The Decision (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  His eyes frosted over again, and his mouth set. He laughed, a near snarl of sound. “Amazing. Sex. No strings, no holds barred. An offer I shouldn’t be able to refuse. Sorry, darling. No sale.”

  Well. Cut off at the knees. Stephanie forced shallow breaths. What a mess. She looked at the floor. Hysterical laughter bubbled up, and she swallowed it down. “Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all you have?” Dace’s tone was bleak and cold.

  She shrugged.

  “Goddamn it, Stephanie, don’t you shrug this off.”

  “We should go. I’m…” She cut off the apology. She had nothing to apologize for, she supposed. “It’s too bad it didn’t work out.”

  “Fuck.” Dace sprang off the bed and advanced on her, his face alight with rage and disbelief. She huddled on the chair and held up one hand. He halted and visibly contained himself.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  She made to protest but thought better of it. He looked like he could spank her again, and if he touched her, she’d combust and consider his impossible suggestion. Dace yanked on his clothes with clearly suppressed rage and shoved his tie into his pocket before retrieving their coats. Stephanie stood passively while he helped her into it, remembering how he’d wrapped her up in her robe. Only this time there was no comfort. They made their way downstairs in utter silence until Dace used his phone to call Frank. Stephanie flinched. She had no idea how she was going to face Frank, looking like she’d just climbed out of a very busy bed. Dace read her mind.

  “Frank won’t think any less of you, Stephanie. He’ll be pissed at me. He thinks you walk on water.”

  Okay, that stung. Jerk. She decided to ignore him and moved to get a step ahead as they passed through the exit. She gave Frank a smile, and the driver stared searchingly into her face before offering a tiny nod. She clambered inside and slid across to hug the opposite door. She needn’t have bothered. She heard Dace instruct Frank to take her home, and the door shut tightly, and with it, something slammed down on her heart with all the finality of a sledgehammer.

  Frank didn’t speak during the entire drive to her apartment. Stephanie thanked him for walking her to door, and then he broke his silence. “You take care, Miss Stephanie. Life sometimes just doesn’t work out.”

  Stephanie hid her tears behind another wide smile, made a little wave, then shut the door. She studied the dead bolt then left it. Whatever. Common sense prevailed once she hung up her clothes and washed her face, and she returned to set it. Life sometimes didn’t work out. Well, at least she had her job, and Jake was coming later on Sunday with Lilly.

  Chapter Seven

  “You want to leave us to handle the bronzes and your protégé without you?” Reg’s voice was incredulous. “But you found that young man, weaned him from his addictions, and promoted him to this level!”

  “And I don’t have the time to do any more right now.” Dace patiently explained the situation to Reg for the umpteenth time.

  “Humph. Well, if that’s what you want, then. Stephanie can handle him and do a great job. You’ll appreciate it at the show.”

  “I won’t be in town for the show.”

  “What? C’mon, Dace. What on earth is going on? I’m surrounded by whack jobs. Stephanie’s lost so much weight she looks like one of those elfin model types the public reveres, and—”

  “Is she ill?” Dace cut right through the other man’s diatribe.

  “She says she’s fine, but she works all hours, although I shouldn’t complain, we’re doing so well, but I think she’s quit painting, and she spends what precious spare time she’s got with that Jake. It isn’t healthy, but who am I to tell anyone—”

  “Who the fuck is Jake?”

  “You never met him? I thought you were pursuing her, Dace. Not that she speaks of you, avoids the subject actually.”

  “Reg, who is Jake?”

  “She’s had him forever apparently. Oh, the designers are here with the new boards. Gotta go.”

  Dace stared at his phone in fury. His hand closed around it until the plastic creaked in protest. Goddamn her. She was with this Jake when she offered to have sex with him. Cheater. And he’d taken the high road and refused her because he thought it was the right thing to do. He wanted more, and the sense of being used was too close to how he felt after Sophie. It had been a conundrum, and he still felt the kittenish curl of her tongue on his cock, the heat and silk of her mouth around him, the hesitant, untutored flutter of her fingers over his balls. He hadn’t even touched her, let alone brought her any pleasure, and he fiercely regretted it, especially when the spanking burgeoned into something more than correction. But he took the fucking high road, left himself with blue balls, and hadn’t even trusted himself to bid her farewell, fearing he’d give in. Goddamn her.

  Frank treated him with icy civility, mirroring Stephanie’s earlier treatment. Dace wished he could confide in the man. His driver might shed some light on the situation, the impasse. He had to know Dace worked himself without respite from morning to night with little time off for play since that fateful night at the Fairmont. His family remarked on his workaholic state, and the few women he dated didn’t take his sour attitude well, regardless of his wealth. Not that he was interested in fucking them, and wondered why he made the effort to see them at all. Except maybe to distract himself from the real issue.

  Dace wanted inside a slender, little wench with titian hair and sherry-colored eyes, a woman who only dared to scratch an itch with him, and all because she had a sociopath for a sister. He wanted to spend time with her, get to know her, introduce her to his family, and chain her to his bed. For perpetuity. But she had Jake, the fucker, and Dace had no one. Well, he’d see about that.

  He tried to make a plan. He’d attend the showing of the bronzes and take Irene, a statuesque blonde with big blue eyes and a classy demeanor. He would show Ms. Price that he, too, had moved on, show her what she was missing. Or he could go to her apartment tonight and confront her, call her out. He’d been right not to trust her. Stephanie might not be a thief like her sister, but she was still a cheat.

  In the end Dace waffled until he went home to eat a lonely meal, without calling Irene, and without having Frank drive him over to Stephanie’s. And he tried not to worry about her becoming gaunt before Reg’s very eyes, like one of those elfin model types.

  * * * *

  “Take me to Ms. Price’s home, Frank.” It was Friday night, the end of the work week, and three days since Reg’s little tidbit of information. Dace couldn’t leave it any longer. He had to confront Stephanie or remain in this state of limbo.

  “Yes, sir!” Frank didn’t attempt to hide his glee. It humbled him, the way his driver believed he’d make this good. Whatever this was. Maybe Frank could tell him.

  Dace called the gallery under a pretext of inquiring about the upcoming show and was informed that Stephanie had left, early, to Gemma’s clear surprise. The girl confided that it was the first time her immediate boss had taken even such a small time off since she started, but it was for a doctor’s appointment. Dace decried the familiarity, automatically wanting to preserve Stephanie’s privacy, while at the same time was pleased to have the information. His gut clenched to think she might be really ill, that losing weight was a symptom of something deadly. Gemma further confided Stephanie was getting a flu shot, and his relief made Dace light-headed.

  He bought a bouquet of tiny, apricot roses from the vendor in front of his office building, thinking she might appreciate them, even if their anticipated conversation turned ugly. She made him insane.

  Frank pulled up with a flourish in front of Stephanie’s building, and Dace got out.

  “Should I wait, sir?”

  Dace laughed, and it held such a resigned sound, even to his own ears. “She’ll probably kick my ass right out to the curb, so you’d better. If she lets me stay awhile, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Uh, sir? It’s not my place…”

  “Say it
, Frank. I’ve done nothing but screw things up since I met her. I’m not proud anymore.”

  “If you could let the other Miss Price go…”

  Dace felt his face tighten with strain. He started to shake his head, then reconsidered. “I’d let Sophie go, Frank, but I doubt Stephanie will. I’m at a loss as to how I might convince her.”

  Frank, too, seemed at a loss. He muttered something about scheming witches, or maybe it was bitches, and shrugged. “I’ll wait, sir.”

  Dace took the stairs up to his wench’s apartment, sniffing appreciatively at the pleasant smells wafting from the various doors on the way. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Perhaps Stephanie would let him take her out to dinner. He stopped in front of her door and rapped.

  Dace felt her presence and knew she was scrutinizing him through the peephole. He tried to look calm and unthreatening when he wanted to shout at her, ask her who this Jake was and what he meant to her. He wanted to shake her and hug her close, kiss her breathless. Dace Reynolds wasn’t giving up, and he’d take the sex if that was all she was offering, because he would see to it that things developed from there.

  The door cracked open, and Stephanie’s lovely face filled the aperture. Reg hadn’t lied. Her cheeks were thin, the cheekbones predominant, her eyes appearing almost too big for her face. Her lips were as full as ever, but her teeth were set hard in the lower one.

  “May I come in?” Dace made himself smile and keep his cool.

  Stephanie cast a glance over her shoulder, and he knew she wasn’t alone. Jealousy, fuelled by despair, surged through him, and he leaned his weight against the door. Stephanie slid backward with little effort on his part, and he stepped through and into her home, shoving the door shut with a backward kick of one foot. He locked eyes with her after noting how much thinner and delicate her body had become, and belatedly thought to offer the roses.

  A huffing, snuffling sound caught his attention, and he turned to see a massive, sleekly muscled dog advancing on him. Its toenails ticked on the old hardwood like a metronome, in sync with its heavy breathing, a portent. The caramel color of its short coat had a fine sheen over the ripple of sinew, and massive jaws hung open, a thick slab of tongue lolling between shark-like teeth. Sherry-colored eyes, quite unlike Stephanie’s stared into his own.

  “Don’t move. Let him sniff you.”

  Dace didn’t move, not a muscle. He had a wild vision of beating the animal off with a bouquet of roses before it tore him a new one. A wet snuffle passed over the back of his free hand, then returned to press against his palm, firmly. He curled his fingers around the hard skull and scratched lightly. The dog’s solid body pressed against his leg and folded into a sit, its head never deviating from the scratching fingers.

  “He likes you.” Stephanie didn’t sound surprised, so Dace took a chance and looked at her. She was barefoot, wearing a thin pair of cotton pants tied off with a drawstring, her cropped tee shirt hanging loosely over her chest. Her hair was in a braid, dropped casually over her right shoulder, the ever-present gold chain at her neck. Dace longed to replace it with something more substantial, something chosen for her with a future in mind. She looked absolutely beautiful in his eyes, if thin and drawn.

  “Most dogs like me. Is he yours?” Dace figured the dog belonged to this Jake.

  “He’s mine. Mr. McTavish and I came to an agreement. Jake is a deterrent when it comes to anyone entering the building who doesn’t belong here.”

  Jake. The dog was Jake. Goddamn her. Dace laughed. He laughed loud enough to startle the dog, who lunged to his feet and stared at him as if to say, Don’t make me think I made a mistake with you!

  Stephanie smiled, a tentative smile to be sure, but she smiled. Dace offered her the roses again. She took them and stood, looking uncertain.

  “They should be placed in water, sweetheart.” Had she never received flowers before? What was wrong with the men in her life? Oh, that was right. Sophie was also in her life, so everything was skewed. Dace figured they needed to talk, immediately.

  He spoke to her back as she filled a pitcher with water at the sink. “Can I take you out to dinner?”

  “I can’t. I have a date for dinner. My friend Anne doesn’t seem to think I’m eating enough lately.” She kept her back to him, arranging the flowers in the pitcher.

  “Well, it’s obvious you aren’t, sweetheart.”

  That made her turn and face him. “I’m busy, and when I’m busy, I find I’m rarely hungry.”

  “I’d hoped it was because you missed me and it affected your appetite.”

  Stephanie blinked at him, and a faint hint of color edged up her neck from beneath her tee shirt to suffuse her cheeks. He longed to trace its path with his tongue, knowing the flush originated from just above her nipples.

  “I’m not eating well either, Stephanie, and work isn’t enough.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and he strode to her and enfolded her in his arms. Jake was right on his heels, staring up at them, head cocked, panting. Dace led Stephanie to the one chair her living room boasted and sat with her in his lap. Jake in turn sat on his feet, a dead weight. It was okay. Dace wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I missed you,” he said quietly. “That night didn’t end well, and I still don’t know what I could have done to make it better.”

  “You could have made love to me.” She hiccupped against his shoulder. Jake rumbled, deep in his chest, and Dace reacted instinctively.

  “Quiet.” The animal immediately became silent except for the panting.

  Stephanie stared at him. “He doesn’t listen to men generally. He tolerates Mr. McTavish because it’s his job during the day, and Mr. M has a yard, but he dislikes men.”

  “Yet you aren’t surprised he likes me.”

  “Well, I like you, and Jake likes who I like.”

  Dace laughed again. It felt damn wonderful to laugh. “I like you, too.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, broken only by Jake’s dog noises. Then Stephanie stirred. “I have to go to Anne’s, Dace.”

  “But we haven’t talked. Again.”

  She sighed. “I’ve thought about it. And thought. I can’t find a way for us to be together other than just, you know, briefly.”

  “We are not doing that, Stephanie. Not. I want more, and you deserve more. You go have dinner with Anne. Jake and I will get to know one another. Frank will get me some dinner. And when you get back, we’re going to hash this thing out.”

  She sighed again, heavily, and slid off his knee. He mourned the loss of her slight heat. He watched her go into the bedroom presumably to change, and then he contemplated his rival.

  “So, animal. I owe you my thanks. You’re the reason I got past my fit of the vapors and came to see your mistress. She should be my mistress, too, actually, more than a mistress. You need to put that canine brain to work.”

  Jake’s broad visage remained inscrutable, although his jowls drooped a trifle. Dace looked around at the shabby, yet appealing apartment, his gaze drawn to a painting on an easel nearest the window. He extricated his feet and climbed over Jake’s now prostrate form. The oils depicted a gathering storm, lashing the countryside beneath it with wind and rain. It was an altogether unprepossessing depiction of gray despair with the exception of a faint hint of light in the uppermost corner on the right. Something fought against the gloom and the elements, a hopeful twinkle, a shard of light pressing through. Dace fiercely wished for the talent, the skill with a brush to add to that light and put an end to the storm.

  “I can’t seem to finish it. I’ve been working on it awhile now.” Stephanie stood behind him, her gaze fixed on the painting. She was still barefoot, but now clad in jeans and a pale-pink fitted shirt. Tiny pleats nipped in at her waist, but the fabric still fit loosely. Dace was going to find a way to get her to eat and get healthy again.

  “It’ll get finished when you’re ready,” he soothed. “Do you know when you’ll be hom
e?”

  “I’m not going. I called Anne and explained. She told me not to sweat the small stuff.” Her little nose wrinkled, and Dace couldn’t resist. He pulled her to him and placed a kiss exactly there. He fished his phone from his pocket and called Frank, asking him to pick up food from a local mom-and-pop diner Dace frequented when he wanted comfort food and a home-cooked meal. He ordered chicken pot pie and a salad for both of them. Stephanie didn’t demur, and she remained relaxed in his arms.

  Dace returned to sit with her in the only chair. She fit on his lap like she’d been born there. Jake took up his position on Dace’s feet.

  “Reginald told me you turned the bronzes show over to him and that you aren’t coming to the opening.”

  “I didn’t think I could be in the same room with you, Stephanie, without doing or saying something inappropriate.”

  “Oh. I guess that was for the best.”

  “Sweetheart, it wasn’t, but I was at a loss. Then Reg told me about Jake.”

  Stephanie sat up and stared. “Jake?”

  “Jake. I thought you were seeing someone and planned to confront you.”

  “But why? If I was seeing someone, why would you think I…you thought I was willing to cheat on him with you. If Jake was a man, I mean.”

  Dace tightened his grip. “You are not storming away from me, so calm down and think about it.”

  She subsided, although there was more than a hint of ire on her face, and her eyes were shading to gold. “I suppose you don’t really know me very well. But did you think I’d act like Sophie, really?”

  “I brought roses, Stephanie. I was pissed when I heard about Jake, but I still brought flowers. I never gave your sister flowers.”

  “Nobody brought me flowers,” she said wistfully. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

  Dace wanted to go out and buy her a whole florist’s shop, hell, an entire greenhouse. She deserved flowers every day and twice on Sunday. He would see to it.