Ides Of March
Page 8
"Kelly--"
"No!" She slapped the computer desk. He mouse jumped. "You don't know what it's like. You don't know the desperation. How could you? When have you ever known desperation? Have you ever been hungry, truly hungry, a day in your life?"
"Kelly--" he tried again.
"I will not be a part of the abuse. I...will...not." Since there was only one thing she could do, she bit her lips and did it. "Consider my application withdrawn."
Her words fell into the room like a clap of thunder. In an instant, it was all over, and she went cold. So very cold. Wearing a stony expression, Joey turned and exited the room. The bedroom door slammed.
She buried her face in her hands. "How did it get like this? Why me, God, why me?"
Dreams didn't come true. Not for her. Never for her.
Only an idiot would believe otherwise.
She couldn't afford the luxury of idiocy.
Chapter 11
* * *
Joey stormed into the bedroom and came to a stop beside the bedpost. He laced his fingers and set them behind his neck. He stretched, striving to push the useless blast of temper out from beneath his skin. He exhaled one long, measured breath and dropped his hands to his hips.
Typical bourgeois American concept of sex, the thought.
Her bedroom mirror reflected the sneer on his face as he replayed the accusations she'd flung at his head. It couldn't be as simple as two people enjoying each other. Bugger that, because there always had to be some sort of an agenda, one that usually involved some form of financial compensation.
A woman was paid for the right of some man to play in her body either with a home, trinkets, or access to a credit line. And for those women who were into that sort of thing, then he'd best have status in their community that she could leverage for more, more, more.
The brutal truth of modern American culture was that a man was expected to fork over some recompense if he wanted to stick it to a girl raised in the States. Sadly, girls in this country were conditioned from an early age to believe herself marketable merchandise.
"Don't give it up for nothing! Tell him to put a ring on your hand," or "Close your legs, girl. Don't expect a man to pay for the cow when he can get the milk for free."
With dogma like that running rampant in their culture, it was no wonder American men were so fucked in the head. Fifty years of emotionally abusive bullshit had emasculated their sons, their natural urges shamed, and indoctrinated that tribute was needed if he wanted to enjoy a woman's touch.
Pay up or use your hand, but don't let Mommy catch you doing such a shameful thing.
What had that brought them? The newly coined "zeta male," AKA "men on strike."
Well, he was no zeta, and he was no emasculated eunuch. He was an Irishman, and he did not intend to let their differing cultures deprive him of the beauty flowing between him and Kelly...but not at the cost of his manhood.
He located and climbed into his pants. Buttoned them over his unbound cock. Hell, yeah, commando all the way. Never would he be ashamed of his penis. Fuck that.
Ready to wrestle the nearest pasture-fed bull, he returned to the main room and stopped.
The defeated droop of Kelly's shoulders and the vulnerable curve of her neck as she sobbed into her hands slapped his soul. He crossed the carpet, knelt on one knee beside her, and rested one hand on her shaking shoulder.
"Kelly, sweet lass..." He stalled out, not knowing what to say next.
She sobbed harder. A bolt of understanding struck him with all the intense clarity of a streak of lightning driving into the earth. Kelly was afraid.
She'd struggled out of an unhappy childhood, faced the tragic end of her marriage, and now thought herself finally on the path to salvation. Until now, and them, and how that related to her dream job.
Right or wrong reasoning, Kelly was afraid.
Rage burned through him. He turned it on himself when he recognized the part he'd played in her fear, however inadvertent, when fifteen years ago he'd been too young to help either of them. She'd been afraid too damned long. Habits from a lifetime of fear kept her from taking a chance. It was easier to stay in the known hell than have a promised heaven ripped away.
He struggled for words and finally found them. "You don't need to be afraid of this, sweet lass," he murmured. "There's no need to be afraid of us."
She raised her head and gazed at him. Fear swam in her damp, swollen eyes. Her reddened cheeks had been painted with the silvery tracks of tears; a berry red nose gave wet sniffles.
So unbelievably cute. He wouldn't let the magic between them go. Not without a fight.
"God has given us a second chance," he said, earnestly. "Please don't run from it. Such miracles don't often happen."
A teardrop eased from her eye. He moved his hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek and used his thumb to wipe away the tear. As I will always do for you, my love, if you will trust me.
"We can't do this." Her voice wobbled.
"Yes, we can. All you need to do is believe."
"But someone else might need that job more than me." She hiccupped. "It's not fair for me to have it just because... because..."
Her cheeks flamed. He smiled, entranced. The color of her cheeks brightened the green of her eyes and contrasted with the fire red of her hair.
"I admire your moral stance, darlin'," he chuckled, "but it's not been offered to you yet."
"Oh, God..." she moaned.
He felt immediately guilt for teasing her.
"But for you, I'll hire two assistants. The one you're afraid of cheating out of work and you to stand beside me as we do what we can to help the financially stressed."
She brightened, then saddened. "You think I'm being silly."
"Sweetheart, I think Americans have a pretty screwed-up view of sex. It's not a bloody commodity to be traded like stock in a company."
She blinked at his suddenly fierce tone.
"But even in Ireland, it wouldn't be okay for us-- I mean..." She stalled out and looked confused and flustered.
"Leave international and Irish labor laws to the professionals, lass." He dropped his hand to her knee and gave a reassuring squeeze. "No, it's not an everyday thing between a boss and an assistant, but no one goes screaming to the courts demanding this or that. Attraction happens between two people, and sometimes they act on it. No favoritism; no tragedy. At least, not among the healthy people of my country."
He pulled back his hand and stood.
"Truth is, there's always been a fire burning between us. I'm not ashamed of it. Nor will I reject it. What we have is a priceless treasure." He watched her struggle with his statement and loaded on more. "I'm hoping you feel the same way."
She stared at him. The shadows of fear in her eyes darkened. The suspicion of what her life had been like after he left the US with his family gave him another soul-shattering bolt of understanding.
She'd felt abandoned. She was afraid of being abandoned again. He knew the feelings. He'd also carried that pain these past fifteen years. How could it make it right for them both?
His mother's voice rang in his memory. Don't be a charging bull, Joseph Patrick Michael O'Connor. Act the gentleman. He could almost see her standing nearby and waving a stern finger as she gave her advice. Right. Tact. He could handle this.
He sniffed the air. "Coffee?"
Distracted from her concerns, she offered a hesitant grin. "Fresh pot in the kitchen."
He headed there, calling back over his shoulder, "Shall I bring you a cup?"
"I have one. It could use a warm-up, though."
Her footsteps followed him into the kitchen. Waves of heat from the oven brushed his skin. A beep went off. The timer, he realized, when Kelly switched off the appliance.
"Let it cool a bit," she said.
He nodded, located the pot, and topped off her mug with what she called "coffee." She sipped the beige, highly creamed and doubtlessly sugared concoction, swallowed and smiled.
His day brightened.
He filled a cup for himself, black, and sipped...without wincing.
Into the companionable warmth of the room, he blurted, "Will you marry me, Kelly?"
So much for tact.
* * * *
She choked and fell into a fit of coughing. Her hands flew up to her face, one hand covering her mouth the other slapping at her breastbone. He caught her coffee cup as it plunged downward, forgotten by her. A wave of wet and warm, brown liquid slopped over the cup's lip to the floor, splashing her bare feet and making them sticky
Wheezing, gasping, she stared at him. Get married? To Joey?
He rushed additional details regarding his surprise proposal
"I'm hoping for a big wedding at Kilronin Castle, the place of my bride-to-be's dreams," he said. "I expect all my family to be in attendance, as will Spazz's, since he will be my head groomsman. As one wedding gift to my bride, I'll pay for the round trip plane tickets for whomever you invite. Your guests are welcome to stay at an O'Connor hostel free of charge for a week, so they may enjoy Ireland, as well as our wedding."
She couldn't move, could barely breathe. Was this true? Was this a dream?
At her hesitation, he looked wistful and lost.
"Please dinna say nay, m'Kelly." His charming brogue rolled across his voice and her skin. "Just say you'll think on it. 'Tis all I ask o'ye."
She unfroze and leapt into his arms. Laughing and crying. Spreading kisses across his face as she murmured, "Yes... yes... yes..."
His arms wrapped her and he tucked her close. She snuggled against Joey and breathed a prayer of thanks to God and good ol' St. Patrick, who'd worked his spring magic to bring this Irishman back into her world.
Beware the Ides of March. Oh, yes.
Be aware of miracles. Softly, they happen.
Michelle Robbins
Michelle Robbins began reading romance novels in middle school. Her passion for that genre has continued to this day. Imagine her surprise when Romance blended with Erotica. Stories poured out of her!
Michelle is a nerd by day and by night. Blessed to live among the glory and grandeur of the USA's Pacific Northwest, she shares her home with three cats, four fish, her dreams and many, many daily critter visitors.
Come play among her imaginings. She promises that it won't hurt.
For more information on Michelle, visit:
http://writermrobbins.wordpress.com/
http://www.facebook.com/MichelleRobbinsEroticFiction
* * * *
Don't miss In Training, by Michelle Robbins,
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His life in turmoil due to past unpleasant experiences, Seth Taylor isn't looking to get involved with anyone or anything. He especially isn't looking to train another slave. But the arrival of Abigail "Abby" Harrison changes his mind. She's a delicious little bit of slave meat, eager to please and learn, and so sweet it makes his teeth ache. Although the complexities and unpleasantness in Seth's life aren't going away any time soon, the temptation Abby presents to him is irresistible.
A Master/slave relationship has always fascinated Abby. The idea of being owned by a dominant male is both terrifying and alluring to her, yet stirs her mind and body into a white hot heat. Taking her courage in hand, she makes an appearance at a local BDSM event at the invitation of her friend Liz. There she meets the sexy, enigmatic Seth Taylor and is given the chance of a lifetime--to make her fantasy come to life and to be possessed by The Master.
Will Seth and Abby let their respective fears deny them Fate's gift of a perfect match?
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