by BJ Wane
Pushing away from the door, Lillian bemoaned the lingering ache for Mitchell’s solicitous attention that was so unlike her. Her body still vibrated with pleasure she’d reaped from taking his orders and his cock, her mind numb from the unexpected meltdown and continuing need for his comfort. She needed to get a handle on this undesirable complication with a man who defined everything she disliked about the opposite sex.
She was too drained to reason it all out tonight, so she padded to the computer to check her email before going to bed. Her agent was working on several promotions for her and the sooner she heard back from him, the quicker she could plan where to go from here. Her nose twitched from the faint odor that was strong enough on this side of the room to make her eyes water the same as she suffered during allergy season. The low hum of the furnace gave credence to Mitchell’s explanation until she sat down at the corner desk and the screen popped up as if she hadn’t shut it down before leaving. A coil of suspicion cramped her abdomen as she inspected the desk and floor for signs someone had been in here.
Not seeing anything, she relaxed and blamed exhaustion for her paranoid thoughts, went through her emails without finding anything from her agent and shut down the computer and her wayward emotions for the night.
Chapter 10
Bryan returned to his motel room, the drink he stopped for after leaving Lillian’s apartment empty handed doing little to ease his frustration. Dropping onto the bed, he locked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, wishing it weren’t too late to call the hospital and check on Brad. The hour he risked searching her computer and then the apartment had yielded nothing. His brother never had made protecting him easy. The lectures during Brad’s rebellious teen years had fallen on deaf ears and he’d despaired of his younger sibling ever putting his high IQ to good use. And then Brad had surprised him by acing four years of college in three and getting accepted into medical school. There had been a few bumps along the way, such as DUIs and two ex-girlfriends who filed assault charges after he’d broken off the relationship.
As if, he snorted. No one, least of all him believed their unsubstantiated, wild accusations. Brad was never without a line of women waiting to jump at the chance to enter into an affair with one of the city’s most successful, wealthiest doctors and the few who were awarded the privilege each thought she would be the one he would keep. He could see Brad getting frustrated with a woman who refused to walk away without causing a scene when he was done with her, but a few bruises didn’t add up to assault.
But attacking his brother with enough surprise and force to leave him with a debilitating head wound was battery, and unforgivable in his book. No way would he return home without destroying those pictures first. He refused to let her drag Brad’s good name and reputation through the mud because she couldn’t accept he was done with her. She needed to pay for her sins. He would have to get hold of her phone somehow, as that was the next logical device where he would find anything. Assuming she carried it with her, he needed to take care plotting his next step. Breaking in again would be the easy part considering the quick way he’d manipulated the flimsy lock tonight without leaving a trace. Entering the residence while she was sleeping increased the risk to him and his career, but what other choice did she leave him?
Unfortunately, time was not on his side. Between the two-day drive here and the days of tracking her whereabouts, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting. If Bryan could get in tomorrow night, grab her phone and get out quick, Lillian would never suspect or hear a thing. With luck, she’d think she lost her cell, he could dispose of it and the photos and return to Utah to assist Brad in filing a complaint he would ensure resulted in charges.
As long as everything went according to plan.
Mitchell spent Sunday resisting the urge to check on Lillian, reminding himself she was fine when he left her last night. That determined independence continued to annoy him when he was in Dom mode as much as he admired the strength it took to make her way alone in the world. After the numerous cases of abuse he’d seen come through the emergency room over the years, he had gotten a good idea of how difficult it was for women to walk away from such toxic relationships. He still didn’t know much about Lillian’s circumstances, and that was on him. He hadn’t pushed, figuring first, they wouldn’t see each other again after she left the cabin and second, when they did, their opposing personalities and desires would prevent any type of relationship from forming.
It was hard to admit he was wrong, and this morning, even more difficult to acknowledge he hadn’t a clue where to go from here. The temptation to kiss her and reluctance to walk away last night were additional signs he should take the time for soul-searching before going forward. Was he ready and willing to explore taking their odd pairing further than any other relationship since losing Abbie? And if so, how to get Lillian on board with the idea remained an obstacle.
To take his mind off the promise of her acceptance of what she’d not only witnessed last night but everything he’d put her through, he trudged up to the attic to go through Abbie’s things, a chore he’d put off for too long. Opening the door to the musty odor, he flicked on the light, his eyes landing on her wedding dress hanging in the corner. Padding over to it, he fingered the lacey cream satin, picturing her shy smile as she’d walked toward him down the aisle. The memories could still produce a small pang and there would always be a small corner of his heart just for her and the special bond they had shared as both husband and wife and Dom/sub.
Would he really accept anything less in another relationship? Lillian’s flashing eyes and taunting smirks replaced Abbie’s downcast subservience and soft smiles of pleasure at doing his bidding. Lillian would challenge him, and maybe, since he had traded the everyday stress of sixty-hour workweeks as the head ER physician and trauma surgeon at a large hospital for the less time-consuming, mentally straining job of family practitioner, he would find the change stimulating. But would Lillian?
Mitchell took the dress off the rack and folded it up. Grabbing an empty box, he started gathering other items he had stashed up here when he moved in, at the time, still unable to let go of anything. With luck, bringing closure to one part of his life would help decide which path to take toward a possible new beginning.
Lillian took off early Sunday morning, enjoyed a big breakfast at the diner and visiting with people she was still getting to know. By the time she left, the sun shone high in the sky, the temperature already hitting the fifty-degree mark. She drove to the city park, acres of trees surrounding a small lake she discovered a few days ago. The picnic tables were empty but a few kids played on the playground and several people were taking advantage of the nice day to follow the walking path that wound in and out of the woods. Paddleboats sat docked but she could picture them in use during the summer months. After taking several pictures, she sat at a table with her sketch pad, sighing as she opened it to the picture of Liana she’d drawn at Mitchell’s cabin.
As always, sorrow threatened to bring her down, just like this morning when she’d first awoken and wanted to talk to Liana about her tumultuous feelings over surrendering to Mitchell and his sexual preferences. It wasn’t the first time and, God help her, she hoped it wouldn’t be the last. She could call Nan or Avery to talk out her confusion, but as welcoming and encouraging as her new friends were, they lacked the years of knowing her better than anyone else and the insight her special bond with her twin had offered.
“What do you say, sis? Is it time to pack up and go? Out of sight, out of mind, that’s all I need to get over this weird infatuation, right?” The picture didn’t answer, her mumblings drawing curious looks from a couple walking by and an immediate, painful twinge. The longer she stayed in Willow Springs, the more she wanted to stick around. Flipping the page over, she eyed the sketch of Mitchell and her heart turned over, proof she didn’t need her sister to tell her she didn’t want to go. Not yet.
She spent another hour at the park drawing and then returned to the ap
artment to paint. Nan called, asking how she was handling her first BDSM scene, her concern reminding Lillian of everyone’s unconditional acceptance of her into their close-knit group of friends. “Like you’ve been telling me, Doctor Mitchell is a hard man to resist,” she’d admitted. She didn’t mention embracing the physical responses to his sexual control was easy compared to the dent her acceptance put in her sworn independent nature. She couldn’t have it both ways – a sexually submissive desire while keeping her liberated views – could she? Wasn’t that at the root of her constant indecision since meeting Mitchell?
Between the time Lillian fixed dinner and turned in for the night, the answer to that question still evaded her. But as she drifted to sleep, there was no doubt how much time she spent that day craving to see Mitchell and hear his deep voice issuing more of those sexual demands she couldn’t resist.
Bryan waited another fifteen minutes after the lights went out in both the house and garage apartment before making a stealthy return back up the side steps and crouching to work the flimsy lock again. Clamping his cigarette between his lips, he slid the credit card between the door and lock, grateful the people in this backwoods town were dumb enough to leave themselves vulnerable to such break-ins. At least something was going his way.
A hall night light shed just enough illumination for him to make out the lowered Murphy bed and Lillian’s sleeping form, something he hadn’t counted on. His smoke might awaken her, but if he put it out, the ashes would leave evidence of his presence. Moving fast while keeping quiet wasn’t easy but he refused to back out now. He found her purse sitting next to the painting easel propped in front of the window. Keeping low, he searched the bag, gripped the phone and sidled back out the door, never noticing the ashes that dropped onto the turpentine-soaked rag next to the paints.
A faint, familiar odor tickled Lillian’s nose and throat several groggy minutes before the crackle of fire and wisps of smoke awoke her other senses. Coughing, she blinked open watery eyes to see flames licking up the window curtains and spreading to the ceiling. Shocked terror galvanized her into action as she threw herself from the bed and stumbled toward the door. She was halfway there when Mitchell flung it open, bare-chested and barefoot, gripping a fire extinguisher in one hand as he yanked her out with the other.
“Get downstairs,” he barked before entering the room with the fire-dousing spray already spewing from the canister.
Lillian dashed down the stairs and was greeted with the wail of sirens disturbing the quiet residential street. Wearing nothing but a thigh length sleep shirt and panties, she stood to the side, shivering as a volunteer fire truck pulled to the curb and a sheriff’s cruiser behind it. One of the young firemen tossed her a blanket as the deputy approached her with his hand out.
“Ma’am. Why don’t you sit in my vehicle while we get this under control and then you can give me a statement.”
Too shook up and cold to say anything, she nodded and slid into the still running SUV, savoring the heat as she watched with dread. An hour passed in which firemen dragged a hose up the stairs and aimed another hose spray at the side of the garage, working to contain the blaze still sparking inside the apartment. At one point, one of them had carried out several of her paintings and stacked them on the front porch of the house before trotting back up. Sheriff Grayson arrived thirty minutes ago and joined Mitchell upstairs, her worry for everyone increasing the longer it took to get the fire under control.
With a sigh of relief, Lillian finally saw the firemen rolling up their hoses and tromping down the stairs from the blackened garage. Mitchell’s soot darkened face looked as grim as Grayson’s as they came toward the cruiser. Opening the door, Mitchell took her hand, tugging her out as she noticed the plastic sack clutched in his other hand.
“Come inside, pet. We need to talk.”
That, along with the questions and concern crossing both men’s faces caused Lillian’s throat to clog with anxiety. Holding the blanket closed with her other hand, worry kept her silent until Mitchell opened the front door. “What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as she entered his house for the first time.
“Sit down.” He led her into a living room and pointed to a leather sectional in front of a brick fireplace. Setting the bag on the floor, he said, “I managed to grab your purse, some clothing and the bank bag that was stashed under it. Everything left reeks too much of smoke to salvage.”
“Thanks.” Flicking a glance toward the sheriff, whose rigid, arms-crossed stance made her nervous, she asked, “What happened? Was it the furnace?” The look they exchanged didn’t promise an easy explanation and spiked up her anxiety another notch. Mitchell leaned against the fireplace, his biceps bulging as he too crossed his arms. Before tonight, the only time she’d seen him bare chested had been at the cabin, when she eyed his complete nakedness as he turned from the fire and lust had tempered her grief for a short span. But right now, with her nerves shot, his overbearing, overprotective stance and intent gaze was working for her.
“The fire started by your paint supplies, the rags next to your easel,” Grayson said. “Turpentine is highly flammable.”
Lillian jumped to her feet, her body taut with denial. “Those are kept in a metal bucket and never near a furnace, or even a vent. And I don’t smoke. You have to be wrong.” Because if he wasn’t, that meant she was responsible for the destruction of Mitchell’s property, and she couldn’t bear that.
“Lillian, you’re not to blame.” Mitchell’s sharp rebuttal drew her stricken gaze. “Before turning in, did you lock the door?”
“Yes. I always do.”
“Exactly. Like me, coming from a big city, we automatically lock our homes, coming and going. Your door was not only unlocked when I arrived, but not even latched. We,” he nodded toward Grayson, “believe someone entered after you fell asleep.”
Remembering the indistinct odor she had caught the last two evenings upon entering the apartment and finding her computer on after she shut it down before leaving, she sank back down on the sofa wondering what they had been after. Shaking her head, she glanced from Mitchell to Grayson, confused. “I don’t have anything worth taking, except maybe the laptop, which was still there.”
“Why don’t you tell us about your ex, his name for starters?” Grayson insisted, a hard glint in his eyes.
“Brad?” Unable to help it, she scoffed at the idea. “Trust me, if he even bothered to go to the trouble of tracking down my whereabouts, he would confront me face to face. He was all about control.” She sent Mitchell a rueful grin. “A lot like you, but in a destructive way. Funny, he’s a well-established surgeon, his brother’s a cop.” Her eyes slid back to Grayson. “And now I find myself answering to another physician and cop. I gotta tell you, I don’t like it.”
“Too bad, and don’t compare us to them. We both saw the evidence of your ex’s destructive control,” Mitchell reminded her, not at all amused by her comparison.
“What’s his last name and I’ll judge whether he is worth checking up on. How long were you together and what was the catalyst that made you leave?” Grayson returned with cool insistence.
Lillian recoiled from saying anything else about her relationship with Brad. She averted her face from Grayson’s probing stare and Mitchell’s unwavering gaze, afraid they would see the shame she couldn’t shake since she didn’t regret willingly sharing Brad’s bed after he would hit her. She couldn’t bear to have them judge her, not any of these people who had welcomed her into their intimate group and friendly community. Brad’s threats to cause Liana pain if Lillian didn’t go along brought her more angst than letting him rut on top of her for ten minutes a few times. The sex with him before she broke off their initial relationship had been good, making it easier to tolerate his touch again without enjoying it.
“McCabe, and I’m not discussing our relationship. It wasn’t Brad, that’s all I’ll say.” She shivered again, unable to dispel the chills still racking her body. It was hard to wrap her
head around finding herself a victim of a crime here in this peaceful, small town after avoiding that fate living her entire life in the big city. “It must have been kids or a random attempt at theft, not realizing someone was occupying the space.”
Grayson cut his gray/green gaze to Mitchell, his shadowed jaw taut. “I’ll wait for the fire inspector’s report later this week.” His hard tone signaled he would return at that time to continue questioning her.
Pushing to her feet again, guilt over his damaged property prompted her to apologize even though she wasn’t at fault, and there was no way Brad was involved. “I’m sorry, Mitchell. I’ll pay…”
“Fuck that, Lillian,” Mitchell snapped out with an angry slice of his hand as he gave in to the urge to go to her. He never imagined anything could scare him as much as reading Abbie’s test results confirming stage four cancer until he’d seen smoke obscuring the window of the garage apartment. As he tore out of his house with his abdomen knotted into a painful twist of fear, one thought kept repeating itself; he couldn’t lose another woman he cared about. Now, after admitting and accepting that revelation, seeing Lillian turn away from their astute gazes, looking ashamed and refusing to answer their probing questions about her asshole ex, then hearing her apologize and offer to pay for some intruder’s careless destruction prompted him to act.
Surprise erased the guilt on her face as he gripped her arms and hauled her up against him. Instead of changing in a flash to irritation, which was her usual reaction when he pressed the control issue, her eyes went dark with arousal, an ache tightening her face as she leaned into him. Neither paid attention as Grayson walked out.
“Whatever is going on is not your fault. We will get to the bottom of it, but until then, it’s time for both of us to quit dancing around what’s going on between us.” Without giving her a chance to answer, he swooped down and covered those soft lips with his mouth, kissing a woman for the first time since Abbie. And damned if it didn’t feel right, regardless she was all wrong for him and he for her.