So she just did it.
Perrin told Bill about a father with a taste for young girls. About a mother with a coke habit she supported by selling her daughter to anyone who came to the trailer. Perrin left nothing out, not skipping one sordid detail of eighteen nightmarish years that had been her childhood.
She told of her arrival at college, an escape she still wasn’t sure how she’d managed, her test scores earning her a full scholarship. And how, after one particularly horrid drug-laden and abusive affair, it was Cassidy who had taken her own meager savings to fly Perrin home with her. They had gone to her father’s small vineyard just across Puget Sound on Bainbridge Island.
How Cassidy’s father had been kind. Simply kind, expecting nothing in return. She’d never known such a thing was possible. After that, for four years, she’d listened as well as she could to what Jo and Cassidy had told her to do. For four years, she’d slowly left behind a wounded child and invented Perrin Williams. Legally changing her name senior year so that the diploma would bear her “real” name.
She didn’t cry as she told Bill of her true past. Tears were still locked away too deep. She’d often laughed until she cried with Jo and Cassidy. Only once since her early childhood, the first time Mama Maria had said she wished Perrin had been her daughter, had she cried for herself.
But Bill cried for her. Tears ran untended down his face. He tried to reach for her, but she pulled back. Not trusting that she could survive the searing power of his touch and not shatter.
“I haven’t had a panic attack like the one at the dog show in over five years, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be another. So here’s the hard question, Bill. Can you still trust me around your children? Do you want to risk a woman with that past stepping into the mother-role for your children? Because that’s where this might be headed, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
With a shocking abruptness, Bill stood and whirled away, striding out into the living room.
Perrin closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around her belly to hold herself together, and waited for the final judgment and eternal conviction of the front door slamming shut.
But it didn’t happen.
Not even after she waited.
When she dared open her eyes, she could see his back. He stood in the center of her living room facing her couch and the sampler quilt she’d made ages ago to teach herself basic sewing and design skills, her first-ever effort. His arms were crossed so tightly that they were straining the fabric of his shirt.
He didn’t move. She waited five minutes, ten. But still he didn’t move.
She stood and moved into the kitchen doorway. Almost close enough to touch him. But she couldn’t bridge the gap.
“What’s the scary one?” His voice was so harsh, so angry. She’d never heard anything like it, but she now knew better than to fear him. He’d never strike her. Whatever his anger, it wasn’t directed at her.
She’d made it through the hard one, now she had to face the scary one. The one even more likely to send him running down the hall away from her. She swallowed hard before trying to speak through the fear of losing him.
“I love you.”
The words fell into the silence of the room and lay there untended for long enough that her stomach knotted into a hard, snarled ball.
“That’s not a question.” Then he turned to face her. His face was calm, though his cheeks were still wet. He stepped forward, and reaching out very slowly, brought his hands to her shoulders. If she could have stepped back, she would have. But she was too numb, too afraid. Not even for Cassidy had she let her heart out into the world with her words.
He pulled her in, leaving the decision to stop wholly up to her, but she let him do it until she could lay her cheek on his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. She couldn’t seem to unlock her own arms from around her midriff, so she simply leaned against him.
Bill rocked her gently, ever so gently. Then he whispered to her.
“Yeah. That’s the same one that’s scaring me to death too. But it’s not a question. I love you, too. It makes no sense that it could happen so fast or so completely, but I do.”
Some time later, Bill’s slow rocking turned into a slow dance in the middle of her small living room.
Perrin was fairly sure that she was the one who kissed him first, rather than the other way round.
He was definitely the one who swept her up in his arms and proceeded to carry her into the coat closet. She redirected him to the bedroom with giggles for his curses.
Bill set her on the bed, then sat beside her. He brushed his fingertips ever so gently over her cheek.
“Don’t!” Her shout was sharp.
“What?” He jerked his hand back as if she’d burned him.
“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m fragile. I’m not fragile. Earlier this evening you wanted to ravage me. So ravage me. I won’t break!” Perrin was so pissed she wanted to swipe at him.
“Not fragile? Not fragile?!” His voice rose as abruptly as hers had. “Any idiot who thinks you’re fragile needs his thick head examined. You lived through… through… ” he pointed helplessly back toward the kitchen. “… that. You’re the strongest and most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I’m being gentle because I can’t believe what you just told me. That you just told me. That you let me in so far. How can you dare to trust me so much? That’s what I’m trying to understand. I’m in awe of you, Perrin Williams, not afraid I’m going to break you!”
“Oh.” If she’d been gone on him before, she was right off the deep end now. The way he saw her was incredible.
“Oh?” He huffed out a breath. “Is that all you have to say after my whole tirade is, ‘Oh’?”
“Best, I have, Mr. Cullen.”
“Oh!” he cursed. “Where was I?”
She took his hand and placed it against her cheek. “Right here.” Then she closed her eyes and turned her head to rub against his fingertips.
Ever so slowly, he relaxed and began again. He traced the lines of her face. She followed the line of fire as he tested every shape and curve: cheek, chin, eyebrows, lips, and tip of her nose.
She was floating by the time he had moved down her throat.
Her fingers weren’t working that well with how her nervous system was buzzing, but she managed to unbutton his shirt. His muscles twitched and quivered under her touch.
“That’s a very nice chest, Mr. Cullen.”
“My wife liked—Aw, man! I’m sorry.” He went to turn away.
She stopped him with a kiss. “Bill. I’m not asking you to push your wife out of your heart to let me in. I know she’s dead or you wouldn’t be here with me. I think it’s nice that you loved her so much. It really shows in Jaspar and Tamara, they’d know if it wasn’t true.”
“But you deserve—”
“Exactly what I’m about to take.”
Chapter 12
Bill groggily surfaced. Seven a.m.
Whoa! An hour late! He tried to leap into action, but his body totally failed him. Then he remembered where he was. No kids. No lunches to make, no need to double-check they had their homework in their packs.
He rolled over, but there was no one beside him. It was just breaking daylight beyond the lacy curtains. The room he hadn’t seen last night was now lit with a soft light. Everything that was utilitarian in the rest of Perrin’s apartment, had no place here in her bedroom. Here there were warm colors, soft textures. Rather than a closet, rather than just a closet, one whole wall had been turned into shelves and hanging racks. Here were the clothes, both casual and incredible, worn by both the real Perrin and the wild-girl she presented as a smokescreen to distract others.
But where was she?
Even as he struggled to wake up enough to go find her, the bedroom door swung open. An elegant, burl-wood door harp played a cheerful chord as the door bumped lightly against the dresser.
He’d never seen anything like what came walking into t
he room. Perrin had said she slept in a flannel nightgown. What she hadn’t said was how amazing she looked in one. It was easy to forget how tall she was because she was so slight, but the columnar gown emphasized her length. And her black-and-blond hair stood out even more strongly against the white. The gown was of such fine material, that even the tiny breeze of her forward motion made it wrap and cling against her amazing figure.
And the smile that greeted him wasn’t the least bit tentative. There couldn’t be any question about how they felt, not after last night. Her smile was as luminous as the morning light. Her fine features, so delicate yet so strong.
“Are you ready for some coffee?”
His brain said, “Yes.” But the rest of him had other thoughts.
“I was hoping that’s how you felt.” She set the tray on her dresser then moved to sit beside him.
“I did promise you a ravage.”
“You did, Mr. Cullen.”
For a moment, he considered if he should be gentle, not wanting to scare her. Then he imagined her as the Empress—the great, the powerful, the embodiment of woman. What kind of a lover could make the Empress lose herself? A gentle one would please her, but that wasn’t the point of a ravage.
He rolled her onto the bed beside him. When Perrin moved to pull off the nightgown, he brushed her hands away. In some ways this too was her shield, where she wrapped herself into safety.
Well, this morning, he’d not violate that, instead he’d honor it as a part of who she was.
Bill was showered, dressed, and totally pleased with his morning when Perrin’s phone buzzed as they were leaving her apartment. She checked the message and then made a cheer and did a little shimmy dance. Today she wore tailored wool slacks and a cashmere sweater, one of which hugged and the other of which clung.
Bill’s first thought was how badly he wanted to drag her straight back into the apartment, but she was skipping ahead of him down the poem and zebra-stripe hallway.
“It’s finished!” she called back to him.
“What is?” He had to hustle to keep up with her.
“C’mon slowpoke!” And she was gone.
She stood at the street corner when he caught up with her and there was certainly no need to ask what she was looking at.
A solid maple tree, with its long straight trunk, had been wrapped in yarn. It was the colors that were so electrifying. The upper half was in the conflicted color of the lineage of the Tragic Prince, the lower half, the jewel tones of the Princess and True Love. Over them both, in large, blocky letters that were actually knit into the design was simply the opera’s title, Ascension, in the dark, forceful colors of the Overlord.
“An Ascension yarn bomb? That’s cute.”
“I had Patsy’s yarn gang do it for me.”
“It’s sweet.” Bill brushed a hand down the soft surface.
Perrin the wild girl was looking at him…and grinning like a jackal.
Bill surreptitiously checked the soles of his shoes to see what he had just stepped in, but he had no idea.
Chapter 13
When Bill arrived at the Opera offices, he scraped in only minutes before his planned meeting with Russell.
He only had a moment to look up Russell Morgan online.
Bill tried to get organized, and thought of the shape of Perrin’s shoulder.
Russell Morgan had been a world famous fashion photographer until he’d practically disappeared two years ago, closing his New York studio. Bill clicked over to see any images. There were several paparazzi shots of Russell with that supermodel Melanie draped on his arm.
Bill shook his head in wonder, and remembered how it felt as Perrin’s strong fingers dug into his hair.
There were photos of Russell’s wedding to Cassidy Knowles at a lighthouse. And some very nice ads for Perrin’s Glorious Garb, Pike Place Market, and the Washington Wine Cooperative.
Bill was about to scrub at his face to force himself to focus when Nia called him to the front desk.
In the lobby, not only Russell, but also Angelo were chatting happily with Nia. It wasn’t quite flirting, both men were decent enough to make sure their wedding rings were on clear display, but everything else about it was flirting.
“There’s the man!” Russell’s crushing handshake warned Bill that last night’s threat before dinner might not have been so idle. Angelo’s friendly hug and very solid thump on his back reinforced the message strongly. Angelo was not as tall as Russell, but his shoulders showed he pumped a lot of iron.
The main thing Bill pumped was a lot of paper, and as much patience with work and kids as possible. He was in good shape, Perrin had remarked on it any number of times and places on his body… Gads! But if these two guys wanted to squish him into a little ball and drop him into a garbage can, there was nothing that he could do about it.
He skipped the standard office tour, though he did take them through the halls the long way around so they could see the more recent production photos on the walls.
Russell nodded his head as he looked at them. “Claude’s work, nice. Oh, and there you used Enrique. A little dark, but he always is.”
At first Bill was trying to remember the directors and designers for those productions. Then he remembered a brief meeting a few shows back as one of his assistant stage managers had reported that she’d be escorting Enrique Rinaldi during a rehearsal to photograph the production. You couldn’t have a photographer running around the house during an actual performance.
Bill looked more closely, but the photographer was not noted on the prints, only the production, date, and visible cast members. Russell Morgan was able to recognize the photographer’s work as easily as Bill recognized a well-tempered singer versus a lunatic diva, in other words, at a glance.
They went down to the Costume Shop. Jerimy wasn’t there, but Patsy pulled out the main clothing racks for Ascension.
“Holy—” Russell brushed one costume aside, then another to expose the fronts. “Look, Angelo. Look what she did. Perrin is really incredible. I swear I could take her international tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to her, but her designs could walk Paris.”
Bill agreed, then realized that this was a leading fashion photographer, he would really know. Without saying a word, Bill pulled out the Empress and hung it in the clear so that it was fully visible.
Angelo let out a long, low whistle of appreciation. “Can you imagine how Perrin would look in that one?”
Bill remembered her arrival. The manic, sleep-deprived, stunning beauty with the blond swirl in her newly black hair, and that dress wrapped around her.
“She was magnificent in it.” He lost himself in the memory for a moment, the sheer power she had radiated, like a beacon in the night.
Only belatedly did he become aware that he had the absolute attention of the two men.
“You saw Perrin in that?” Russell’s voice was low, dangerous.
“She was amazing. Then she crashed onto my office couch and slept for nineteen hours and twenty-three minutes.”
“She does that,” Angelo acknowledged cheerily.
“Your couch,” Russell’s voice went even lower.
“By Bill’s dreamy look,” Angelo offered up as if he hadn’t noticed Russell’s tone. “I’d say they used more than the couch after they left dinner last night.”
Russell took a step forward, Bill stumbled back into one of the cutting tables.
“He has this ticklish spot,” Angelo said perfectly matter-of-factly then poked a single finger into Russell’s lower rib cage and began wiggling it.
“Hey!” Russell leapt aside. “Cut that out! I’m onto something here.”
Angelo went after him again, ducking what looked to be a potentially vicious headlock. “What you’re onto is messing with Perrin’s love life. And frankly, if there’s anyone scarier to mess with than Mama, it has to be Perrin.”
Russell found the headlock, just as Angelo nailed the spot making Russell squirm sideways and s
tep back, dragging Angelo with him by his neck.
Sensing trouble, Patsy, Jerimy’s assistant, had come up behind them, though Bill had no idea what the little woman could do. She barely came up to Russell’s armpit. What she did was deftly slide a clothes hamper behind their knees as they stumbled back another step, and the two men collapsed backward onto the floor in a flurry of scarves, hats, and gloves.
Bill looked up at the ceiling and remembered Cassidy’s comment from last night: “Harmless.” Yeah, right.
After cleaning up, the three of them sat around one of the cutting tables on tall stools. It had taken longer to drag Russell and Angelo clear of the clothing than it had been to get it all back in the hamper.
Patsy went about her business, whistling the old Grateful Dead tune, Man Smart (Woman Smarter) which thankfully neither of the other guys appeared to recognize. She had members of her knitting gang coming in to start building the last costumes and she was setting up a big table encircled by comfortable chairs. Someone rolled a large knitting machine off the elevator and Patsy rushed over to help. He hadn’t thought the costumes were that numerous to need a knitting machine, but maybe they were. The outfits for the court’s entourage characters had to match their leaders after all.
He left her to it and returned his attention to Perrin’s self-declared protectors.
“Sorry,” Russell shook his head. “Actually no. I’m not a bit sorry, even if Cassidy will flatten me for interfering. Perrin’s fragile. She needs protection more than she will admit or even knows.”
Bill considered pointing out that his assessment was quite the opposite, but decided that discretion was the better part of survival.
“While Russell is still blowing steam,” Angelo slapped his friend on the back, as if he was choking, hard enough to echo about the room though Russell barely wavered. “Someone care to tell me what am I doing here?”
Bill could only shrug. He’d only expected Russell. And he’d mainly agreed to take the meeting because Perrin thought Russell was such an artist. That he’d dragged one of Seattle’s finest restaurateurs along with him, didn’t make any sense that he could see.
The Complete Where Dreams Page 76