooms whose purpose I’m unsure of, under the doorways wide enough for a horse and rider, and back to the foyer dominated by the massive staircase. How long must it have taken to construct? The carved banister curves up to the second floor, no doubt filled with more palatial rooms.
While not neglected, it’s clear the home hasn’t been properly looked after. The millwork lining the walls needs to be sanded and refinished. In the parlor—I think that’s what it’s called—the hardwood floors are scratched and wavy in places. There are scant paintings on the walls. Maybe the family had to sell them. The furniture is stately, mainly antiques, and it fits the style of the home. I always pictured Roy in a modern cube with white walls, windows all around, and no privacy or comfort.
I walk toward the back of the house and find the kitchen. It’s stunning. Cabinets all the way to the ceiling, their glass fronts gleaming. In the center is an island with seating for ten, at least. There are two industrial refrigerators and an immense oven and range like the one Vincent’s family has in their kitchen. Funny thing to covet, but I’ve always wanted one; it puts my old GE set to shame.
A long farm table sits in front of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out to an English garden. I stroll through the French doors, imagining the peonies and hydrangeas in bloom. The pavers laid out in a herringbone pattern draw you to the edge, where a scenic view of the valley awaits. Roy and Ms. Darwin join me with talk of heating and plumbing. Pointing off to the side, they discuss something called an infinity pool.
Roy places his hand on the small of my back. “Do you like it here?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve only gotten glimpses of it whenever the hunt rides through. Far more than I imagined, like something out of an Austen novel.”
His brow furrows. “The hunt?”
“Foxhunting. I guess you don’t have that in LA. The hunt has ride-through privileges from all the big farms.” He nods his head, but I know he hasn’t been told about this aspect of Middleburg life. “You shouldn’t close your land to them.” I don’t add unless you want to be an outcast to the locals.
“No, course not. It’s tradition.” I can tell he’s thinking about it, though.
“Should I inquire?” Ms. Darwin asks.
“No.” Roy keeps his face forward. “Make the offer.”
“Of course. I’ll be out front if you need me.” She turns, disturbing the air and dispersing her no-doubt-expensive perfume.
I wait until the French doors close. “She’s not from around here.”
“No, Los Angeles. She manages all my real estate acquisitions.”
“I’m sure she fits right in there.” Why is he interested in me? Why not Ms. Perfect? “She’s pretty.”
He turns his back on the view to survey the house. “What I always imagined.” His voice sounds wistful. “She needs a lot of work, but she has good bones.”
Is he serious? “I meant your realtor lady.”
He cuts me a sideways glance. “I suppose. It’s her real estate expertise I pay her for.”
“So this is an investment?” I can’t keep the disapproval from my voice. These estates should be cherished.
“No.” He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “This will be my family home.”
His thumb draws circles on my back. I have to use all my willpower to focus on what he said. Oh, right, something about a family. Cripes, I never asked. “You have a family?”
“Come on, let’s go inside.” He takes my hand and leads me through the kitchen and down a hallway off to the left I didn’t notice before. “I’m an orphan.”
I don’t know why, but that shocks me. “Wife? Children? Girlfriend? Dog? Cat?”
“None of the above. What about you? Husbands? Children?” He whispers, “Secret lovers?”
I shake my head.
“Guess I can have my way with you.”
Yep, I think—single, virgin, probably frigid, utterly infatuated with a sex god. What could go wrong?
He slides open pocket doors, revealing an immense library with dark-wood bookcases lining the walls. Midway up the cases is an iron walkway to access the shelves that reach all the way to the ceiling. A fireplace is encased along a far wall with large leather chairs flanking either side. In the center of the room sits a long table with chairs. Like the kitchen, a wall of windows overlooks the garden and down to the valley.
“You told me you liked books.”
“This is…” I’m at a loss for words. “I could get lost in here.”
“It’s one of the things that sold me on the house. I pictured you curled up in a chair with a roaring fire and snow on the ground.”
I’ve been telling that small voice inside my head that she’s delusional. That Roy isn’t interested in me. I’m a novelty that he’ll soon tire of. But being here with him, hearing him say he thought of me in this room, makes me realize he does care. Whatever this is between us, I need to see it through, because if I don’t, I’ll regret it.
“Why the serious face? You don’t like it?”
“I do, really. It’s just I don’t understand why Middleburg? It’s not like a lot is going on here. You’re used to Los Angeles. Aren’t you worried you’ll get bored?”
“Ah, I see.” He walks across the room and runs his hand along the exquisitely carved stone mantle. “It’s a goal I set for myself. To own a great house, something to leave to future generations.”
“So this is where you’ll run your empire?”
“I’m converting one of the barns into office space.” He sits in the wingback chair by the fireplace, resting his ankle on his knee.
“But they might not accept your offer.”
“They’ll take it. All cash, no contingencies.” He cocks his head to the side, assessing me. “I’ve arranged for a cleaning crew to come in tonight. I’m buying the furnishings with the house, except for a few heirloom pieces the owners want to keep.” He runs his hand along the chair arm. “There are some nice things here.”
“Must be night and day compared to LA.”
“Each has its charm. One day, I’ll take you to my house in the hills. The view is breathtaking.”
Me, in LA. A nervous laugh escapes.
“What’s so funny?”
“I can’t see myself in a place where everyone looks like you or Ms. Darwin. She’s perfect.” I gnaw the inside of my cheek.
“You have nothing to be jealous of.” His green eyes take in my bare legs, my breasts, slide up to my lips, and finally, our eyes meet. “I’ve never needed a woman the way I do you, Miss Daisy Aldridge.”
“Hum…well…” Pull yourself together. “It’s good to know what you want.” Oh fuck, did I say that?
“What I want you is for you to walk over here, sit on my lap, and kiss me,” he commands.
I’m halfway there before I realize it. My fingernails bite into the flesh of my palms.
He slides lower in the chair and leans his head back. “Stop overthinking everything and do it.”
I run sweaty palms down my skirt, pressing the fabric to the backs of my knees and sit sideways on his hard thighs. When I turn to face him, his eyes are closed. It allows me to explore his face, all the angles coming together in such a perfect way. Stubble I want to rub my cheek against like a cat against its master’s leg. His lips part, waiting for mine.
I rest my hands on his forearms and press my lips against his. The softness always surprises me and just to confirm I run my tongue along his lower lip, and the plumpness has me suck it between mine ever so slightly. He groans. I lean back. His eyes are still closed.
“Do as you please. I won’t move.”
I need that reassurance. Need to explore without being overwhelmed by him. Tentatively, I release my grip on his arms. He remains steadfast. His neck. I’ve wanted to kiss him there, and do, right along the artery. He’s hard and rough and soft. Complete opposites, I know, but all true. My lips are greedy for his. While his body remains immobile, his tongue is free and dances with mine. I could do this forever, moving from his mouth to his neck and back again. His scent mixed with cologne, intoxicating, reminds me of fresh winter snow in the woods. Through his shirt, my fingers explore the contours of his muscled arms and down his chest, and further still to his hard stomach.
His growl vibrates through my body. “You make me weak.” Those beautiful, improbable green eyes of his open and search mine. “You need to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper.
“Hmph. Nor do I, but I don’t think you’re ready for me to bend you over that table and sink my cock deep inside you.”
I draw back and scramble off his lap, straightening my dress as I try to do the same with my mind. He’s never spoken to me that way before. It’s…exciting and sexy. I’m fascinated by the mental picture he’s so clearly described. Involuntarily, I walk over to the table and run my hand along the smooth wooden surface.
“Are you hungry?” I hear him stand, and a moment later his hand is on my shoulder. “I have reservations at The Ashby Inn.”
Slow your breathing. Have some semblance of dignity before you face him. “Sure, okay,” I squeak like a chew toy. I blow out a breath when he focuses his eyes away from me. I’m scrambling for conversation, something mundane after his oh-so-blunt statement. Should I tell him I want him too? How can he not know? I am way out in the weeds on this one.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and walks me out to the car.
Ms. Perfect is on the phone and gives him a smile and a nod as we walk past. I guess Roy has bought a home.
“You know.” I’m cut off when he opens the door, and I slide into my seat. “These estates cost.” He closes my door and gets behind the wheel. “They cost a fortune to maintain.”
“It will cost a fortune to renovate.” He puts the car in drive. “I don’t care. I want it. It’s mine.”
That should be a beer slogan. For the man who knows what he wants. I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. Probably because I’m scrambling to think of anything other than the sex machine sitting next to me, I concentrate on the lack of road noise. It reminds me of an isolation tank, like in a movie I saw where there is no outside sound except for what I accept into my environment.
“Are you alright?”
I’m euphoric. I kissed Roy. No bad thoughts. No panic attack. “I’m good.” I roll my head to the side and gaze at Mr. Lethal, steady and controlled, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm thick with muscles. “Your cars… They’re so quiet. It’s like we’re insulated from the world. Did you see the film Altered States, with William Hurt?”
He whistles. “Surprised you have. Yes, referring to the isolation tank?” He gives me a quick smile, as he turns left onto Mosby Highway toward Upperville. “I’ve done that. The tank, I mean. It was part of military training. Minus the LSD.”
“How did you stand it? I’d freak out being closed in.”
“The instructors had a saying. Mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. My vehicles, they’re armored against weaponry. We use them in the field and for our clients. They’re sealed to a much higher level than soft-skinned cars.”
We’ve passed through the sleepy village of Upperville. “I don’t think you’ll need it out here.”
“I have a contract with a German company. I don’t send my employees into harm’s way without knowing every aspect of their equipment.”
“In harm’s way,” I repeat, not liking how it sounds. Roy is the only veteran I know. How do military families keep from going insane with worry?
“I know what I’m doing,” he reassures.
I’m sure he does, as do his opponents.
“They aren’t as well-trained or well-equipped.”
How did he know what I was thinking? It truly is uncanny the way he can pick some of my thoughts out of the air. “Stop it.”
“You have an exceedingly expressive face.”
Thankfully, we’re soon at the turnoff to the Ashby Inn, which is tucked in at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in the tiny hamlet of Paris. And a few minutes later, we're seated outside in a private area under the arbor, next to the fountain.
“Everything is ready, Mr. Blackwood.” A waiter in a crisp white shirt pours the wine for Roy to taste.
He quickly sips. “Perfect.” As the server fills up his glass, he nods to me. “It’s light. I think you’ll like it.”
“No, thank you. I prefer a Coke.”
The waiter disappears, and Roy takes another a healthy sip of wine before placing it back on the table.
We steep in silence. The waiter, burdened under a huge platter of food, along with my Coke, sets up a stand next to our table and lays out the feast.
“That will be all.” Roy dismisses him.
I blink, taking in the copious amount of food. Roy has ordered a small portion of everything on the restaurant’s menu except for the desserts, which is just plain mean. “Are you feeding an army?”
“No, I might bring clients here. Eat what you want. Or, if you’d like, order a dessert.”
“No, this is good.” I reach for a mini stuffed potato. Where do they get such tiny potatoes? And how do they stuff them? It’s a small explosion of taste as I chew the Barbie-sized tuber.
Roy isn’t eating, which is strange. He’s pushed back from the table, slowly drinking his wine.
“Buyer’s remorse?”
He loosens his tie and releases the top button. “The opposite. Savoring the moment. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“You should eat something.”
“Isn’t that my line?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
His eyes linger on me. “I’m not hungry for food.”
There’s no misunderstanding what he means. “Try this.” I place something wrapped in bacon on his plate.
The appetizer, impaled on a toothpick, looks ridiculously small as he twirls it around before placing it on his tongue.
He seizes my arm when I go to take another appetizer for him to taste and brings it up to his lips, running his tongue over the almost-healed mark on the inside of my wrist. I try to yank it free, but he holds me firm. “There was a cut on your arm when we went to breakfast. And now this.”
Inside, my shame wars with my anger. “It’s not what you think.” I yank my arm until he opens his hand. “I did it cutting fabric. Things happen.” Why am I defending myself? “You’re the one with a gash in his shoulder. Maybe I should ask you the same thing.”
His eyebrow lifts a fraction at my ridiculous remark. “Is someone hurting you?”
“No, no...nothing like that.” He’s too perceptive. I won’t be able to keep my secrets from him much longer. “Clumsy is all.”
He nods and lets it go.
“So, when will you move in?”
“Are you free tomorrow evening? I want to spend the first night in my new home with you, christening every room.”
“Like with champagne?” I’ve heard of christening a ship, but never a house.
Roy exudes supreme confidence as he runs his thumb over his lip. “Champagne is definitely on the menu, but I was thinking of christening it in other ways.”
“How?”
He places his hand on my knee and leans in to whisper, “By the sound of your orgasms echoing through the halls. After the third one, your fear of being frigid should disappear.”
My eyes widen with understanding. Yes, I want to. No, wait, what’s happening to me? Roy, I answer, and he wants to fuck my brains out. Why not shut up and let him?
“You’re the most intriguing woman.”
“Am I?”
“You react differently than other women.” He’s still smiling, but there are creases of worry at the corner of his eyes.
“’Cause I don’t throw myself at your feet?” Like Connie, and probably every other woman he’s ever met.
“An interesting image.”
I want him to always look at me this way, lust mixed with a large amount of tenderness. If only I could be the simple young woman he believes me to be. It’s a pity I hate liquor. A stiff drink would be more beneficial than the Coke I’m sipping.
“You want me to be honest with you, right?”
“I think we’ve already established that, haven’t we?”
“I want to be with you.” I twist the napkin between my fingers. “I’m not sure I can, and I need to tell you why.”
“Yes, finally.” He reaches inside his suit coat for his wallet. “Let me settle the bill, and we can talk about this in private. I have a cottage at The Red Fox Inn.”
We’re alone in the outside garden. Knowing Roy, he’s reserved all the tables. “No.” I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m braver here.”
“Alright.” He moves his chair directly in front of mine, resting his elbows on his thighs and placing his hands on my knees. “Go on.”
His warm and calloused hands comfort me and send fissions of balm throughout my body, emboldening me to tell the story I’ve kept locked inside.
“I killed someone.”
His only reaction is a slight lift of his eyebrow. I guess killing someone doesn’t register high on his scale of incredible things. He was a soldier and, from the looks of it, still is. Or, maybe, my heart leaps with hope, he truly meant what he said and nothing I’ve done can alter his perception of me.
“I killed Charlie Stanwyck.”
“Don’t tell him about me,” Charlie snarls.
Roy growls. “You didn’t kill him.”
“I did…I mean my actions caused it.”
“Charlie died behind the wheel while driving drunk.”
How does he know this? “You know the Stanwycks?”
“Mr. Stanwyck is one of my initial investors.”
Well, isn’t it a small, twisted world? “He told you about it?” This conversation is not going how I expected.
“That’s for another time. Go on with your story.”
I don’t know where to start. “Charlie was in my high school ‘cause he’d been kicked out of boarding school for something.”
“Fighting.” Roy must see my confused expression. “He was expelled because he beat a student, put him in the hospital.”
I didn’t know that. “I should have said no when he asked me to the dance. I didn’t like him. I wanted to feel special, for once. I wasn’t popular in school and…” Saying it out loud makes me sound shallow.
“I see.”
He doesn’t. How could he? He’s imposing, handsome and charismatic. While I’ve always been a shy, skinny girl with the stigma of being left on a doorstep as an infant. “I don’t know why Charlie asked me. He ignored me the whole time. I sat at a back table while the popular kids laughed at me. I would have called my aunts, but they were overjoyed I was going out. So I waited until he came over to take me home. But he didn’t, he took me to this make-out spot. There’s a place up on the mountain by Stoke Castle.” I keep my eyes on my lap.
“Did he rape you?”
I glance up and shake my head. Roy tilts his head back, the veins in his neck are strained, and his hands clench into fists. Anger rolls off him in waves, and I wait until his eyes meet mine.
“He got…aggressive.” I wrap my arms around my chest. “Because I didn’t want to…you know.”
“Have sex with him.”
I nod. “He said terrible things, vile. He enjoyed making me suffer. He…” I inhale a deep breath. “He had a knife.”
“What?”
“He wanted to see my blood. And kept asking why I was so special and saying it was our duty to fuck.” I pull my right leg forward and run my hand down my leg to my shin. “Here, the scar is faint, but he got me here. That’s when I went a little nuts. I knew I had to get out of there.”
Roy’s calloused palm slides down my leg, tracing the pale scar. “That fucking bastard.” He heaves in a lungful of air. “I should have…” He shakes his head. “Please, go on.”
“I fought. I couldn’t stop him. He kept cursing me, telling me he was the only man for me. Without him, I’d be frigid. I needed him as much as he needed me. That he’d already told his father.” I take a few cleansing breaths. “He reeked of alcohol and sweat and got on top of me. His hands.” I close my eyes and fold in upon myself.
“Seeing you in pain… You don’t have to tell me more.”
“I do. I need to get this out.” I take a sip of Coke. My mind goes back to that night. “I remember his hands fumbling under my skirt. How he tore at my underwear. He wasn’t…capable.”
“Didn’t have an erection?”
I nod. “He was livid. Blamed me. I thought I was going to die. The bottle was on the floorboard. I grabbed it and bashed him over the head. He screamed, and I’ll never forget the way he looked at me, like he was confused and lost, and then rage swept through him. ‘I’m going to fix you.’ That’s what he yelled at me, right before I hit him again and he fell over. I scrambled out and ran.”
Roy holds my hand. “None of it is true.”
It stuck, though. Fixed in my brain so perfectly I can recall every detail of how Charlie cursed me and taunted me and threatened to strip off my clothes and leave me by the side of the road like an unwanted pet.
“I should have found my phone and called the police. I don’t know why I didn’t. I just ran through the woods, and then everything goes dark.” Roy glides his hand up my arm, bringing me back to the present.
I blink back tears. “I don’t know what happened or how I got home.”
Gently, he wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“I remember being on the side of the road, and there was a man and a car, and then I was running toward my house. Why can’t I remember?”
“You were in shock.”
“I couldn’t have run the whole way. It’s too far. Why hasn’t anyone come forward?”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t kill Charlie.” He pulls me into his lap and whispers. “You did the right thing.”
“He said I was cursed.” I sob into his chest.
“Let it out.” He rubs my back, soothing me. “Charlie was troubled. He got what was coming to him.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Look at me.” Roy lifts my chin and waits until our eyes meet. “What happened to Charlie was not your fault.”
“I lied to the police. When they came to the house asking questions about why we’d left the party early and how he ended up near Stoke. I told them I wasn’t well, and he’d taken me home. I said I didn’t know why he was there, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“I’m sure they were only going through the motions.” He takes my hand in his. “Charlie’s father covered up a few incidents with the local police. It was only a matter of time before he did something irrevocable.” He pulls me closer to his chest. “And you never told your aunts?”
“They knew I wasn’t telling the complete truth, but I kept to my story. You know how wealthy Mr. Stanwyck is. I was afraid no one would believe me. It would come back on my aunts. They depend on the business.”
He doesn’t fight my logic and nods his head. Of all his actions, this is the most reassuring. He understands my need to protect them, at all costs.
“The important thing is you didn’t kill Charlie. And you made it back home. And it’s over now. And it won’t ever happen to you again.”
“But it did.”
His arms tighten around me. “Jason.” Still holding me in his arms, he slips out his wallet and leaves money on the table. “Let’s get you out of here.” And effortlessly, stands with me in his arms. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
“Your shoulder,” I protest.
“Baby.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve carried groceries heavier than you.”
Unbelievably, I smile and wrap my arms around his neck as he strides through the garden gate and back to the Rover. Telling my secret has lifted the burden. When he’s belted me into my seat and climbed behind the wheel, he turns toward me.
“Thank you for trusting me. Trusting that nothing you can say will shock me or make me think less of you?”
I hope that’s true as I screw up my last bit of courage. “There’s more.”
“I get it. Charlie said terrible things to you. Assaulted you. It’s not a surprise you were traumatized.”
I shake my head. “I…um…it’s only…” I take a deep breath. “The frigid—”
“There’s nothing frigid about you. You’ve had boys pawing at you.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?” He reaches across to place his hand on my thigh and waits for me to continue.
“Boys. Or, you know, anything.”
His eyes narrow.
“I believed what he said…that I’m frigid. And it’s been true. I mean, I’ve never felt anything.” I take a moment. “Toward anyone, and I haven’t dated, or…you know…and, well…”
His thumb, which was moving back and forth on my thigh, stops. His whole being freezes for many seconds until he lifts his hand from my leg. His eyes search. “Are you telling me…” He rakes his hands through his hair. His expression is tortured. “No, no, this can’t be. You’ve had sex. Fucking done something.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a virgin. Why didn’t you tell me?”