by Lily White
Meadow considered how to approach a topic she wasn’t sure Vincent would answer honestly, but she had a day and a half left to ask it, to confirm what she’d known all along. Knowing she’d made the demand that the prison not record the interview, telling them they could watch the security cameras, but not listen, she leaned forward with little worry that if Vincent admitted the truth, it would save his life.
“I want you to be honest with me for once. This information won’t be written into my article about you, Vincent. It’s only for me to know.”
He stared at her, curious.
“You didn’t kill Penny, did you? It was Maurice.”
Shifting, he leaned forward so that their faces were close together, his voice lowering to a whisper as he spoke. “Why would I give up my life for a murder I didn’t commit?”
Meadow’s brows pulled together. “That doesn’t answer my question, Vincent.”
“It’s not my turn to answer questions,” he responded calmly. “Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps we can revisit your question when you’re finished.”
Knowing she’d hit a wall, Meadow leaned back in her seat, happy for the distance it put between them. This part of the story had become more depressing for her to tell now that she knew it wouldn’t have the effect she’d hoped for.
Once Vincent, too, had sat back in his chair, Meadow breathed deeply before admitting what she knew of the love Penny and Maurice shared.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Penny
I spent the remainder of the morning furious with Vincent, so fucking outraged that I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t keep from pacing around the paths of the garden considering my next move.
It broke my heart to think of how he treated Maurice, to remember the pain I saw in that man’s eyes every time he felt rejected or lost control. What kind of life could a person lead when constantly drowning in embarrassment, in doubt, in sorrow? Not that my life was any better at the moment, but at least I’d experienced happy times I could think back on.
I’d had a family that loved me even if my father died and I hadn’t kept in contact with my mother and sister. And although Blake had eventually broken my heart and left me with nothing, I would never lose the years we’d shared together.
I’d experienced moments lying in the warmth of sunshine. I’d been allowed to laugh, to be silly, to dance and sing. I’d felt love expand my heart with both joy and sorrow, and I’d clung to friendships at times that had meant more to me than the world.
Even in the darkest moments, I could remind myself that there had once been light, and even when nightmares chased and it felt like I would break, I could escape into memories of happier times.
What did Maurice have to remember except a brother who kept him confined to a cage? When had he ever walked beneath the warmth of the sunlight? When had he ever looked a person directly in the eye and known that he was loved?
Suspecting Maurice had never experienced the best parts of life, I made a decision in my heart before it was ever an obvious thought in my mind. And when noon rolled around, the sundials hidden along the paths of the garden shaded just right, I found my way back to the hotel and retrieved Maurice’s lunch.
To say I was excited to return to the basement was a lie. In truth, I was once again terrified. Not because I thought Maurice would hurt me - although that act was always a possibility - but because I worried that I would hurt him. I’d never dealt with a person so sensitive, so distraught. I’d never had to walk on eggshells for fear that one wrong look, or a word spoken that could be taken the wrong way would break apart every bit of self-control a person fought to have.
Being a catalyst for Maurice’s rage, for his sorrow, and his lack of restraint, wasn’t what I wanted to become. But as I’d already discovered that morning, he had made me exactly that.
The elevator doors swung open to an entryway lit by candles alone, and it occurred to me that when his mind was mired in darkness, so too was his surrounding space.
Tapping drew my attention to the left hall, the sound pulling me to a room that was in perfect opposition to the rest of the basement where Maurice was trapped. And like yesterday at this time, I found him seated at his desk. Although not messy, the room was practically empty of many of the decorations and furnishings that had been here this morning. Sorry for having pushed him to a point of destroying a room it was obvious he preferred, I cleared my throat and forced a smile.
“Lunch is here. Where would you like it?”
His beautiful face tipped up to look at me, embarrassment staining his cheeks. “The table, as usual,” he answered, restraint obvious in his clipped words.
Crossing the room, my eyes caught sight of a few shards of glass he’d missed when cleaning the room. I simply stepped around them and said nothing. Setting the covered dish down on the table, I shifted my weight between my feet, not knowing what to do next. But rather than running away like my instincts were screaming for me to do, I turned and walked to stand in front of his desk.
Tap, tap tap...
His fingers over the keys moved quickly, and I wondered briefly what he did on his computer all day. Refusing to ask the question, I stood and waited for him to look at me again. When he did, I had to grip the side of my pants to keep from reaching out to wipe the lines of sorrow away.
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” I asked, deciding that keeping our conversation contained to safe subjects was the best way to communicate with Maurice.
He nodded slowly, one small movement while his eyes watched me with suspicion.
“What did they send you? I never look beneath the cover, so-“
My voice trailed off, and suddenly I felt stupid for the ridiculously boring question.
“The usual,” he answered softly. Shaking his head, he added, “Bacon, pancakes, eggs.”
My stomach growled just hearing about food. With the anger I’d felt toward Vincent, I’d neglected to eat anything.
Maurice’s brows lifted above his eyes. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine,” I answered a bit too quickly. He cocked a brow and I laughed. The sound from my lips caused his mouth to crook with an unsure smile.
Realizing I liked being around him when he was calm, I scoured my thoughts for more safe subjects to discuss. “I was walking in the garden this morning after bringing breakfast to you. I like to lie on the swings and watch the birds fly overhead. It’s peaceful.”
The words were a lie. In truth I’d been storming around burning off the anger Vincent had driven deep inside me. But I wouldn’t admit that to Maurice.
“I don’t see many birds at night. I guess they’re all sleeping,” he responded, his words crushing my heart. This man deserved to explore outside while the sun was high and shining.
Turning to glance at his waiting food, I asked, “Did you want me to leave so you can eat?”
He shook his head. “No.” His expression tightened, as if he were attempting to conjure words he wasn’t used to speaking. “I’d like it if you eat with me.” A flash of embarrassment rolled across his expression, his head tilted down as his eyes tipped up, like a dog waiting to be hit. I wouldn’t be the one to slap him.
“Do you think there’s enough?”
Maurice nodded his head.
Not sure what to do now that we’d gotten this far, I made a decision to be the first to make physical contact with a man who was obviously afraid he’d hurt me. Slowly, so as not to startle him or give the wrong indication that I was leaving, I inched around the edge of his desk, stepping as close as I could to him while extending my hand. He stared at it as if not knowing what to do next.
“I’m offering to lead you to the table,” I explained, “by holding your hand. All you have to do is reach up and take it.”
His eyes remained fixed to my palm as if it would snap out and smack him. Eventually, though, he lifted those gorgeous green eyes to mine, insecurity written behind them as he lifted his hand and wrapped it with mine. His s
kin felt like it was on fire, the heat of him helping drive the cold anger from my bones.
Tugging softly so that he would stand from his seat, I led him across the room to where his food sat waiting. Taking a chair, I let go of his hand and patiently waited for him to sit. Neither of us reached to remove the dome from his plate immediately, we just sat staring at one another as thoughts raced through our heads. After a few seconds, he finally broke our stare to lift the dome from the plate and released a scent that sent my stomach tumbling through another loud growl.
Maurice chuckled, the sound not loud or boisterous enough to be called a true laugh, but I smiled regardless because it was a start. It was the first time I saw even the bare hint of happiness in his eyes.
The only problem we faced was that there was one plate and one silverware setting. We would have to find a way to share and Maurice appeared confused as to what to do.
Deciding to make this fun, I joked, “You can feed me if you want.”
His eyes lifted to meet mine. “What do you mean?”
Taking the fork and unwrapping it from the cloth napkin, I slid it over to him. “You take a bite, and then you can give me a bite. Back and forth, so it’s fair.”
“Fair,” he repeated, more to himself than to me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this beautiful, lonely man had no idea how to handle himself around company. Sure, he may have been used to doctors and counselors, Vincent, and other people that studied him like an animal in a zoo, but he didn’t understand what to do when a person sat beside him with the intention of being a friend.
The realization only cemented my decision to become anything he needed. If Vincent wouldn’t let Maurice upstairs to see the sunshine, I’d bring the sunshine to him.
“Want me to show you?”
He nodded, his cheeks flaring red. It was so intriguing watching a man who had the strength and aggression to rip my head from my body fighting to behave like an ordinary person. Like watching a lion tuck a napkin into his collar while sitting at a table sharing lunch with the gazelle instead of eating them.
“Okay.” Sliding the fork back to my side of the table, I picked it up, scooped up a bit of the chopped steak and sautéed onions before carefully reaching across to offer it to Maurice. He stared at it for a few seconds, his eyes flicking to mine before he opened his mouth, and used his teeth to slide the food off the tines.
Smiling, I scooped up another bite and ate it myself. After moaning softly from how amazing the food tasted, I chewed, swallowed, and then slid to the fork back over to him. “Now you try.”
Maurice picked up the fork, carefully loading it with food while I tried not to think that this could go very wrong. What if the food fell off before he could get it to me? What if I didn’t take the bite fast enough to reassure him that I was still his friend? What if he stabbed the fork in my eye to teach me a painful lesson that he was more of a wild animal than a civilized man?
It could go either way, I realized, but still I sat and waited for him to reach to me and offer me a bite of food.
Locking my gaze with his, I smiled shyly before opening my mouth to take the bite. The way his eyes dipped down to study my mouth, the way his nostrils flared slightly, the heat I saw beaming from his face, it did funny things to my body while I slid the food from the fork.
After chewing, I had to fight to swallow, the food colliding with the frantic storm of butterfly wings in my stomach.
The remainder of the meal was spent much in the same way, Maurice’s shoulders relaxing with each minute that passed, with each shy smile shared between us. Once the plate was clean, Maurice looked at me, unsure what to do next. Fighting not to sigh when I realized how long a distance he had to walk to act normal around another person, I stepped up my game by making another suggestion.
“Would you like to sit on the couch with me?”
His brows pulled together in confusion. “Why?”
Shrugging, I answered, “To talk?”
“Talk?”
I nodded.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. About anything.”
He considered it for a second and shook his head. “I’d rather fuck.”
Opening my mouth to immediately dismiss that idea - or at least the way he’d suggested it - I closed it and remembered that Maurice was unaccustomed to how that particular part of a relationship was handled.
How the hell was I going to wiggle my way out of this one without setting him off?
“We should go to the couch first and then figure out what to do.”
“D’accord .”
I blinked, smiling when I reminded him, “I don’t speak French.”
His eyes rolled. “It means okay.”
Before I could push out of my seat he stood from his and rounded the table. I won’t lie and claim I didn’t brace myself for a sudden attack. But instead of forcing himself on me, or lifting me from my seat to sit me on the table to fuck me silly, Maurice simply offered me his hand. My eyes widened at the gesture.
Taking it, I let him help me from my seat and lead me to the couch where he sat on one end and I took the other.
This is going well , I thought.
Famous last words.
Before I could come up with a subject for us to talk about, Maurice grabbed me by the ankles and tugged me across the couch. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he deftly maneuvered his body on top of mine, his hands pinning my shoulders to the cushions as his mouth came down to bite the tip of my breast from over my shirt and bra.
“Maurice!” I cried out, but softened my voice to remember how he’d reacted this morning when I’d yelled at him. “I thought we were going to talk.”
The tip of his nose was tracing the line of my neck. “Then talk, if that’s what you want to do. But it’s not what I want to do.”
Teeth sank down on the lobe of my ear and my body arched against his. There was no mistaking how excited he was, the ridge of his erection was pressing between my legs. Despite the shudder of my body and the racing beat of my heart, I managed to respond, “That’s not how talking works.”
His chest vibrated with a deep growl, dark laughter filtering past his lips. Hot breath slid down my neck to brush my shoulder when he answered, “Then don’t talk and I’ll fuck you instead.”
Before I could utter a word in protest, his left hand moved to cover my mouth, while his right slid between our bodies to unbutton my pants. He’d managed to unfasten them, shove them to my knees and thrust a finger inside me before I could take my next breath.
Apparently, learning the cues of when a woman was interested in sex would have to happen on another day. At that point, there was no stopping him. Remembering the last time we’d been together, I also knew there was no possibility of this being soft and sweet. And as if spurred on by that thought, Maurice pulled away just enough to flip me so that my stomach was on the couch, lifting my hips so that I was on my knees, my legs still trapped by the pants bunched around them and my face pressed against the cushions when he planted a hand on my upper back to keep me from moving away.
I knew better than to fight, but I couldn’t help the squeal when he leaned over to bite down on my ass. More deep laughter as the sound of a zipper opening was a distinct note on the silence of the room.
The bite brought a memory to mind, but it was gone again as his cock thrust in my body, my mouth opening on a sensual moan the instant his width filled me. One of these days I was going to convince him to fuck me sweetly, but for now, I would submit to his whim and enjoy the ride.
As his hips thrust and he pushed himself deeper, his hands crept up the front of my shirt to push my bra up my breasts so that he could grip them possessively. Much taller than me he was able to bend over me, to press his mouth to my ear. His voice was a rough whisper when he said, “I think it’s funny that you were already wet. You didn’t actually want to talk, did you?”
I couldn’t find the strength to answer him, I was too busy trying
not to explode from the rush of pleasure he was forcing through my body. Maurice may have not been skilled in regular communication, but the man had a gold medal in the area of sensual torture.
With every powerful thrust of his hips, his breath pulsed against my neck, and as my muscles tightened to grip him and pull his cock deeper, the sounds coming from his mouth became feral. He wasn’t simply fucking me, he was claiming me as his.
It was slightly embarrassing how quickly he made me come. And as soon as my body tightened with my release, Maurice thrust harder to find his own. It wasn’t long until our bodies were coming down from the moment, his erection still inside me as it softened.
I closed my eyes and listened to his rhythmic breathing, thinking that when I brought him dinner, I’d show him what it meant to be sweet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
After leaving Maurice at his desk and refraining from sneaking behind him to see what he did on the computer all day, I took a shower in my room and left the hotel to walk the streets of the city and think about everything that had occurred over the past few days.
Remembering the email I’d sent to my sister, I stopped in at the Internet cafe, paid the clerk for a half hour and pulled up my messages to see she’d answered me almost immediately. If I hadn’t been in such a bad mood when I sent the email, and if I hadn’t shut down the computer almost as soon as hitting send, I would have heard the tell tale ping of her response.
Opening the email, I laughed to see the first several lines written in all caps. Leave it to Meadow to find a way to yell at me from across an ocean.
“FINALLY! I WAS ABOUT TO HIRE AN INVESTIGATOR TO FIND OUT IF YOU ARE DEAD!!”
Reading through the long winded message, I discovered that Meadow was doing well in school even though she was only taking two classes at a time. Between the two of us, I’d been the more academically gifted, but not exactly the smartest when it came to common sense.