“Milk? Sugar?” His dark eyes were fixed on her, heated again, and she shivered in the face of whatever it was he conveyed. She told herself she wasn’t up to interpreting it, denial being her immediate choice.
“Honey,” she managed. “It’s in the cupboard by the stove.”
“Sit, Susan. I’ll bring it.”
She obeyed, despite her need to find the damn honey, maybe pour the tea like the lady of the house. But she simply felt a greater desire to do as he asked. As he instructed her. Crazy thoughts. Slipping onto the chair, she tucked her feet beneath it, heels resting under the rung, and stared at the plate, suddenly ravenous. Saliva filled her mouth, and her stomach rumbled.
Maurice brought the honey and a spoon, two mugs dangling from his large fingers. She carefully extricated the one with the roses entwined around the rim from his grasp, leaving him the one with the painted daisies. He sat opposite her and gravely poured tea.
“Strong enough, sweetheart?” God, he shouldn’t be calling her that. Maybe it was just his way, acting the gentleman because his mom raised him to be one. He had what she thought was a Cajun accent, and it appealed.
“It’s fine.” She added a dollop of honey, stirred the amber mixture briskly, and took a sip, nearly closing her eyes against the wonderfully familiar taste. Coffee had been her beverage of late, caffeine to fuel her ever failing energy reserves.
Breaking and buttering a roll, she nearly took a bite before she noticed he had no food in front of him. “Aren’t you joining me?”
“I’ve already eaten, Susan.” It didn’t ring false, but shame flared deep inside. He’d seen the state of her cupboards, the emptiness of her fridge, and probably catalogued the paucity of her possessions, too.
“I have enough to share, Maurice whoever you are.” She heard the fine tremble in her voice and tried to mask it with a stance of indignation, fairly difficult because she was seated.
“Sweetheart. It’s Alain. Maurice Alain. And I’d share, but I’ve consumed two large doses of protein today and would prefer to eat again in a few hours. Besides, I’m not hungry for food.”
The breath soughed in and out of her lungs, and her own appetite vanished. Arousal sparked at his bold words but was mitigated with anxiousness. A full-body shiver wracked her, and he was instantly at her side, crouching to rub her back soothingly. It should have made her more uneasy, but instead it felt…comforting, as warmth enveloped her to replace the chills.
“Take some tea, Susan.” She sipped at the brew, Maurice holding the cup to her lips, his big hand dwarfing it. The warmth of the liquid soothed her throat and her affronted senses.
As she got her breathing under control, he backed to his chair and seated himself again. His regard never wavered, and it was curious how refreshing it felt, despite feeling so overwhelmed not a minute ago. This man was kind and honest—probably upfront to a fault, and it was indeed a fine change from her past experiences with men. Especially her thrice-damned father.
Picking up her abandoned bread, she bit off a piece and chewed slowly, taking the opportunity to think. She placed a piece of cheese on the rest of the roll and ate some of that, pausing to choose a hunk of pineapple and one of melon. She literally felt the food ease the ache in her belly, and it kick started her brain.
“Can we talk?” Maurice drank his tea as he awaited her answer.
“We’d better.” She heard the wryness in her tone and watched as his eyebrows jerked upward infinitesimally.
“I’d like to get to know you, Susan. I find myself extremely attracted to you.”
“Okaaay,” she drew out. “Although our initial meeting wasn’t exactly auspicious. Couldn’t you have just asked for my number and called me later?”
“No. I take care of what is mine, and you needed me.”
Holy shit once again. And probably a whole lot more agains. “I’m not yours.”
“I want you to be. Regardless, you needed me.”
She wouldn’t dispute the latter contention. The cop would have brought her home, probably right to the door and maybe escorted her inside. But this man ensured she got to bed where the rest had done her the most good and stood watch to make sure she was okay. And then he’d fed her. As unfamiliar as it all was, it felt comforting, and made her feel wistful. Maurice could hurt her, break her in half if he chose, force himself upon her, but she had no sense he would do so. But then, what real experience did she have with authoritative men? Her only experience was with like-minded executive types she held at bay with an icy demeanor, and ineffectual, pleasant men who didn’t make her nervous. And could she trust her instincts, honed only in the workplace and not within the confines of personal relationships?
He sat quietly, patiently, waiting. She had a cat once, an old tom who’d wandered in one day and never left. Not that she’d really owned him. If anything, it was the other way around. Maurice Alain exuded that kind of assessing patience. She considered her answer.
“I did. Need you, that is. I appreciate what you did. But…” She couldn’t finish the thought. Why would she be negating the experience, belittling the fact of what he’d done?
“You’d please me if you would just accept it.”
Well, that certainly sounded easy. Accepting compliments, let alone help, had always gone against the grain, however, because her father taught her there was always a slap to follow the stroke. Susan had to work hard to make the shift. “Thank you.”
His smile took her breath. Chiseled lips quirked up to reveal even, white teeth, a dimple imprinting under the lift of his right cheek, and his eyes melted from bittersweet to milk chocolate. Oh, they were still hot, but now simmered with kinder promise. Her fingers itched to push the errant lock of dark hair away from where it drooped on his forehead, and she locked both hands together on her lap beneath the table to avoid the presumptive action.
“You live here alone?”
“I do. My mother passed several months ago, and it’s been—difficult.”
“You’re bearing the burden by yourself?”
She didn’t talk about this with anyone. Felicity knew some of it. She had to, because she accommodated Susan’s crazy schedule, and she’d been a good friend of Susan’s mom. But she didn’t want people to pity her or see her as anything less than competent and independent. It was all she had left, as thin a veneer as it was. She’d lost her executive position with Myers and Broadview when she took time away to be with her mother after the cancer diagnosis, and hadn’t found anything else vaguely similar upon returning to the work force here. Not that her creditors cared.
Shrugging, she was taken aback by the manner in which his face changed, clouding over as though the calm before a storm. She tilted her head and widened her eyes in query.
“I find a shrug disrespectful. I value honest communication.” His calm yet dark response made her belly clench with a pleasurable frission of fear. There was no pretense, nothing to guess at. Holy crap. He spoke to something deep within her, something she didn’t know lived there, and without question she hastened to make amends.
“Sorry. I tend to shrug while I formulate my thoughts.”
He didn’t reply, and she ascertained he was likely a hard man, if fair. She wondered if that meant uncompromising, because every relationship required a little wiggle room. The thought made her straighten her spine and look him in the eye, deciding not to think too hard about the R word. This was hardly a relationship.
“It’s a long story, but I find myself with no immediate family, and yes, I’m shouldering the burden alone. With pleasure.”
A hint of that smile, an acknowledgment of her struggle, before he nodded gravely, empathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss and also for what you’ve taken on. But sometimes we need to allow others to help.”
Tears pricked and clouded her vision. Maybe she hadn’t caught up enough on her sleep after all. Pushing back the chair, she stood to clear the table and attempt to hide her misery. Maurice was at her side, relieving h
er of the empty plate, pulling her into his arms. She sank into the embrace of a relative stranger and wept, giving into her pain, all her filters and boundaries shattered and scattered at her feet.
Sobs diminishing, she became aware her emotional storm had soaked the fabric of his T-shirt, the dampness evident beneath her cheek. She sniffed and felt in the pocket of her robe for a tissue, scrabbling one out with her fingertips, hoping it wasn’t used. Maurice allowed her to lean away within the circle of his muscled arms, and she blew her nose, brushing the tears from her cheeks with a span of her fingers. Unexpectedly he pressed a kiss on her forehead, and she wanted to cry several more buckets.
“Sweetheart. You’re worn clean out. I want you to go back to bed.”
“But I’m not tired,” she protested.
“Take a bath and then lie down for another hour. I’ll clean up and stay until I’m sure you’re okay.” He made total sense, and she acquiesced, trudging off to the bathroom to run a heavenly hot tub, adding carnation salts with a lavish hand. Sinking into the depths of the scented water was very nearly as wonderful as her impromptu nap earlier. Had she taken the bath earlier, she probably would have slipped under the water and drowned, but now it felt like a balm.
Lying back against the high roll of the tub, hair clipped up on top of her head, Susan cautiously considered the events of the day. Nearly run over, carried home by the culprit, not that she wasn’t complicit, encouraged to sleep and eat, and now soaking her immediate cares away before the promise of yet more rest. It felt fine—bizarre, but fine. She decided to live in the moment and go with it.
Her eyes drifted to the door. She hadn’t locked it and knew she’d made that deliberate choice. The sounds of Maurice Alain—she tried the name again, experimentally, on her tongue—cleaning up the kitchen filtered through the wooden obstacle between them. Was she nuts? Forward? A hussy? She had the sense she could offer, and while he would take, it wouldn’t be a quick deal. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for anything long term. Hell, she wasn’t sure she had enough vigor for a one-night stand, something she didn’t ascribe to anyhow. But he was so tempting and she’d done without for so long, primarily missing the emotional connection sexual congress should afford her.
The water cooled, so she hastily washed and stood beneath the showerhead to rinse, carefully keeping her hair away from the stream. Stepping out onto the bath mat, she pulled a towel from the rack to wrap up securely. She contemplated her nightgown and panties before tossing them into the hamper. Swiping a hand through the steam coating the mirror she stared solemnly at the woman peering back. The eyes didn’t look quite so dull, and she fancied that the two lines pinching the bridge of her nose weren’t quite as pronounced. Thirty years old this past May, an orphan for all intents and purposes, and she dared to hope her life might have just taken a turn for the better, no matter the inauspicious introduction.
Shrugging back into her robe after drying off, the motion reminded her of Maurice’s intolerance of disrespectful gestures. She supposed she needn’t stick her tongue out at him—ever. The thought made her laugh out loud. It startled her. It had been a long time since she felt like laughing. She left the room, light of step.
He was leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway, effectively blocking any line of escape, not that she cared to try. Instead she smiled at him and marveled at her lack of embarrassment over the breakdown at the table. He gave her no cause to feel discomfited, merely understood, and not judged.
“I’ll leave you to rest, Susan.”
Disappointment squeezed her chest, and the smile dropped from her lips. She involuntarily dropped her gaze, too. His job here was done, the damsel in distress rescued, cared for, and he was off to his life.
“Susan.” That one word drew her eyes to his. “I have some things to take care of. I booked off work tonight, so I’ll be back to take you to dinner. Wear a dress, heels.”
The surge of relief was tempered by his command. She felt her mouth set mulishly, really not liking to be told what to do. Maurice waited, patient as a big cat, although she sensed a certain tension beneath his demeanor. Confused, she sought to read him, seeking the right answer, but he gave no hint.
“What time?” Her education and work experience, as well as her history, had also given her the skill of avoidance and dissembling, but this didn’t feel like either of those. Instead, she wanted to please him.
The tension visibly ebbed from his broad frame and with it, any sense of remaining resistance on her part. Pick your battles, Suzy. Her mom’s sage advice echoed in her head, although the woman had learned that adage far too late.
Stepping closer, he rested a big hand on either side of her waist, dipping his head to press a kiss on her hair. The heat of his touch made her sway. “Early days, sweetheart. We have much to learn about one another. I’ll be back at six. I’ll come to the door.”
God, he’d read her. Read her need and gently rebuffed her. It stung, but he was right. Early days. Nodding, she immediately recognized what she’d come to think of as “The Look.” So she verbalized, leaving nothing open to misinterpretation. “Six, then.”
Watching him make his way to the back entrance, silent for such a big man, Susan experienced yet another emotion she hadn’t felt in some time. Anticipation.
“Lock up behind me.”
Once the door shut, she shot the dead bolts then retrieved her phone and called her other boss. The man wasn’t thrilled to have her book off so late in the day, to judge by the acerbic reply, but she hadn’t missed a shift in all the months she’d worked there so he grudgingly accepted her excuse. In fact he softened enough to urge her to get rested up, commenting that she looked like shit most nights.
“Thanks, Ray, I think.”
“I’ll take the till tonight, Suze. And count the cash and receipts. You just be back here tomorrow night.”
Promising him, she warded off the wash of guilt. She’d take another nap, but she had no intention of resting tonight. She had a man to learn about and some very real arousal to manage.
* * * *
He’d debated seducing her, fucking her right in her tidy bedroom on that carefully remade bed, so great was his need. It nearly overwhelmed his brain, the sight of Susan fresh from her bath, all that hair just waiting to be released to fall about her shoulders covered in the pale-pink robe. Knowing she was naked beneath it, the V of the garment’s neck plunged far enough to hint at the creamy mounds of her breasts, had him biting the inside of his cheek to maintain control. Turgid nipples poked against the warp of the fabric with no other layer of material to hinder them. Clouds of scented cinnamon surrounded her and wreathed him in a web of desire. He knew women well and was aware Susan would have allowed him to have his way with her. Perhaps she wanted to have her way with him, but that wasn’t his style, although he’d allow it sometimes should she require it.
But no. He wasn’t allowing this relationship to start off with a fuck. There was too much at stake. He’d dominate her, even in vanilla sex, maybe scare her off because she was too vulnerable right now. The idea of a date was both interesting and disconcerting and no doubt the right thing to do. While he recognized a natural submissive, she’d likely have no experience or understanding. Susan would come to understand his ways and personal style and expectations. And he would learn her limits—then push them. Anticipation surged and choked his breathing, so he forced his body to calm down, using the approach to his truck to measure his steps and center himself. Another massive erection hampered his usual vault into the seat, although, in truth, he’d never really lost the tumescence, such was Susan’s allure.
Cranking over the ignition, he flicked the AC to high, the sweat of arousal cooling on his skin. God, she was everything he ever wanted, and more importantly, likely everything he needed. But there was a shitload of emotional angst to deal with and not all of it could be immediately eased or replaced with a submissive lifestyle. If a woman ever needed to be supported and taken care of, Su
san was the prime candidate. He’d already seen the resistance to his will, but her quick intelligence as she processed his instruction about what she should wear, avoiding an unnecessary confrontation, boded well for their future. He knew he was arrogant and demanding, certain and confident in what he expected from a woman. Compromise was most definitely not his middle name, but he’d try for Susan—as long as it was in her best interests, a circular route of thinking for certain.
He drove to the bank and took care of business quickly, following that stop with one at the grocery store to stock his fridge. Finishing with a run into the pharmacy, he checked his watch and figured he had enough time to buy Susan some flowers, something with a spicy scent. Or violets to match her eyes. It was curious how energized he felt, when only this morning he’d figured to catch an afternoon nap.
Already missing her, he pulled into his driveway and headed into his house. Casting a critical eye around, he wondered how Susan would view it. It was definitely masculine, with none of the homey accents of her place, but her touch would change things. There was no way they could live in her home. It was too small for their needs. He required a playroom, and if Susan wanted children…
Before he got even further ahead of himself, he went off to shower again, mentally sifting through a limited selection of places he might take his beautiful woman for dinner. His cock begged for attention, but he refused to stroke himself to release. There might come a time when he’d deny Susan her orgasms and not suffer alongside, but this wasn’t one of them. She’d be a little on edge tonight, same as him. It would only heighten what was building between them.
* * * *
She was waiting for him at the door, wearing a blue dress the same shade of her eyes and modest black pumps. Her hair was caught up in a complicated twist, and silver hoops pierced her ears to match the glitter in those amazing eyes. He vastly approved, having made a little bet with himself that she’d either be waiting out front or have chosen to wear something different. He was prepared to address any insubordination of course, but pleased to avoid it this evening. His own apparel, dark trousers and a gray button-down shirt, were paired with dress shoes he rarely wore, in deference to their first date. He preferred the look of boots, not to mention how they fit his Dom persona.
Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 4