Adam stares at him for a few seconds, his face turning red. The reality is, he supposedly is one of the best in the country. “If you think you can do better, Suicide, why not design the system yourself?”
Adam storms off before Rafe can reply. Dead silence fills the room as Rafe looks around, his eyes blazing before he takes a deep breath.
“Listen up. I know I'm a perfectionist, and I know that I expect everyone to keep up with me. And yes, I know I come off as an asshole because of my nature. But if we’re going to get this thing made, I need a team that will be able to perform at the level I need them to. We’re not just pushing the envelope—we’re making a whole new fucking envelope! That means that if I have to be considered an asshole, I guess I'm just going to have to be an asshole. If a problem comes up, before you come bitching to me about it, have proof of why you think it won't work. If you don't think you're good enough, there's the door. You can follow Adam now. No bad feelings.”
Silence reigns, and Rafe shakes his head. “Fine. Meeting over. Have a good weekend. Those who still want to be on the project, I’ll see you Monday.”
The lab clears out, and soon, Rafe and I are left alone, his face clearing as he looks me over. “So, you think I’ll have a team come Monday?”
“I’ll be here,” I promise. “I know you said everything was cool about last weekend, but I just want to say before anything else that I appreciate your giving me another chance on the project. I’m sorry about—” I start, but Rafe cuts me off with a kiss, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me in tight. His lips are sensuous and strong, and for a moment, I’m worried. I’m worried that I might lose control again. But it doesn’t come, and it thrills me.
His tongue sweeps around mine, and I wrap my arms around his back, pulling him as hard as he’s pulling me. Our kiss deepens, softens a little, and I’m moaning with pure, clean desire.
Our lips part and I’m in a daze, not sure what’s happening. “I’ve wanted to do that since last Friday. I didn’t take off because I don’t want you. You just weren’t ready.”
“And I am now?” I ask, stroking his back through his shirt. “I feel different than Friday.”
“You are different,” Rafe says. “But no, not yet. In fact, I’m giving you homework.”
“Homework?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean, homework? I thought that was done when I stopped being your TA.”
Rafe shakes his head, his face serious. “Shawnie, what I saw last Friday, I want you to fight it. That’s not you. You be a good girl for the weekend, and next week, I’ll show you things that you won’t begin to imagine.”
What does he mean ‘be a good girl’? He has no idea what I do on the weekends. I know I should call him out, but the look in his eyes says otherwise, and instead, I nod. “Okay. But I need something to remind me of what the goal is.”
Rafe chuckles and leans in, whispering in my ear. “Get ready, it’s going to hurt a little. Is that okay?”
I grin, nodding. “Perfect.”
Chapter 9
The Counselor
What is that?
What?
You know what. That mark on your neck. You’re bruised, Shawnie.
That’s just the way that I bruise. It looks a lot worse than it really is. Actually, it’s a hickey.
A hickey? You expect me to believe that? Shawnie, if someone hurt you, I need to know.
It is! Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of my promise.
I don’t understand.
Rafe put it there to remind me to be a good girl this weekend. And I was, the whole time. No Club, nothing. I stayed in and . . . studied, took a bike ride, stuff like that.
But Rafe . . . never mind. I may not like it, but I do like that you had a weekend even more boring than mine. Still, he gave you a hickey?
I know. It was a spur of the moment thing I think. It shocked me too. After what happened, I assumed I wouldn’t have a job.
Did you tell him about your problem?
Of course not! As soon as I do that, I lose my ability to work on the project. The FBI doesn't exactly like it when you're working on top secret projects and you're popping anti-whatevers.
Yes, I understand that. In fact, an FBI Agent came by the other day. I am listed in your medical files, after all, and they were the ones who recommended me to you.
What did you say?
That you’re being treated by me for post-trauma counseling. The incident with Chris Lake is a matter of public record, Shawnie. Agent Scalia was concerned, but I assured him that you are not a security risk. I still believe that. You aren't a risk to security. Yourself sometimes, but not project security.
Th . . . Thank you.
You're crying. Why?
There aren't too many people who are sticking up for me these days. Especially those who know how fucked up I am.
I think you might find it surprising the number of people who would be there for you if you opened up to them. Like maybe Rafe? Abby?
Abby has a lot on her plate right now. She’s due any day. And there's no way that I can open up to Rafe about this.
Why not? Shawnie, from everything you've told me, he seems to be your ally. Hard-nosed, but a decently good man. I could be wrong, but he seems to care about your well-being.
Perhaps. But there's a lot of difference between making sure that your assistant is set up for their future and helping a broken woman who is as fucked up as I am. Especially when you have dreams about the man.
Dreams, you say? Not nightmares?
No. I mean, there's sex involved in them, you know almost every one of my dreams involves sex somehow. But the ones that involve Rafe, he's still in control, but it's a playful, mutually understood control. He laughs, and I'm laughing on the inside. There's even . . .
Even what?
There’s this sense that this isn’t a fling. That it’s a relationship. I just . . . I really like him, that’s all. And liking him the way I do, the way he makes me feel, it’s different from the way that the demon makes me feel.
So why not confide in him? You're obviously not bound by the rules that you had before.
You wanna give me a first line? I can't exactly go to him and say, 'Hey Rafe, I know that I'm just a student and you're the closest thing this university has seen to Superman, and I'm sure that there's about a hundred girls who have hit on you since you started teaching, but I'm a total psycho who has a side of me that's into kinky sex with strangers. In fact, after our first date, I went to a sex club and had sex with a man in a mask.' Not a good way to start a potential relationship, even if we have kissed.
I agree, that might be a bit much to dump on him at once. Maybe something simpler, like 'Hey Rafe, can we talk?' And then, if things progress, you be honest with him.
Yeah . . . I think we both know that good men aren’t lining up to be with a woman like me. Not to mention, I just get the feeling that there’s this other side of him I don’t know.
Does it worry you?
I’m not sure.
Why?
Because Rafe’s seriously Mr. Perfect to me right now, even if he says he isn’t. But what if that’s just the image I have of him in my mind because I need someone to look up to?
There’s nothing wrong with that. Did I ever tell you about the time I met Matt Damon?
Uhm, no? Is there a point to this?
Bear with me. All through my grad courses, ever since seeing him in a movie, I idolized Matt Damon. I even knew the lyrics to that stupid song, “Fucking Matt Damon.”
And I’m the one seeing the shrink.
Counselor. I’m not an MD. Anyway, I knew it was stupid, I knew I was just using him as a fantasy to let me get through the tough times. But then, about five years ago, I met him at a charity dinner, and you know what happened?
You gave Bourne your ultimatum?
Very funny. I like that. Actually, I mean sure, at first I was like, ‘holy shit, it’s Matt Damon! I want to bear your children!’
But after about five minutes, something changed. He became this totally normal, if really handsome, guy. I guess what I’m saying is that it’s okay to fantasize about Rafe a little. But try to get past the fantasy and talk to the man. You’ll find his faults, and who knows, maybe you’ll like him more because of them.
Yeah, well, you don’t have this other side of you that you have to fight to keep suppressed.
I think you're selling yourself short, Shawnie. I always have.
And I think our hour's over. I'll see you next week.
Chapter 10
Rafe
It's a testament to the flexibility of Stanford, or maybe it's just a testament to my abilities, that none of the coaches or athletes complain when I show up at the field house to work out.
“Ah shit, we're going to look like shit again. Superman is here,” someone jokes as I walk in the door and head toward the locker rooms, and I check my thoughts. They complain, but it's the good sort of complaints, the kind that tell me that, at least on a certain level, they respect me. It resonates with at least part of my history, and I find a bit of solace in it. And while I don't like the old nickname from a few years ago, it hasn't been long enough to make it fade away yet.
The exercise helps me think, taking the time to just take care of my body instead of trying to juggle everything at once. I change clothes, a tank top and shorts, and pull on some turf spikes. Inside the field house is a short turf practice field, used by some when the weather sucks and for offseason conditioning. I see what I’m looking for by the wall, and I roll over the big tire, setting it at one end of the twenty-yard course that I'm going to use and then positioning a sled at the other end. After warming up, I load it up with six hundred pounds and buckle on the harness.
I get down in a four-point stance, driving low as I explode against the harness, driven by five simple words.
She was good all weekend.
The mantra sits in my head as I drag the sled down the track, my legs pumping into the turf, my heart starting to speed up, maybe as much from the words as the exercise. I reach the twenty yards and cross the line, unbuckling my harness from the sled before I take thirty seconds’ rest, then start flipping the big tractor tire back the direction I came.
She was good all weekend. For a week now, since bringing her into the lab with the rest of the team, I've held back, even though every time I close my eyes, I remember what it felt like with her inside Club Paradise. The way we kissed last Friday night has left me feeling like I'm totally out of control. It's uncomfortable feeling this way, uncomfortable but also thrilling. No woman has ever caused this level of insanity inside me.
But I can't trust myself. I can't trust my mind. It's the area that they literally pounded into me. How can I trust that my desire for Shawnie is legitimate when every time I look at her it's like looking at a recipe for my perfect woman? Especially when she's so fragile. One wrong move, and she shatters into a million pieces.
Still, she's so perfect for me. Physically, she's the completion to my personal puzzle, the perfect match to me. Intellectually, she's the first woman since I left home who could actually excite me, who can challenge me and make me think.
But emotionally . . . after what Chris Lake did to her and what I saw in Club Paradise, it's a wonder she's sane at all.
I promised her that I would show her things she's never felt before, and I could see in her eyes that she believed me. Considering what I know of her sexual activities, I should be intimidated. I mean, I’m all for being in charge . . . but Shawnie's had no limits except self destruction and humiliation for a long time now. How can I show her something she's never felt before? To take it to that place she needs to go in order to break past whatever damage is inside her?
If I screw up, if I take one wrong step, I won't just hurt myself, but more importantly, I'll destroy everything that I need to do to build Shawnie back up. She needs to feel self-worth again, to be shown that she's a remarkable woman. That's what worries me. My original plan was to have a fling with her, let her 'rebound' with me and then move on.
But the voice that whispers deep in my mind, the voice from my past, says it doesn't want to let this one go. Not until I have what every fiber in my body is screaming I need to do—to have her carry my child inside her. But I can’t just use her for that. I'm a monster, but I'm not that monstrous.
“Shawnie, can I talk to you for a moment?” I ask, uncharacteristically nervous. It's not all an act either. I really do feel a tremor of uncertainty about this. I'm still not a hundred percent sure if I'm acting out of real thought or just drilled in instinct or even brainwashing, but I can't hold back anymore. I need to drive through, to finish what I started, or else this whole damn thing is going to fall apart on me, and that's nearly as bad as if I fail.
“Sure, Rafe. Is it the report I handed in?” Shawnie asks, her eyes wide. She's eager and bright eyed, and it's been hard not to talk to her earlier as I waited for the right time when we wouldn't be overheard by the rest of the team. “I double-checked my figures.”
And I've spent the past ten minutes checking yours, I want to say, but instead I smile, shaking my head. “No, not at all. It’s not that. Did you do your homework?” I rumble softly, so close that only the two of us can hear. Shawnie looks at me, biting her lip, and I can see the faded marks of her hickey that I gave her as a reminder, the bruise calling to me in another way. “Because if so, maybe we’ll try that dinner again tonight.”
“I was good,” Shawnie says softly. “And dinner sounds great. Where?”
“Someplace closer. What if I let you choose?”
Shawnie's eyes sparkle with excitement and she nods. “I know just the place. When?”
“How about now?” I ask, looking around the lab. “Everyone's leaving, and we won't look out of place.”
“Let me grab my bag,” Shawnie says, grinning. “You had me worried when you didn't ask earlier.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” I admit as we leave and go out to my Jag, where I hold the door open for her.
Settling in, I give Shawnie a look, smiling. “Thank you.”
“What?” she asks, surprised.
“I said thank you,” I repeat, starting up the engine. “I know I don't say it that often, but I am now. Thank you for all your hard work. And of course dinner. Are we changing or are we going like this?”
I'm wearing my typical lab gear of jeans and a t-shirt. Shawnie's dressed pretty similarly, and she thinks, then shakes her head. “We’re okay. The place I have in mind is pretty casual.”
“Fine by me” I answer, pleased to see her willing to make the decision. “Where to?”
“Redwood,” Shawnie says, “near the 101. It's a place I found near my apartment.”
I drive over. It's not too far, and when Shawnie directs me to get off near the San Carlos Airport, I glance over, semi-surprised. “Aircraft really is in your blood. Don't tell me you spend time on the weekends . . .”
“In the Hiller Museum?” Shawnie finishes, grinning. “What do you think motivated me to pick the apartment complex I did? It kinda sucks when you're trying to sleep in Sunday morning and you've got somebody taking a Learjet a hundred feet over your head, but yeah, I love it there.”
I give her a smile and nod. With the way she is now, and most of the time, for that matter, you’d never know of the inner turmoil she’s going through. She should take comfort wherever she can get it. “So what is this joint we’re going to?”
“A little Mexican joint. They've got good fish tacos,” Shawnie says, directing me toward a tiny restaurant that I've actually been to. It's so close to the airport that as we sit down to our plates, we can look over the runway of the airport, which is quiet now that the sun's going down. The San Carlos airport is used mostly by hobby pilots, private planes, and a few charter lines, nothing super sexy but still, it's an airport.
Our dinner is nice, and while the night’s not over, things are going well.
She
smiles, and we walk out to the car, where I drive us down to the end of Skyway Boulevard, parking in the little parking lot the city has there. “You know, I'd swear you know this area,” Shawnie says as we get out and she takes my hand again. “How is that?”
“You’re not the only one with a love of aircraft. I’ve been here a few times,” I admit. “I've been to that taco shack a few times too.”
We start walking, Shawnie moving closer and closer as the breeze picks up and we enjoy the peace and the growing closeness between us. “So how was your weekend?”
Shawnie's quiet for a moment, then shenchuckles. “Harder than I thought. But I got a lot of work done. Your gift helped to keep me on track. So . . . about that.”
I stop, taking her in my arms. She feels right, and I look into her sandy colored eyes in the light of the sunset and decide to open myself a little to her. “Ask me any question you want about myself. We can go from there.”
Shawnie thinks, and her question catches me slightly off guard. “So you told me Suicide was a call sign from your time in pilot training. But why'd they give it to you?” she asks. “I mean, I know they assign it for all sorts of silly reasons sometimes. What's yours?”
I take a deep breath, controlling the raging battle inside me as my past fights what I want to say. My stomach does a slow flip-flop, but I've dealt with this before, and Shawnie's different. She's special and unique, and I have to have her. I guess it's time to let someone in on my past, at least some of it. “Have you ever had a suicide?”
“You mean having someone kill themselves? That's a pretty fucked up idea,” Shawnie says, shocked but not repulsed, which sends a shiver of fear down my spine. If she's not sickened by the idea . . . I wonder how close she's been to an actual attempt. Fate, it seems, is smiling on me, forcing me to go so much faster than I originally thought.
No Limits: A Dark Romance Page 7