FIFTEEN
I balanced on my tiptoes on the ladder, trying to cut in the paint near the ceiling. Why I had ever thought I needed to have this room maroon in the first place was a wonder. When I’d moved into the apartment, the white walls had seemed as stark as the labs I spent my days in at school. I couldn’t handle all that bright white and had tackled my first DIY project to make my bedroom cozier. But the apartment manager had told me that whatever painting I did, I’d have to undo when I moved out or be charged an extra two months’ rent to fix it. And of course, the guy at the paint store hadn’t told me that when it came time to cover up red, it would take an act of God and a truckload of primer and paint.
So the tail end of the week had been spent busting my ass at the clinic during the day and then coming home to work in a fume-filled room, watching my walls go from maroon to red to Pepto-Bismol pink. Now it was Saturday, and I hoped after one more coat, it’d start to resemble white again. My shoulders and arms ached, but I almost welcomed the physical distraction. Since the last night with Foster, I’d been able to think of little else than the way he’d looked at me when he’d kissed me good night—the good-bye eyes.
He’d called me once since then to apologize for leaving before I’d woken up that morning. He’d explained that he had to be at the office early that day and didn’t want to wake me since we’d stayed up so late. The phone call had been light and casual on the surface. But awkward as shit in the undercurrent. There’d been no mention of the note he’d left and no offer to get together for any reason in the future. The message had been clear. We weren’t anything more than two people who’d had a good time together.
And I refused to let myself turn it into anything more. The reason why he’d probably freaked over the virginity thing in the first place was because he feared I’d get all clingy and needy afterward. No way was I even showing a hint of that. No sirree. I was a strong, sexually liberated woman who could have a good time and walk away unscathed.
Right.
A door slammed on the other side of my bedroom wall, startling me. My hand flinched and a blotch of paint hit the ceiling. “Dammit.”
I grabbed a rag that I’d hung on the ladder and stretched to blot the paint. The ceiling had been white at one time, but the aged gray it’d become was definitely not a match with the new paint. Sonofabitch. Now I was going to have to paint that, too.
Music cranked up on the other side of the wall as Foster moved around the room. I tossed the rag down to the drop cloth below in frustration. Great, just what I needed—the torture of picturing Foster coming home from work and stripping off one of those tailored suits of his. Tie unknotting, buttons flicking open, zipper lowering . . . that beautiful naked body striding across the room.
My insides clenched, and I had to grab on to the top of the ladder to keep myself steady. Another door sounded and heavy footsteps. Usually I couldn’t hear all of this so well, but I sensed Foster stomping around a bit, maybe mad. Did he have a bad day at work?
I shook my head. Not my concern. Focus. I dipped my brush in the paint can and rose up on my toes again, doing my best to reach the last corner and block out thoughts of the guy on the other side of the wall. But as I stretched one last inch, the ladder teetered beneath me.
“Shit!” I grasped for the wall, something, but it was a lost cause. My weight had pitched too far to the left, and I was going down. My shoulder crashed against the sticky wall, followed by the clanging ladder and the half-full can of paint. I landed half on my bed, then slid to the floor, pulling the drop cloth with me. All of my air left me with an oof, and paint spread along the floor like a creeping white oil spill.
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath and not cry. I’d gotten lucky on the fall, but the mess all around me was like ripping the last shred of fabric in my I’m-totally-together sham. The move. Graduation. New job. New guy. Losing my virginity. All of it piled on me, threatening to smother me with the weight of it all.
But I wasn’t allowed to wallow long. A loud rapping sound came from the other side of the apartment, yanking me from my spiral of doom.
“Cela!”
The booming voice was all-too familiar, and I almost couldn’t bring myself to go face it. But girl-who’s-okay-with-it-all wouldn’t be afraid to answer the door. That girl would be all cool and “Hey, what’s up?”
So with only a thread of dignity intact, I wiped off my hands and pushed up from the floor. I stepped around the mess and made my way to the front door, where Foster was banging again, calling for me.
I pulled the door open, realizing too late how I must look, and found a frantic-eyed Foster. He stepped inside and put his hands on my shoulders, his gaze scanning me as if searching for blood. “Good God, what the hell was that? Are you okay?”
I shoved my hair out of my face, trying to stay nonchalant even though the simple act of him touching me had my heart flipping over. “I’m okay. Just klutzy. I uh . . . fell off a ladder.”
He touched the side of my hair. “Christ, did you hit your head? Hurt anything? From my side of the wall, it sounded like the whole room collapsed.”
I should say yes, that I did hit my head. Then I could explain away the ridiculous urge to kiss him, to tuck myself into his embrace. “No, luckily my ass took most of the impact,” I said, attempting a joke. “Good thing for the extra cushion.”
A little flicker of something lit the center of those blue irises of his, and I couldn’t hold the eye contact any longer. He let his touch drop away, and for the first time since I’d opened the door, I noticed he was wearing leather pants. Leather? In June?
But as my gaze drifted down, and I took in the way the pants hugged him just right, outlining what I knew lay beneath them, thoughts of weather evaporated from my mind. I wet my lips, tasted paint. Terrific.
He chuckled and wiped a smudge of white from my cheek. “You do realize that you’re supposed to get paint on the walls, right?”
I looked up at him again, arms crossed. “Are you seriously going to kick a girl when she’s down?”
The corner of that sensuous mouth curled. “No, I’m not quite that mean.”
That statement had a layer to it I didn’t want to peel back, but my mind couldn’t help but wander there. I shook off the illicit images that flickered through my mind like a movie reel. Foster being a little rough with me that last night together, Foster demanding things of me the night in the hotel.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m fine. My floor not so much. But thanks for checking on me. Didn’t mean to interrupt . . .” I gave him an up and down look. “Whatever it is that calls for leather pants in ninety-degree heat.”
He shifted, dark brows falling to brooding level. “Cela.”
“What does one wear leather pants for anyway?” I asked, knowing I didn’t want to hear the answer, but unable to stop myself. “You don’t own a motorcycle, do you?”
“No,” he answered, the simple word holding warning.
“So what then?” I knew what I sounded like, could hear that hint of challenge and jealousy trickle into my voice. It was completely uncalled for and totally out of my control. Irrational girl, aisle one.
“I think it’s best we don’t have this conversation,” he said, all still waters and calm authority.
“Right,” I said, the word sharp as a jab. “Of course. You jumped on my case for keeping secrets that first night, but you get to hold on to your own. That’s fair.”
He pressed a finger to the space between his brows, closing his eyes and rubbing. “Cela, I’m not trying to be an asshole. But you don’t want to hear this, don’t need to.”
“No, I think I do,” I said, hurt already grinding my insides. Pulp. That’s what I became around him.
He sighed and clicked the door shut behind him. “Fine. Let’s just get it out there, then. I’m dressed in leathers because I’m going to The Ranch, a BDSM resort I belong to.”
I blinked. The words and letters filtered through my brain but didn’t line up to make any sense.
“BDSM?” I said, more to myself, only having a vague recollection of hearing the term before.
“Yes. Some still call it S&M.”
“Oh.” Oh. Pictures flashed through my mind. Scary ones. “So like . . .”
“I’m a sexual dominant,” he said, watching me, gauging my reaction. When I apparently still looked unsure, he added, “I like to restrain women, cause pain for pleasure, be in total control.”
A cold fist seemed to lock around my throat. Total control. Another “oh” was all I could manage. I’d known he was kinky but had never really let myself think through what that could entail beyond the threesomes.
He took a step toward me, his presence seeming to swallow up the entryway. “Which is why I haven’t called and asked you out again, why I’ve forced myself not to knock on your door the last few days, and why I’ve been playing music nonstop so that I don’t hear you in your room.”
I swallowed, trying to get my vocal cords to loosen. “I don’t understand.”
The edge of the kitchen counter hit my tailbone, and I realized I’d been backing up as he inched toward me, an instinctive response to his predatory movements.
His smile was grim, almost wistful. He stopped in front of me, the sliver of space between us sparking with something I couldn’t even identify. The scent of leather and soap hit my senses, making me want to close my eyes and hold on to the air.
“I know you don’t, angel. And that’s why nothing else can happen between us.”
I straightened at the finality of his tone, my hands clenching at my sides. “What? Because you think I’m some innocent young twit playing big-girl games?”
His eyes flashed with displeasure, and the strong urge to grab back my words went through me—anything to get that look off his face.
“Cela, I suggest you don’t try to pick a fight with me. You know I don’t think you’re a twit or a little girl. But you are inexperienced and young. And what you saw of my dominance that first night was barely a peek, and I fought hard to keep it at that level.” His hands slid onto the counter, caging me in, his nearness stealing my functioning brain cells. “I don’t trust myself with you. Even when I was trying to be gentle with you the other night, I pinned you down, corrected you, was rougher than I intended. I can’t help myself. The dark part of me sees that innocence in you, that sweet yielding, and foams at the mouth—makes me wants to capture it for myself, to own it.”
With each word, each breath against my skin, my heartbeat climbed higher up my throat until it seemed like my whole head was pulsing. My lips moved, but nothing came out. I closed my eyes.
“Am I scaring you yet, Cela?”
Yes. My body seemed to be vibrating with it—like being caught in a panther’s line of sight and not being able to move. But something entirely different was bleeding into the fear, mixing with it and making my thoughts blur and my skin warm, making me want to stay right there.
I raised my gaze to him and homed in on his face, my eyes tracing over every contour, every angle, the fierce beauty there. Then I saw it—in a brief second where the hard shield slipped—a mirror reflecting the desperate ache pinging inside my own chest.
I was affecting him as much as he was me.
“You never asked me why I didn’t sleep with Pike,” I blurted.
He blinked as if someone had snapped a camera in his face. “What?”
“I know you assumed it was because I was still recovering from the night before, but that had nothing to do with it . . .” I paused, the right words proving elusive. “I didn’t have sex with him because I felt like the privilege should only belong to you.”
He closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring with a deep breath. “You’re not making this easy, angel. Not when you say things like that.”
On a surge of bravery, I reached up and slid my hands along his neck, pulling his forehead down to mine. His skin was fever hot against me. My voice was a soft rasp, nerves still constricting my throat. “Can you show me, Foster? Show me what you like?”
“Cela,” he groaned, his voice laced with gravel, taut. “Don’t.”
But I was rolling down a hill too fast to stop now. “Did you know I’ve been bitten by a mastiff or that I’ve groomed the meanest Shih Tzu the vet’s school had ever seen and ended up with stitches? Or that I grew up with a brother who made me spar with him so that I could defend myself? I could totally kidney punch you right now.”
He lifted his head, the blue of his eyes like a January storm.
I took a deep breath. “I’m not that fragile. And I’m tired of other people sheltering me from things. I liked what happened the nights we were together. I know I don’t really know anything about your . . . lifestyle. But I do know that you taking control in bed made me feel comfortable, took away any worries of doing something wrong. Chased off the shame.”
“Did it now?” he asked, a shade of surprise coloring his voice.
“Honestly, I haven’t thought about much else since.” I looked down at my paint-splattered feet. “In fact, I think it’s all your fault I fell off the ladder—you having the nerve to walk around all naked in your room.”
He laughed then, a bark of a thing that seemed to surprise him. “How dare I change clothes in my own room.”
“Sadistic bastard.”
He sniffed and cupped my shoulders. “You have no idea.”
“So show me,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt inside. “Teach me how this works. I’m a no-risk investment, Mr. Businessman. I’m leaving soon, so you don’t even have to worry about me getting all where-is-this-all-going, relationship obsessed on you.”
His hands coasted up and down my arms, a war raging in his eyes, then he leaned down and put his mouth to mine. I gasped at the contact, the simple softness reaching down inside me and bending everything out of alignment. His lips moved over mine, his tongue easing inside, caressing and invading my senses like a drug. He tasted of cinnamon gum and want—the need pouring out of him and making me desperate to press my body against his.
But his hands stilled on my shoulders and kept me in place, fastening me to the edge of the counter at my back. I wanted to touch him, to deepen the kiss, to strip down and have him take me right there in my little kitchen. But before I knew it, he was lifting his mouth away from me, sadness etched into his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.
He cupped my chin and laid one last brief touch to my lips. “I don’t want you to be my fling, angel.”
The words slashed right through me, opening up a gaping hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting off the stupid burn of tears that climbed up my throat. “You don’t think I can handle it.”
He took a step back and shook his head. “Whether you can or can’t is not the point. I can’t, Cela. I’m tired of one-night stands and living my life like I’m some frat boy. Being with you the other night, feeling that connection, that pure moment, it made me realize what I want and need. And what I need is something real. Not a week or two getting a taste of what could be, then letting it go. I don’t want a woman to play submissive to me every now and then. I want to find the woman meant to be mine, want to own her submission . . .”
My jaw went slack, my mind snagging on part of that last sentence. “You want to own a woman?”
He gave a ghost of a smile as he reached out and swiped a thumb over my lips. “The kind of relationship I desire is intense and unpalatable to most. I’m not an easy man to be with. And even if there could be something between us, you’re not ready to make that kind of decision—not without some experience behind you. Go be young and live your life. Figure out what you like and don’t. I’m not on a path you need to follow right now.”
“Foster,” I whispered, so many emotions whirling through me, I couldn’t pin one down.
“Thank you for letting me be your first, angel. I didn’t deserve that privilege. But I’ll never be sorry for it.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to protest, to say a hundred things back to him, but words were sticking like hot marshmallows in my throat, expanding and blocking my air.
This wasn’t supposed to feel this way. A fun night with the neighbor wasn’t supposed to tear at me like this when it was done, was it?
“Good-bye, Cela,” he said softly. Then his touch was gone, and his footsteps were hitting the tile. The door closed before I had the energy to open my eyes.