Karla extended her hand toward the hallway. “After you.” She’d almost added Sir again. Old habits die hard. But he wasn’t her Sir anymore. He wasn’t her anything. She blinked her eyes, fighting back the waterworks. If she cried in front of him, she’d absolutely die of shame.
She squared her shoulders. Karla Paxton refused to embarrass herself in front of him during this visit. And she wouldn’t beg for his love or his acceptance—ever again.
* * *
Adam’s heart broke to see the dark circles under Karla’s eyes and how much thinner she was. She hadn’t been that thin in Denver, had she? Surely he’d have noticed. He’d been working hard at feeding her so she’d gain weight, ever since he’d recovered from the cougar attack.
He’d been worried about her since she’d left Denver, apparently for good reason. The woman needed a caretaker. He’d never wanted any job more than that one.
But he’d fucked up the job the last time. How would it be different this time? He’d hurt her, rather than cared for her. Now he needed to make it right again.
He just hoped he could figure out how to do that before it was too late. One thing he knew, the thought of going back to that house in Denver without her made his gut tighten. He hadn’t realized how much she’d become a part of his life and his home in recent months, until he’d had to rattle around his lonely house one fucking day and night without her. There was no corner of the house where he didn’t remember Karla’s presence.
But the worst had been sleeping without Karla filling his arms. Even on the nights when she’d slept in her room—usually because he’d sent her there—at least he’d known she was there if he wanted her and she'd always come running if he called for her. Yeah, bastard that he was, he’d held a lopsided level of power in their relationship. That needed to change, too.
“Adam! What a nice surprise!”
Jenny put the rolling pin down and wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked into her waistband.
“Thanks for inviting me, ma’am.”
“Let’s not go back to the ma’am stuff. It’s Jenny.” She came toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “So glad you can be here with us again, especially this year.”
Adam detected the sadness in her voice and put his arms around her, too. He wished he had the words to say that would comfort her over the loss of her son, but knew mere words could never do that. Ironically, he’d first been invited to join the Paxtons for Thanksgiving nine years ago, in part because they were missing Ian, who had just finished his basic training with the Army, although he didn’t think the boy had been deployed to Iraq yet. But this year was worse, because they knew with certainty Ian would never be coming back.
Jenny’s arms loosened and he let her go, but as she drew away, he saw the tears swimming in her eyes. “How are you and Carl doing, Jenny?”
“We’re just taking it one day at a time, but it’s not easy.”
Karla came over to her mom and put her arm around her shoulder. She, too, had tears in her eyes. He ached to reach out and brush them away, hold her in his arms, or in his lap, until he absorbed some of her pain, but knew that couldn’t happen. Not yet anyway. They needed to talk first.
Jenny gave in to her tears only a moment before she stood taller and stepped back to her pie dough. “Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. Nothing is going to bring my son back, but I intend to honor him this year by telling and listening to stories of some of his exploits, preparing and sharing his favorite foods, and surrounding myself with others who will do the same.”
Adam felt a little out of place, not having really known Ian, other than from what Karla had told him. But he knew how hard his death had been on the ones who loved him.
Jenny brushed her tears away with the backs of her hands and went to the sink to wash and dry them before returning to her pie crust. “Karla, take Adam up to Ian’s room and help him get settled before Daddy gets home. Then we’ll all go out to eat, because I don’t plan to make anything but pies and a reservation tonight.”
Adam watched as Karla nibbled on her lower lip, causing his balls to tighten, then she pulled her shoulders back and turned to face him. “Follow me.”
Yes, ma’am.
They returned to the living room where he picked up his seabag, then he followed her up the stairs to the room where he’d slept the last time he’d been here. When he walked inside, he saw the room hadn’t changed a lot since then. Only now, a triangle-folded flag encased in a wood-and-glass box of the same shape held the place of honor on the boy’s dresser, amidst his baseball and soccer trophies. Ian’s war decorations were displayed there as well, showing the boy had earned a number of prestigious ones during his short stint in the Army.
“The bathroom’s through there.” She pointed at the door across the room. “It’s a Jack and Jill, so be sure to lock my side if you don’t want me to surprise you in there sometime.”
What if I do want you to surprise me? Being near her again and not being able to touch her would be hell. But he didn’t want to violate Jenny and Carl’s trust by jumping their daughter’s bones under their own roof. He figured the only reason they’d invited him originally was to make sure he brought their daughter home for the holiday. But that hadn’t been necessary, after all. She’d brought herself home.
All he wanted was to have Karla back in his home—in his bed—as soon as possible. He needed her. No better time than the present to start letting her know that. “Thanks, Karla.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, but she pulled away as if he’d struck her. Fuck.
“I never meant to hurt you, kitten.”
She flinched. “Please don’t call me kitten.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He’d done worse than hurt her. She’d enjoyed being his kitten.
“I’m sorry, k…Karla.” He wouldn’t call her kitten until he’d earned the right again, because that endearment was reserved for his sub. Obviously, she didn’t want to be his sub anymore.
“Let us know if you need anything. Come down to the kitchen after you get settled in. Daddy might be a few hours, though, if you want to rest a bit.” She looked as though she wanted him to hole up in here as much as possible.
She turned and left the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her.
Total clusterfucking-A. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
Chapter Twenty-One
Karla went into her bedroom, then into the bath, locking the door to Adam’s…Ian’s room, then took a washcloth and wet it with cold water. She pressed the cold cloth against her eyes, hoping to remove any traces of the hot tears that had been burning there since Adam had shown up. How was she going to get through tomorrow with Adam so near? How long did he plan to stay?
Please, dear Lord, let him leave Friday, if not sooner.
Several hours later, she sat atop one of the tallest buildings in Chicago having dinner with her parents and Adam. The conversation remained steady on any number of inane topics until Adam dropped a conversation bomb that surprised her.
“Karla, when do you plan to start recording again?”
“Recording what?”
“Your new music. I know you’ve been busy writing songs in that notebook of yours. You need to pursue getting your music out on CDs or MP3s or whatever people listen to music on these days.”
She put her fork down. “I don’t have a contract any longer.”
“Well, I’ve been looking into it online…”
“You’ve been doing what?”
He smiled at her and she felt little butterflies take flight. Must be the altitude.
“Yeah, well, I know how much you missed out on reaching that goal when…well, when you came to Denver.”
Funny, Karla thought, but she’d found so much more singing in his club and being with him, she really hadn’t felt that she’d missed anything. Sure, singing in a small private club didn’t give her the thrill of entertaining audiences in a big Manhattan Goth club, but she
enjoyed the freedom of singing whatever she wanted. The Goth club’s owner had never let her stray far from the script.
Adam had threatened to make her run her song list by him when he was her Master, but that arrangement had ended before she’d ever had to actually do it. He’d always given her free rein to sing whatever she wanted. Sure, she’d bombed on a few things—having to try and keep her audience in the BDSM mood sometimes proved a challenge she hadn’t trained for—but for the most part, the club members seemed to enjoy her selections.
Wait. Clearly, he was saying he didn’t want her back at the club if he wanted her to pursue a music recording career. Not that she would go back—not the way things were—but some silly part of her had thought maybe, just maybe he’d come to Chicago to win her back.
The backs of her eyes burned, and she fumbled to retrieve her fork then stabbed at her plate, hoping to spear one of the buttery shrimp, and wishing a bit that she was poking Adam instead for driving her away.
“So, what do you think?”
She stuffed the shrimp into her mouth and chewed slowly so she wouldn’t have to answer, not that she had to answer him anymore. He wasn’t her Sir anymore. He could take his direct questions and shove them…
“Anyway, it seems there’s quite an industry these days for indie performers. With all the iPhones and other devices people carry all the time, they’re downloading music left and right. They’re always looking for something new and…edgy, as Damián would put it. You’d just need to find a good studio to record in and I think I found one right in Denver.”
She glanced over at him and swallowed. “In Denver?”
He looked over at her dad. “I’m sure there are good ones in Chicago, too.”
Now, why was he retreating again after getting her hopes up? Adam, you make me dizzy. Again, maybe it was just the heights, but suddenly, her stomach churned. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
Adam was up and pulling out her chair for her in an instant and she ran to the back of the restaurant. Once inside the stall, she just stood there, holding her stomach. The nausea passed and she felt like a fool, but decided to stay here a bit longer to make sure it wasn’t going to happen again.
So, what was Adam saying? Did he want her to return to Denver and pursue a career from there? With him or without him? Or did he want her to stay here in Chicago—definitely without him?
And what did she want to do?
She had no fucking clue.
Watch your language.
Yes, Sir.
Oh, yes, she knew what she wanted. She just didn’t know if she could put herself through that again with Adam unless he was sure it was what he wanted. She needed to wait and see. Steeling herself, she washed her hands and returned to the table.
* * *
Lying in bed the next morning, Karla tried to ignore the continued queasiness in her stomach as the smell of roasting turkey and stuffing filled her room. That had always been a comforting aroma, but now it just made her want to puke. Mind over matter. She must have had bad shrimp last night. If she just ignored it, the feeling would pass. Then she would…
Oh, God! No!
Karla tossed the blankets off and jumped up from the bed, steadying herself on the bedpost before running for the bathroom. Holding her hair behind her, she lifted the seat, leaned over the toilet, and hurled the contents of her stomach. If only it ended there, but next she was wracked with dry heaves.
“Karla, are you okay in there?”
Adam. “Yes. Go aw…” She heaved again, her sides aching as tears spilled down her cheeks.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him as he held her and grabbed her hair, freeing her hand. Damn. She hadn’t locked the bathroom door to his room.
“I’ve got you, kitten.”
Karla couldn’t stem the flow of more hot tears pouring out or the gut-wrenching sob that tore from her at having him holding her again, even in this grotesque circumstance. So embarrassing. His body curved around hers. So comforting. His arm tightened with each dry heave and he crooned in her ear.
So loving.
She felt cherished, which just made her want to cry harder, because she knew it didn’t mean anything like that to Adam.
“Shhh…It’s okay…I have you, baby.”
But he didn’t have her. He didn’t even want her. She sobbed even harder. Needing to get rid of Adam ASAP, she took his middle finger and pulled back until he released his hold, just the way they’d taught her in self-defense, then stood up. Too bad they didn’t teach her how to defend her heart against attack.
Before she could go to the sink and get a washcloth, he did just that. “Look at me.”
Karla was staring up at him before she even realized he’d taken control of her. Again. He wiped the tears from her eyes, then wiped her mouth and chin. Exhausted, Karla let him minister to her needs like a rag doll. How was she going to face all that food downstairs with such a sour stomach?
“Brush your teeth.”
He nudged her toward the sink and she complied. It helped not having to think about what she needed to do. Her mind was mush, both from the vomiting and the nearness of Adam. His hand made gentle, sweeping motions up and down her back as she brushed. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in his lap, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. Never again. More hot tears. She blinked them away.
After she’d rinsed, she stood up straighter and met Adam’s gaze in the mirror. “Thanks. I guess I got some bad shrimp last night.”
“I had the shrimp and haven’t had a reaction.”
“Maybe my body reacts faster.” The thought of his being sick made her look up at him to assess his condition. “God, I hope you don’t get it.” She never wanted to see Adam sick or wounded ever again. “Do you want to shower first or me?”
“Why don’t you? The warm water might make you feel better. Besides, Jenny probably needs you downstairs, if you’re feeling up to it. I’ll just be a fifth wheel today.”
She smiled at him, remembering how he’d run away from the house that first Thanksgiving they’d shared, then blushed to remember how she’d embarrassed herself on the front porch declaring her undying love.
Well, at least Karla wouldn’t make that embarrassing mistake again today.
* * *
Adam sat next to Karla at the Thanksgiving table, instead of across from her, as they’d been the last time. He’d have preferred not to have her so close. Holding her this morning, even under the circumstances, had made him want to hold her again—in bed. Jesus, when would he get a chance to talk with her?
“Adam, Karla made the ham especially for you. Said it was your favorite for Thanksgiving. Good thing not everyone agrees, so there were plenty available when she went back to the store yesterday.”
Adam looked at Karla and quirked an eyebrow. How could she have known that? She smiled, then leaned over and whispered, “You told me in the cab.”
When? The last time they’d been together in a taxi-cab was…nine years ago.
Fuck. He’d known Karla was infatuated with him back then, but that she’d remember such a small detail all these years surprised—and pleased—the hell out of him. “Thanks, Karla. That was awfully sweet of you to remember.”
The look she just gave him before she visibly caught herself was anything but sweet. More like smoldering. Damn. Getting through this meal without groping her under the table was going to take all the willpower he had. He smiled. Maybe there was hope for them yet. Still, he was haunted by her deep blue eyes and dark lashes, which marked a sharp contrast against her too-pale skin. Karla still didn’t look as though she’d recovered from this morning’s bout of nausea.
Several conversations bombarded him at once, from various people at the table. None seemed directed at him and he tried to tune them out, then a flash to an earlier Thanksgiving scene flitted across his brain. It was gone in an instant, but left an indelible impression. His father was drunk. His mother, near tea
rs as she tried to keep up a good front for her family, who had been invited to the annual celebration, was on the receiving end of his brutal tirade.
Adam must have been about fifteen or sixteen. Defending his mother, he’d mouthed off to his father and was back-handed so hard his chair had tumbled backward with him in it. Next thing he knew, his dad was sitting on his chest, pounding the shit out of his face until Adam shouted, “Get the fuck off me, you son of a bitch.”
With that, Adam finally managed to turn his body hard enough to send his father sprawling onto the floor. Lifting weights at school must have been good for something besides building chest muscles.
Adam had stood, nursing his wounds, then the expressions of horror on his family’s faces registered, causing him extreme embarrassment. His mother had tears pouring down her face. He’d embarrassed her, too. All he could do was run from the house before he did something else he’d regret later—like kill his father.
Good God, was that what happened? Had he come back later with a baseball bat and taken out his anger and revenge?
His breathing grew labored and he felt Karla’s hand on his knee, comforting him. She leaned over and whispered, “Are you okay, Adam? You aren’t feeling sick to your stomach, too, are you?”
Yeah, but not because of last night’s shrimp.
“No. I’m fine.” He took her hand, squeezed it, then removed it from his knee before he embarrassed himself at her family’s table in another way. “Thanks.” Knowing she cared meant a lot to him, but now he had to wonder what kind of man he was if there was even a remote chance he could have killed his father. There was no statute of limitations for murder. What if he was found out? Hell, after thirty-four years, the case was like ice now, but he read in the paper about cold cases being solved all the time. Where would Karla be if he got hauled off to prison? Karla deserved better than that.
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