Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’m good.”

  For the remainder of the time, we sip our coffee in comfortable silence while he plays with my hair, almost like in the days when I sat at his feet in his study at night. When only a light mist rain remains, he helps me gather my clothes, but shoves my ripped panties in his pocket. He buttons up my coat and walks me to my car, holding my umbrella for me.

  His kiss is passionate and desperate, as if he’s saying goodbye. “Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  He opens my door but grabs my wrist before I can get in. “Valentina.”

  I look back at him. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  His smile is both sad and tender.

  Guilt attacks me on the way home. I feel bad for leaving Connor with the guys so I could have sex with my dead husband. What kind of a mother does that? What if Connor is hungry or feeling cranky? My worries are unfounded. When I get home, I find Connor playing happily in the playpen and Charlie folding the laundry. Rhett and Quincy give me curious looks.

  “You look … different,” Rhett says. “It went well, then?”

  “Yes.” I smile, but offer nothing more. Things between Gabriel and I have always been complicated, and it’s no less so now. I can’t even define what we have, let alone explain it to my caring partners.

  “Someone we know?”

  “What he means is,” Quincy says, “is it someone we’ll approve of?”

  “I think so.”

  “Wait a minute.” Rhett scrutinizes me. “Is it the guy from the market?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you approve?”

  “I like him,” Quincy says.

  “Ditto.”

  “Good.”

  They’re going to see a lot more of him in the future. I’m determined to make it happen. The question is will Gabriel admit the truth? Will he come back to me as my husband or as a stranger?

  21

  Gabriel

  Damn me to hell and back. How could I give in so easily? Touching Valentina was every jaded shade of wrong. I should’ve kept my distance. Running into her screwed up everything. I’m not arrogant enough to believe she’s attracted to me or my new face. She merely acted on the instinct I trained into her. Valentina needs pain with her pleasure. Dominance in bed. She’s drawn to the sadist, the monster. Sensing what I am underneath the polished veneer of a man is what brought her to my door. This is who I am. I can’t change it any more than a cat can turn itself into a dog.

  After she’d left, I pace the floor. The faint smell of raspberry contracts my chest, reminding me of what I’m missing, and that I’ll be utterly alone for the rest of my life. So be it. I don’t want anyone else. My purpose is protecting her and my child. That’s enough. I’ll feel better when I can make up for the financial hardships she suffered after my death. Once enough profit from my company rolls in, I’ll invest anonymously in her clever company. My heart swells with pride. I always knew she’d survive, and the fact that she’s making such a good job of it without me fills me with a pang of sad jealousy. No man wants to be expendable, dispensible, replaceable. All I ever wanted was to take care of her, and look where that got us. It’s better that I stay far away from her, even as every cell in my body pulls toward her with a force near impossible to resist. I exchanged her life for freedom. I have to hold onto that oath when I feel weak. Which is all the time.

  Of course, I’m tempted to take the golden opportunity she presented me, to claim her as a different man, but that will be just another lie, another manipulation, and I’m not going down that road with her again. Ever. I repeat the mantra, hoping it will sink in and that my dick will eventually get the message. Just being near her makes me hard. Fuck, thinking about her does the job. I clench and unclench my fingers, fighting a sudden urge to go after her and throw the truth at her feet, kneel, and beg her to forgive me and take me back. God, I’m such a selfish bastard. No, I won’t blow my cover and her new, hard-earned life to hell. There’s only one cure for taming my uncontrollable desire. I pull on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and punish myself with a grueling workout in the gym. With every weight I lift, I try to expel the memory of her taste, her sounds, and how she felt under my hands, but it’s futile. The more I push, the deeper she seeps under my skin.

  After a shower, I set out to do what I’ve been putting off since getting back to Johannesburg. I buy a bunch of white roses and drive to the graveyard. Visiting Carly’s grave rips me to pieces. I was afraid to come here, and now that the full force of the loss tears the patched-up grief wide open again, I sink down on my knees in the mud and weep over the stone of my beautiful girl I couldn’t save. Raw cries tear from my chest. For the first time after her death, I let them out. The violent emotion is far from healing. I’m simply lifting the lid on the simmering pain I carry inside of me. This, too, will always be a part of me, like losing Valentina and Connor. I accept it. This is what I deserve, to be an unhappy man with a whole face and a broken soul. Drying my face on my sleeve, I kiss my fingers and press them on the cold stone.

  “I love you, Carly.”

  I won’t fail Connor if it’s the last thing I do. He’ll never know me, but he won’t know need, either. No one will lay a finger on him as long as I live. Allowing the resolve to give me strength, I push to my feet and go back to my house, which feels emptier and colder than ever now that Valentina has marked it with her presence.

  One week goes by. I work myself to a standstill, if not with work, in the gym. I keep a tight watch on the woman and child who give meaning to my existence. I keep my distance, ensuring I don’t make the same stupid mistake, so when I come home from the gym on Saturday morning to find Valentina’s car parked in front my house, anticipation mixes with trepidation. I’m surprised, and I’m not. I made her physically and emotionally dependent on me when I first took her. It’s only natural she’ll look for someone to replace that dependency. A darkness rises inside of me when I think of another man fulfilling that role, but the turbulent feeling is quickly squashed when she gets out of the car with Connor on her hip. The sight of them stills me. A deep-sated pain tightens my chest. I press the remote to open the gate, pull into my driveway, and exit my car warily.

  “How did you get in?” The words come out more harshly than I intended.

  Valentina doesn’t bat an eye at my angry voice. “I smooth-talked the guard.”

  “He’s not supposed to let anyone in without permission.” I’m pissed off that he disobeyed the rules. It’s dangerous. I’ll have to speak with him.

  “Connor helped,” she says with a smile.

  I stare at him with barely disguised pride. Yeah, it will be hard to resist that drooling, two-toothed grin. I make a conscious effort to soften my tone. “Why are you here?” Shit, is something wrong? “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m taking Connor for a picnic. I thought you might like to come.”

  “Valentina…” It comes out like the warning I intended, but God, it feels good to say her name. The problem is I want to scream it with her submissive body under me.

  Not giving me time to elaborate, she pushes Connor into my arms. “Hold him for a second, will you?”

  The lure is too strong to resist. When my arms go around my son, something inside of me snaps. The world tips, and all the wrongs fall into place as I hold his small body against my chest, inhaling his baby smell.

  Valentina lifts a diaper bag from the backseat and gives me an apologetic look. “I just need to change him before we go. May I please use your house?”

  I’ll never deny my son anything. “Go ahead.”

  Balancing Connor in one arm, I unlock the door and let her in.

  She walks over to the only piece of furniture in the lounge. “Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  While she spreads a protective cover out on the reclining chair, I carry Connor to her. For a second I cling to him, reluctant to let go, but she’s standing there wi
th the diaper in her hands, so I lay him down. Warmth travels up and down my body as I watch her take care of our child. I devour the intimate moment like a starving man. When he’s clean and dry, she turns to me with a smile that holds both friendly warmth and passionate heat, neither of which I deserve.

  Her tone is sure. “Ready?”

  Despite how I sent her off after our lustful encounter, she doesn’t doubt that I’ll agree, and she’s right. How can I now that I’ve had a taste of Connor? I desperately want more. I want more of the self-assured woman standing in front of me, too.

  My smile is tight. My weakness burns in me. “Give me a minute to shower and change?”

  “Of course.”

  I rush through a shower and pull on a fitted white shirt and slacks. By the time I return to the lounge, she’s sitting on the chair, breastfeeding Connor. I stop in my tracks. Looking down, her expression is nothing but loving. There’s no resentment in her features for the child she didn’t ask for or planned. My eyes slip to my son. His suckling is surprisingly strong for such a tiny creature.

  “Ouch,” Valentina says, flinching as he hollows his cheeks.

  He fists his little fingers in Valentina’s jersey, holding onto his source of food for life. Little sighs, groans, and hums of approval infuse the swallowing noises he makes. He has a cluster of dark hair, not curly like mine, but silky like his mother’s. Even at ten months, he looks impossibly tiny. Fragile.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m standing in front of them, caressing Connor’s hair. Why this particular scene moves me so much I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because my own mother never took care of me. There were nannies for that.

  Valentina stares up at me. “He’s almost done.”

  “Take your time.” I mean it. I can stand here and look at them all day. “Isn’t he on solids, already?”

  “Oh, yes. I still breastfeed because he needs all the natural immunity he can get. He’s really only eight months old, if you consider that he was born two months prematurely.”

  She hands him back to me and adjusts her clothes.

  “We’ll take my car,” she says, “because I have the car seat.”

  The minx successfully bullied me into an outing without even putting up a fight.

  “Do we need to stop for supplies?” I ask.

  “I’ve already packed a basket. It’s in my trunk.”

  I offer a hand to help her to her feet.

  She drives us to the zoo, a place I used to visit often when I was little. Not much has changed in thirty-eight years. Connor is too young to appreciate the animals, but we follow the path past the monkeys and birds, walking side by side in a comfortable silence. Under the shade of a willow, she spreads out a blanket and puts Connor on his tummy, leaving plastic toy blocks within his reach.

  “He’s almost sitting by himself,” she says proudly. “He’s a little behind on this milestone, but the doctor says its normal with preemies.”

  She’s good with him. She makes a great mom. I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t help brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “How is it?”

  “How’s what?”

  “Motherhood.”

  “It’s tough, sometimes, but I’d never want it any other way.”

  “I’m sorry it’s been hard for you.” I mean it with all of my soul.

  She shrugs. “It’s a matter of finding a routine that works for everyone.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that simple.”

  “It’s not so bad. I have flexibility in my work, and I can take Connor to the office.”

  “Do you enjoy your job?”

  “I appreciate it. It puts a roof over our heads and food on our table. Talking about food…” She reaches for the basket. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” But not for food. Like a fool I stare into her eyes, getting lost in their murky darkness.

  Don’t touch her.

  Ah, fuck.

  I cup her face and push her down on the blanket. It feels natural that my body should cover hers. I ache to taste her, to feel her soft lips, and smell the intoxicating perfume of her skin. Holding her eyes, I bring our mouths closer together. If she wants to back out, I’ll give her the opportunity. She closes the last hairbreadth of distance by lifting her head. When our lips touch, the same deep ache as always takes root in my chest. Instead of getting her out of my system, I’m getting more entangled in her than ever. It’s all the sweeter when this time she chose me. I didn’t kick down her door and drag her here against her will. I’m not seducing her with pleasure to look past my scars. She came to me. I kiss her like a drowning man, so thankful for her free will I can hardly breathe. All the emotions I felt when I was nothing but a cold and empty shell are because of this woman. She taught me the meaning of gratitude. I feel it now, for giving me this moment with her and Connor. There’s so much pleasure in having her consent. Not some fucked-up, manipulated version, but the real deal.

  I pour my heart into the kiss, and my body responds, going hard and hot everywhere. We’re in public, but I don’t give a damn. I’m getting deliriously drunk on her and the addictive feeling of happiness.

  A gurgle from Connor pulls me back to earth. Reluctantly, I break the kiss. Her face is prettily flushed.

  I chuckle. “I think he approves.”

  She gives me a radiant smile. “Oh, he definitely does.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For today.” For allowing me time I don’t deserve.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Connor starts to fuss. In less than a second, he goes from happy to crying. My protective instinct goes into overdrive. Perplexed, helpless, I fall over myself to reach him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is he hurt? Is he ill?”

  As calm as ever, Valentina takes a bottle from the diaper bag and hands it to me. “Want to feed him?”

  Connor wails with a voice that would’ve lifted the roof had there been one. Pride swells my chest to the point of exploding. When I put the nipple in his mouth, he starts sucking with greedy gulps.

  “Again?” I ask. “He just ate.”

  She smiles at me. “He gets hungry every two hours, more or less.”

  It’s like floating on a cloud. The moment feels surreal. A feeling that matches my joy at just having kissed Valentina surges through me when my son nestles deeper into my arms. He weighs nothing. His body is so small his head fits into the palm of my hand. His mouth latches firmly around the nipple, and his cheeks hollow as he makes hungry little sucking sounds. I swear there’s a groan somewhere in the mix and something keen to a growl when I lose my grip on the bottle and break the suction. A deep laugh rumbles in my chest. I cuddle him closer, holding him to my heart.

  “You’re the man,” I say on a chuckle, planting a kiss on his forehead.

  As he drains every drop in the bottle, I’m fully in the moment, devouring each second of the precious gift.

  “First time giving a baby a bottle?” Valentina asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Not too bad.” She winks and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  Just like that, my resistance crumbles. All of my supposedly steadfast intentions fall like battle-beaten soldiers. One more kiss, a fleeting moment of weakness, a never-ending memory, and I’m dating Valentina Louw, the woman who knocked my feet from under me, the mother of my child.

  In the weeks that follow, our dating becomes official. Regular. We’re an item. With the start of winter, we go to indoor playgrounds with Connor. When Kris or Rhett and Quincy can watch Connor, we stay in and make love. I touch Valentina every second I can. Every moment is like borrowed time. Treasured. Whatever we do, I always let her take the lead. She introduces me to her friends as Gregor Malan, and they accept me without question or resistance. Everyone is eager for her to find the happiness she deserves, and I’m flattered that they think I’m the guy for the job. The only issue that spoils this new development is the lie th
at stands big and ugly between us.

  The closer I grow to Valentina in this new relationship, the more torn-up I become. My deceit punishes me in every waking hour and pierces my heart at night. Guilt finds me even in my dreams. She deserves better. She deserves the truth. As my love keeps on overtaking every other emotion and purpose in my life, I know what I have to do.

  I have to come clean.

  I have to lose her.

  Again.

  The evening I make the decision, I spend the night on my knees. I kneel on the tiles with my forehead on my fisted hands, wishing for forgiveness and knowing I won’t get it. When I face her tomorrow, she’ll hate me.

  Waiting until a decent hour, I call and ask her to come over after work. Alone. I don’t want to do this in front of Connor or my ex-bodyguards. What I have to say is meant for her ears alone. For the rest of the day, I pace around the house, reciting my speech in my head, but no words sound right. Finally, I settle for the simple truth.

  “I died to give you freedom. I died because I love you. I’m still dying, a little every day, and I’ll keep on doing so if it’ll give you the happiness I stole from you.”

  Too damn dramatic.

  I face myself in the bathroom mirror, trying again. “I’m not the man you think I am. I’m…”

  Fuck.

  I drag a hand through my hair. Who am I? “I’m a ghost of the man who kidnapped and impregnated you.” Scrap that. “I’m the man who loves you.”

  She’ll hate me more than before, but it’s the right thing to do. Maybe the most honorable thing I’ve ever done in my life. I give the strange face in the mirror a glance before I head for the shower to get ready. If this is the last time I face Valentina, the least I can do is pay her the courtesy of looking presentable.

  Valentina

  Until today, things moved slowly between me and Gabriel, or Gregor, as I got used to calling him. We date like two normal people. There have been plenty of opportunities to tell him I know the truth, but I want him to tell me when he’s ready. I can’t tell him how I feel until he confesses. If he’s not ready to listen to me as Gabriel, he’s not ready to listen to me as Gregor.