Pieces of Me

by Walker, Shiloh

  His hands moved to my hips and tugged, bringing me in contact with his body and I groaned at the feel of him against me. “Have you ever wanted something so bad, but been afraid to reach out? And even if you wanted to reach out, you didn’t know how?” I asked, the words muffled against his skin.

  He stroked a hand up my back. “I’ve been wanting something pretty fucking bad for the past few months,” he said, his voice gruff. “And yeah, I’ve been afraid to do anything about it, because one wrong move is going to ruin it.” He rubbed his cheek against mine. “What’s the wrong move here, sugar? Do I move back? We can go out to dinner, catch a movie. I can come back another day…”

  I pushed him back.

  My heart thudded in my ears, roaring like a lion as I stared into his eyes.

  The wrong move.

  After an entire lifetime of them, it seemed like I should be able to recognize the wrong move easily enough.

  But it wasn’t as easy as one might think.

  If the wrong move was reaching out to grab the hem of his shirt and drag it up, would I hear warning bells?

  I don’t know, but I did that, and I did it slowly, listening for said alarm bells.

  There were none. Just the roaring in my ears.

  My hands trembled as I unbuttoned his shirt. Once it hung open, framing his chest, I paused, stroking my hands along the muscled plane. I leaned in, pressed my lips to the middle of his chest, felt his heart pounding hard and fast. He cupped the back of my head and I thought I felt a tremor rack him. A rush of need, a rush of emotion and yearning and warmth and wonder crashed through me.

  I didn’t want to feel like that.

  It frightened me.

  But there was no stopping it.

  My hands fell away and Jenks lifted his head, staring at me, the velvet of his eyes intense, hot as molten chocolate, lingering on my face before dropping to rest on my mouth. “I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice blunt and uncompromising.

  “Then do it.”

  Maybe if I let him take control here, I could handle this better. It wasn’t a scary thing if I wanted him to take control, right?

  One hand stroked up my middle, stopping on my neck, just under my chin, and he angled my head back, lowered his until his mouth was just a breath away. “Do it?” he whispered. “Just like that? What about our date?”

  “Maybe I want this to be the date,” I said, forcing the words out of my tight throat. “Or maybe we can do this, then go out.”

  He laughed, rubbing his lips over mine. “Sugar, if this keeps up, the only thing I’m going to feel like doing is getting horizontal with you.”

  I blinked at him, my heart jumping up to lodge in my throat. Horizontal. With Jenks. The idea didn’t bother me at all.

  “Or maybe vertical…” He caught one of my legs, dragging me open and leaning in against me. “Right like this would be just about perfect.”

  My breath froze as I felt him rock against me, the silk of my panties gliding back and forth.

  And the sensation was too much, way, way too much.

  My nails bit into his shoulders as I clutched him against me. “Dillian…”

  He sank his teeth into my lower lip.

  And I climaxed, right there.

  “That,” he growled. “That is just about perfect.”

  And the best part was…I didn’t even cry.

  Although a few minutes later, part of me wanted to. Cry, or maybe pull out my hair. Hit something. Kick something.

  I just wanted to be normal. If I was a normal, healthy female, I could be in bed with Jenks right now. Instead, he was smoothing my dress down around my hips, even as I tried to tug him back to me.

  Finally, he caught my hands and guided them up to his chest. The look in his eyes was caught between frustration and need and he said, “Enough, Shadow. Enough, okay?”

  “Why?” The question tore out of my dry throat, my voice rusty, as if it had been months since I’d used it. Edgy, I pushed him away and stormed over to the pretty kitchen I rarely used and opened the refrigerator. I had bottled water in there. I could only drink bottled water anymore and it had to be Aquafina.

  It was just another one of those stupid little quirks I’d developed. The cop who had hustled me into his car that night I’d escaped from hell had some water in his car and he’d given me the bottle. It was the first time I had been given anything other than tepid, stale water in months and the doctors who had examined me thought it had been almost two days since I’d had anything to drink. Severe dehydration, severe malnutrition.

  The taste of that water sliding down my throat had been the sweetest thing I could remember. I’d live. I tasted that water and I’d realized I was free. Each time I held one of those silly plastic bottles, it reaffirmed that belief. I was alive.

  Now, my hands shook as I unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle to my lips. I downed half of it before I slid him a look from the corner of my eye. “Why is it enough? I thought…”

  Then I stopped speaking, blowing out a slow breath.

  I needed to stop thinking. Every time I did, I was wrong anyway.

  His boots scuffed against the floor and the compulsion to look up at him was strong, but I didn’t. I continued to stare at the rust-colored walls of my kitchen. The stove and refrigerator were set against one wall and that wall was brick. I loved the rustic look of it, tried to imagine myself cooking in here. There had been a time when I’d enjoyed cooking. But that was that old life. That old me. The girl who had died in that forsaken hell.

  “You thought what?”

  Closing my eyes, I carefully screwed the top back on the water bottle. If I was quiet, if I didn’t answer him, he’d get the point and just leave. I wouldn’t have to humiliate myself. I wouldn’t have to lay it out like that and embarrass myself.

  His hands came down on my shoulders and the flinch escaped me before I could stop it. “When was the last time you had sex, sugar?” he asked.

  That blunt, uncompromising question startled me into looking at him and his gaze was just as direct, just as unyielding as the question had been. Blood rushed to my face and I wanted to turn away, hide from him, but he didn’t let me.

  “When?” he asked again and those dark, penetrating eyes of his seemed to stare deep into my soul.

  “Sex…” I murmured, looking away from him. It was easier to look at something other than his chest as I answered, I decided. “I haven’t been with anybody since my marriage. I left him three years ago.”

  “And when was the last time you really slept with him?”

  Something about that question, the way he phrased it, bothered me. Squirming out of his grasp, I turned away and put the water bottle back inside the refrigerator. There were twenty-one bottles—well, twenty now that I had opened one. Time to order another case of water. I drank three bottles a day. I recycled religiously and some part of me felt bad about the waste, but I couldn’t drink the water from the tap. I’d tried the expensive filters and they just weren’t the same.

  It’s weird how being deprived of something so simple can make such an impact on you.

  “My husband liked sex,” I said, forcing the words out.

  “Did he now?” Jenks said, his voice soft, almost gentle. “So you liked making love with him.”

  The laugh was a harsh echo in the room and I spun around, the sneer on my face alien. “Oh, I didn’t say that. I think we stopped…” The words tangled on my tongue. “Making love within six months of getting married. But he damn well forced me to have sex with him on a regular basis.”

  “If he forced you, then it wasn’t sex.” He crossed the floor, reaching up to cup my cheek once he was near. His touch was gentle. The look in his eyes was anything but. “There’s a word for that, and I think you know what it is.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t stop them as they fell. “What do you want from me?”

  “I just wanted an answer.” He wrapped me up in his arms, a sigh drifting from him. His h
and cupped the back of my head and I buried my face against his shirt. It felt so good to stand there. Just right there. I could happily do that, just that, for an eternity. “I don’t want to hear what he did to you until you’re ready to talk. And if that’s never, then I can handle that.”

  “Then why are you asking about my fucking sex life?” I demanded, curling my fingers into the soft, silky material of his shirt.

  He laughed softly, turning his face into my neck. His lips brushed against my ear and despite the turmoil inside me, I couldn’t deny the pleasure that skittered through me at that light touch. “Because, sugar, if you and I end up horizontal, there are certain things to take into consideration, and I didn’t come here planning to get you naked. At least not yet. But you don’t go climbing into bed with somebody without protection. I didn’t bring any. Do you have something here?”

  It was a sign of just how out of touch I am that it took a minute for all of that to connect. I’d been with others before my marriage, but that had been a long time ago. So long. And once I’d gotten married…well, a woman doesn’t need condoms to sleep with her husband. My cheeks went red as I eased back to shoot him a glance. “You mean…” I felt like an idiot. I took birth control but there were other considerations and it wasn’t like we’d had that talk. “No. Ah…no. I don’t have anything.”

  His thumb stroked my nape. “Okay, then.” He turned us around and I found myself pinned between him and the counter. It wasn’t a bad place to be. Not at all. My lids lowered as he rocked against me and some of that turmoil I carried inside melted away. “Here’s what I think. I think we should go out on that date. See what happens. If you’re still feeling…friendly…we can find a store. Take care of this little matter that’s interfering. Then we can go to my place.”

  At those words, I tensed. His place.

  “Why your place?” I asked and I had to squeeze the words out—jagged pieces of twisted, rusty iron that tore at my throat.

  “Because everything you have here is a reminder.” He nuzzled my neck. “It’s a reminder of what you escaped, or a reminder of what he tried to make you into. It’s a reminder of your freedom. Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m glad you have that, but for this one thing, I want nothing between us, around us, near us. I just want us.”

  Chapter Eight

  The seafood place down on the water was one I’d want to try.

  I’d just never gotten around to it. It wasn’t the kind of restaurant you dropped into for a casual lunch on your own, and I never left home alone in the evening unless I was with Seth or Marla. Seth was still struggling to get through school. Marla was a dance instructor. They didn’t have the kind of funds for this. I could do it, but even though always tried to handle it, they took their turn on paying for pizza and they insisted on taking their turn when it came to movie night. They definitely weren’t going to let me take them to a place like Alistair’s.

  Tablecoths gleamed in the candlelight and music played softly in the background. The serving staff wore all black, save for the simple white aprons around their hips.

  It was beautiful inside.

  And for one, breath-sucking minute, I thought I caught a glimpse of my ex.

  I stood there as the waiter pulled out my chair and my legs wouldn’t move. I couldn’t even lower myself to the seat and Jenks came to my side, touched my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  The sound of his voice broke the thick, awful hold of fear, but I still had a nasty taste in the back of my mouth as I forced myself to sit down. “I’m fine. Go…sit.”

  He did, but not without moving the seat first. He slid it around until it was angled closer to mine. The server said nothing, just moved the silverware and napkin and smiled.

  “Would you like to see the wine list?” she asked as Jenks settled into his seat.

  I barely managed to keep from saying, “Hell, yes.”

  “I would, yes.” I was pleased to hear that my voice didn’t shake. That was good.

  As she made a discreet exit, Jenks leaned back in his seat and caught me with his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  Fidgeting, I picked up the napkin and started to toy with the edges. “I…” I shot him a look and then slid my gaze over to the corner where I saw the dark-haired man. It could be him, I realized. It had been months since I’d seen him.

  The hair style was different, but only slightly.

  He wasn’t wearing a suit, but here in the laid back, coastal Carolina town, that wasn’t really odd. He would probably try to blend.

  It really could be him.

  My hands started to shake. My heart hammered and throbbed so hard I almost felt ill.

  Why would he be here?

  But I already knew the answer.

  The answer sat next to me, so close I could feel the heat from his muscled thigh. Jenks had scared off one of his spies and he had to find another one, and more, he had to freak me out while he did it. I had to pay the price for slipping his leash.

  A hand, strong and warm, covered mine. “Shadow, it’s time to stop trying to handle all this fear by yourself.”

  Was it?

  Could I trust anybody else with this?

  From the corner of my eye, I caught movement and I looked up at the server as she appeared with the wine list. Automatically, I skimmed it and without batting a lash, my gaze shot straight down to the list of ports and dessert wines. Tapping on the one that looked the most appealing, I said, “Can you bring a bottle of this?”

  She arched a brow. “Now or when you have dessert?”

  “Now. I don’t like reds or whites.” And I needed a fucking drink.

  Especially if I had to keep staring at the back of that dark head and wonder if it was him.

  He’d like that, I thought. He’d like to make me wonder, and wait, and worry. It was so like him.

  Once we were alone again, I looked at Jenks and blew out a breath. Then I angled my head to the table across the room. “The dark-haired man sitting with the older guy. I think it might be my ex.”

  Jenks had his elbows propped on the edge of the table and as I said those words, the muscles in his biceps went tight, the veins standing out in stark relief. His eyes skimmed the room, landed on the men in question, and then came back to me. “Why would he be here?”

  I smiled sourly. “With him, the question is…why wouldn’t he be?”

  We lapsed into silence as the server brought out the wine and a few minutes later, I had my drink and we were left to ourselves again. Jenks had told her we’d let her know when we were ready to order. At the rate I was going, I just might not eat. Ever.

  This had been a sucker punch of a day, that was for certain. Haltingly, I told him, “I can’t tell you what it was like, what he did to me when we were married. Not yet, and definitely not when we’re in public. I…” I took a sip of the wine, closed my eyes at the rush of sweetness, enjoyed the flavor of it as it broke across my taste buds before I swallowed. Then I put the glass down and clenched my trembling hands together. Looking at him, I forced myself to go on. “I never had anxiety before. Once I was…away, I developed OCD and I have panic attacks. All because of what he did to me. If I try to talk about it in public, I’ll come apart, I know I will. Maybe one day I can tell you. I don’t know. But he would come down here—he has come down here—just to let me know he’s still there. That he can show up whenever he pleases. The day I left the hospital, he called, even though the hospital was told to block all calls from him. He called from a line at work, had managed to charm one of the nurses into putting the call through. He told me that I’d never be free of him. This is his little way of reminding me.”

  Seconds passed and then Jenks reached for the ice water the server had poured. He drained it, thunked it down on the table with enough force that several heads turned our way. I didn’t care. In all honesty, I could have used the physical outlet myself. Broken something, maybe broken the wine bottle over somebody’s skull.

  “If you had the chance to ma
ke him disappear, would you take it?”

  The question caught me off guard.

  I stared at him, saw the glitter in his eyes. I pondered the question. If I could make him disappear…

  I opened my mouth to answer, unsure of what I would say.

  The answer surprised even me.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want him hurting anybody, not ever again.” I stared out the window, mesmerized by the rippling, rolling waters of the ocean. Then I slid my eyes back to look at Jenks. “I don’t think I would , though. Some part of me wants to believe that some day, he’ll pay for what he’s done. That he’ll have to sit in jail and answer for everything he did to me. For what he’s done to other women.”

  Jenks’ eyes narrowed. “Others.”

  “I’m not the first.” Shaking my head, I continued my study of the ocean. “He has a taste for hurting people. He was…good at it. I can’t believe it happened overnight. I don’t know of anybody directly, but I can’t be the only one.”

  He reached across the table and caught my free hand. “Do you want to leave?”

  We could do that. He’d understand.

  I wouldn’t, though. I’d told myself I was going to start to live, let myself feel more. And if I left this place just because there was a man who may or may not be my ex-husband, I was going to regret it. I’d regret it for a very long time.

  I took another sip of the wine. Let it linger in the mouth as I put the glass down. Then, without looking at Jenks, I reached for the menu.

  My ex stopped controlling me when I let the fear stop controlling my life.

  I had to take the reins. I couldn’t do that by letting the fear run things for me.

  Nearly an hour later, Jenks’ eyes were hard and flat.

  And a shiver raced down my spine. I guess I didn’t need to look at the point. The way my body reacted was telling me everything I needed to know. But some part of me had to look.

  The wine had me feeling pleasantly buzzed and maybe it even gave me a little bit of false confidence. I needed it, needed that warm little boost in my belly as I turned my head, casually glanced over. He was staring at me. Talking to the man he’d had dinner with, but staring at me.