“Morning.” Jesus. He’d never been this uncomfortable with a woman. Especially in his own house.
“I brewed coffee. Hope that’s okay.”
“After what we’ve shared over the past week, you need to ask that?” His words were abrupt, and his temper was growing shorter by the minute. “If you’re not comfortable here now, you never will be.”
She had the grace to flush.
Technically they had the rest of the day together, but he’d be damned if he’d hold her to it if she wanted to leave.
His back to her, Trevor poured himself a mug and took a swig, straight up.
Once he trusted himself to be civil, if not polite, he turned to face her, and that’s when he noticed her bag sitting nearby on the floor.
“Trevor, I…”
He waited.
“Need to leave.”
“Is there a reason?”
The heat that had flooded her cheeks receded, leaving her pale. “No. It’s…Saturday, and…” Still holding her cup near her face as if to hide her expression, she shook her head. “There’s no sense prolonging it, right? This way you can get back and have the rest of the day to yourself. To fish. Or whatever.”
That wasn’t what he wanted. “Shelby.”
She didn’t respond.
“Look…” He had no idea what to say next. From the time he was a child, Trevor had compartmentalized his emotions in order to focus on what he needed. Right now, he was struggling in a way he never had before. In the end, he settled for listening. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say. Really.” Silence hung, stretched. “Thank you for an enjoyable week. I hope you found me worthy of your bet.”
“Yeah. I did.” He slammed his mug onto the counter, then advanced on her.
Because she was already backed against the counter, she had no easy escape. “And you, Shelby? Did you get everything you wanted? My full attention? A real BDSM experience? Or was this a casual, fun experience? A vacation from your regular life?” Trevor recognized he was being an asshole; he just couldn’t help it. Her casual dismissal of him, of them, their weekend, all of their experiences pissed him off. “Hmm? Or are you disappointed? If so, we still have the rest of the day. I can step up my game.”
“Trevor.” Her hand shook, and her coffee was precariously close to spilling. “No. This was wonderful. Everything I could imagine. Don’t ruin it.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He took her cup from her and set it down, exerting magnificent control so that he didn’t shatter the porcelain. “You’ve orgasmed for me. Dozens of times. Been vulnerable in my arms. Screamed. Cried out. You even begged, didn’t you?”
At that, her expressive green eyes widened.
Trevor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned in a little closer, near enough to kiss. “You couldn’t have been a more perfect partner. Your patience while waiting is now sublime. You can proudly take your place as a well-trained submissive.” He traced one of the mesmerizing vines on her collar. “And you’ve worn this for the whole world to see.”
“It was only for a week. We both agreed.”
“So we did.” He nodded tightly as he dropped his hand. And he took a step back. “You’re not going to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing.” But the word cracked with emotion, with a fucking lie. “Everything’s fine.”
He waited. But other than her eyes swimming with tears, she revealed nothing. He was torn between comforting her and taking her shoulders and demanding an answer. In the end, he did neither. “If that’s what you want.”
He’d never been more helpless.
“Yes. Please. I’m ready anytime.”
“Give me ten minutes.” He took twenty, because he needed to think through things in the shower.
He replayed their entire week, from the way she looked at him while she was on her knees at the Quarter to their experience in his dungeon, to laughter with Fiona and Andrew, and ending with last night. Hell if he could come up with anything that had gone wrong between them.
Once he was dressed, he met her in the living room. She was perched on the edge of the couch where he’d eaten her pussy Wednesday after she returned home from work. If she remembered that event, she showed no sign of it.
He walked to the front door. She’d already placed her bag next to it. Yeah. She was definitely thinking of the future, not the past.
Because it was so early, there was little traffic on the roads. “Breakfast?” He slid her a sideways glance.
She didn’t look at him. “Thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Neither was he, and he hadn’t expected her to say yes. He wanted to be polite, and having a little more time together would have been nice. Maybe he could have gotten some kind of answer from her. No doubt that was exactly what she hoped to avoid.
For the next half an hour, she checked social media and occupied herself playing a mindless game. When he parked in front of her house, she dropped her phone in her purse.
“Let me take off your collar.”
Nodding, she unbuckled her seat belt. Then she turned her back to him as she lifted her hair.
Jesus. He didn’t want to do this.
It took him a few seconds to release the heart-shaped lock. Once it sprang free, Shelby reached up to remove the collar.
Then she turned, the exquisite piece extended toward him.
“Keep it.” Maybe it would help her remember their time together. It would for him. Which was why he didn’t want it.
“It’s yours. You paid for it.”
When he didn’t take it, she placed it on the console.
He opened his door.
“Thanks, but I can see myself in.”
Gritting his teeth, he said nothing.
Shelby was already halfway up the path when he caught up with her.
She fumbled the key in the lock, which meant she was more bothered than she wanted to let on.
Finally she opened the door and slipped inside. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
“Shelby—” Damn this. He should let it go, but he couldn’t. “Why?” He hated the tension rubbing his vocal cords raw.
Gently, so, so insultingly gently, she closed the door. On him. On them.
Like a lovestruck idiot, he remained there, hand poised to knock, doing nothing but staring and wondering how the hell he was going to get through losing someone he’d never really had.
And if that was true? Why was his soul shredded?
Chapter Eleven
On the coffee table, Shelby’s phone vibrated. She glanced over at the display. Fiona. Again.
Even though she’d blocked Trevor’s number after he tried to reach her on three separate occasions, Shelby jolted each time the device rang, half hoping, half scared it would be him.
Instead of answering Fiona’s incessant summons, Shelby flipped the cell phone over and then turned up the volume on the television show she was streaming. Fortunately there were more than fifteen seasons of the medical drama to entertain her.
For over two weeks, she’d cocooned herself at her home, leaving only for work and to pick up essentials. During that time, she’d taken more baths than she could count, and she’d cleaned out every closet and all her drawers.
Despite the fact that it was still summer, she’d taken up baking for the first time. Her freezer was filled with cakes and cookies—and that happened after giving platefuls to all of her neighbors and colleagues.
Even though she kept telling herself to build time and distance from Trevor, she couldn’t resist the compulsion to look at his social media accounts—sometimes more than once a day. And she didn’t always limit herself to the most recent posts. Often she scrolled back through his photos. In some he was pictured with his family, wearing a big smile. Others with clients or Wayne Dixon were more professional. She’d seen so many of those expressions, and each was a reminder of him, which brought her sorrow and compounded her misery.
Because that was
n’t enough torture, she’d also read every article ever written about the Zeta Society—not that it took very long. For an organization that had been around for over a hundred and fifty years, there was very little information about them.
The most in-depth article included some facts, including the names of the founding seven members. Sometime in the 1930s, members had been nicknamed Titans, and the name had stuck.
Reportedly the society owned a massive estate on the banks of the Mississippi River in Louisiana. Beyond that was a lot of conjecture, mostly from anonymous sources. Dues were said to be astronomical, and the wait-list to join was years long.
A reporter had sneaked into the yearly gathering where he confirmed there was a massive bonfire and a procession, held in grand New Orleans style.
After the exposé appeared, the reporter was fired. Now he wrote biographies about famous people. On one book cover, there was a man wearing a ring that matched Trevor’s.
Her phone stopped ringing, and Shelby exhaled her relief. Since she returned home, she’d turned down several invitations to meet up with Fiona and Hannah for happy hour. When David texted, asking if she wanted join him for a trip to the Quarter, she’d shot back an instantaneous refusal. She was too fragile to risk seeing Trevor, especially if he was with someone new. God knew when she’d be ready for that. Never, maybe.
Even though the television was loud enough to wake the neighbors, it didn’t drown out the thoughts of Trevor. In fact, nothing seemed to. Something would make her think of him, and then she would be consumed by the pain of her memories.
When he looked at her before she closed the door on him, he asked why. His voice had been hoarse and his expression stricken, making his blue eyes even more piercing.
Struggling to fight off her tears, she hadn’t answered, mostly because she was a coward.
She didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth, that she was more scared than she’d ever been. Sometime during the week, he’d become important to her. Maybe it had been because of his patience when they scened or the way he held her while they slept. For certain, resistance softened when he invited her along to visit David’s law center. Seeing him interact with the rambunctious young boy and stressed-out young mother had given her a glimpse at the humanitarian she guessed him to be.
But it had been the next day—after she arrived at his home after mediating the Lemieux divorce—when she lost her heart to him.
Trevor wasn’t just there for her—it was so much more powerful than that. He was kind and generous. Not only was she falling in love with him—she was starting to depend on him. And that was one thing she couldn’t allow.
Scared of what was happening to her, she gathered her emotions close and locked them away.
A long-term relationship was not for her. Not only had she lived the devastation of being a pawn after her parents’ divorce, but she’d endured the devastation of losing her own marriage. If her memories weren’t enough to keep her focused, her work was. Every day, she dealt with the cruel reality of unhappily ever afters.
Why prolong things with Trevor?
So she could become even more attached? Hurt worse when it ended?
One thing Shelby was certain of—she wasn’t strong enough to survive that.
The biggest problem was, time and distance hadn’t helped heal her heart. In fact, even though it seemed ridiculous to her, the ache was worse now than the day she’d had him remove her collar before she said goodbye.
She readjusted a pillow behind her, then hit the back button to restart her television show. Fiona’s interruption had brought thoughts of Trevor to the forefront once again. It was a constant struggle to keep them at bay.
Forcing herself to focus, she skipped the introduction.
Seconds later, her doorbell rang, followed by a pounding on her door. “Shelby! We know you’re in there!” Fiona’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the racket she was making. “Your car is in the driveway. Open up before I use your spare key.”
Why had she ever told her friend where that was?
For a few seconds, Shelby contemplated what to do. Keep quiet and hope Fiona was bluffing? Open the door and shoo her away?
The pounding continued. “I mean it, Shel!”
She tipped back her head, trying to decide whether Fiona was a good friend or a terrible one. Not that it mattered. She was persistent.
Realizing the sooner she faced this, the faster she could get back to the television, Shelby stood—just in time for Fiona to make good on her threat and unlock the door.
She marched in, accompanied by Hannah. Both women were dressed for a night out while she was wearing leggings and an oversize T-shirt.
“Did you forget?” Fiona asked.
“Forget?” Shelby blinked.
“We have appointments with Madame Giselle tonight, and we’re having happy hour at the Maison Sterling.”
The place she’d spent the night with Trevor. Once more, all thoughts circled back to him. “Uhm—”
“Don’t say it.” Fiona made a show of buttoning her lips. “Not a word. Don’t even think it. We already came up with all the excuses you are going to try to use. So we’ve already done the work for you.”
Hannah nodded.
“You’re getting dressed. You’re going to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re going to have a good time, even if we have to force you into it.”
“Look—” She grabbed a handful of hair and held it off her nape, but it didn’t matter. Fiona had already dashed into Shelby’s bedroom.
“We did call and message,” Hannah said by way of apology. “Several times.”
“I know.”
Hannah reached out and took Shelby’s hands. “Since I can’t begin to guess what you’re going through, I won’t even try. But I’ll tell you this. Your friends care about you deeply. Whatever happened, we love you.”
Tears that she’d successfully kept at bay for days began to swim across Shelby’s eyes.
“You can talk about it if you want. I promise you, Fiona is an excellent listener. She got me through when I freaked out about my relationship with Mason.” She squeezed Shelby’s hands “I’m not too bad myself. You can tell us anything, or you can spend the evening pretending everything is okay. All of us need a break from reality so we can enjoy our lives.”
“Jeans or a dress?” Fiona called out. “I’m not asking you, Shel. I want Hannah’s opinion.”
“Contrary to what you think, I can dress myself!”
“Uh-huh.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out of Hannah’s grip.
“Glad it’s your turn and not mine.” Hannah plopped onto the couch. “She’s a force of nature. If you want to have any say-so in what you’re wearing tonight, you’d better seize it. She’s already picked out your hairstyle too.”
“What the hell?”
“Messy bun. Means you did something with it, but putting it up won’t take a lot of time.” She made a show of checking her smart watch. “Reservations, you know.”
“She’s unstoppable.”
“Like the tide. Only less predictable.”
There was that.
Shelby hurried to join her friend.
Several outfits were strewn across the bed, everything from her tightest sundress to an elegant skirt and blouse, to a pair of jeans with a formfitting white T-shirt. There was, however, only one pair of shoes selected. Strappy high-heeled sandals. Not a bad choice. They’d go with anything.
“You’ve got less than ten minutes.”
“Fine.” Since her friends were both in jeans, she opted to join them.
“Get changed.”
Since they scened together at the club, there didn’t seem to be much point protesting the fact that Fiona was still in the room.
“Your closet looks magnificent. When I’m all up in my emotions, I eat. Ice cream. I’m not particular about the flavor as long as the fat and sugar content is off the charts. But you? Cleaning?”
> “And baking.”
Fiona tilted her head to one side. “Who are you? And what have you done with my friend?”
“In my defense, I didn’t eat most of it.”
“So you’ve got some left?”
“Cookies.” She gnawed her lower lip. “And cake.”
“We’re taking some of your stash with us.”
“Please do.”
“It’ll go good with ice cream. Put the ice cream on the cake and top the masterpiece with cookie pieces. Or wait, make a sandwich out of the cookies? Stir in some cake first?” Still talking, she grabbed Shelby’s wrist and pulled her into the bathroom where she dropped the lid on the toilet. “Sit down.”
“I can do my own makeup.”
“We have a schedule, and I plan for to keep us on it.”
Caught up in the whirlwind that was Fiona, Shelby sighed. And really, she was grateful for her friends. She’d been morose, which was unlike her. Already she was more animated than she had been since she was at Trevor’s home.
Fiona dabbed and plucked and swiped on mascara. Then she selected a bright red lipstick and twisted the tube up.
“No, no.” Shelby shook her head. “No.”
“Oh yes. If you’d have been ready to go when we got here, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. You may want to cooperate; otherwise we’re going to have a hell of a mess to deal with. This is that twelve-hour stuff.”
She was bested by Fiona’s determination.
Seconds later, after carefully applying the color, Fiona stepped back and grinned. “Very bold. Sassy. I like it. Now your hair.”
“We’re in a hurry, remember?”
Ignoring her, Fiona dug through some of the plastic bins in the closet and found bobby pins and a hair tie. “Scooch around so I don’t have to lean over you.”
With only a few twists and tucks, then securing her masterpiece in place, Fiona stood back. She pursed her lips, then moved in again to pull out a few strands of hair to frame Shelby’s face. “Voila! You look as if you spent hours on yourself. Let’s move.”
Now that Shelby’s bedroom and bathroom were both disaster areas.
In the living room, Hannah stood. “Wow. All that in under ten minutes? Impressive. Of course, when Fiona is on a mission, she’s unstoppable. As I well know.”
His to Love (Titans Quarter Book 2) Page 17