Healing the Wounds

by M. Q. Barber

  “Imagine my surprise to be handed my phone as I stepped from the shower, a caller already waiting on the other end.”

  Shifting from foot to foot, she squirmed in his embrace. “I shouldn’t have answered your phone, Henry.” She’d known she was in the wrong as soon as she’d picked up the phone. “It was rude.” No point trying to hide. “I know that, and I’m sorry.”

  He studied her with narrowed eyes. “I note your contrition only extends so far. What of your spur-of-the-moment invitation?”

  A trickier question. If this was going to be her home, too, she had to be able to invite people to meals without being intimidated. With more courtesy next time. Especially when she was rarely the one responsible for providing those meals. “I should’ve told her one of us would call her back instead of assuming.” Even if her intent had been to help repair Henry and Emma’s friendship, she’d acted like a kid walking in the door with a friend after school and expecting Mom to stretch dinner without notice. “But I’m not sorry I invited her.”

  One corner of Henry’s mouth twitched.

  Her suspicion rested on that microscopic evidence. “And you’re not mad at me, either.”

  “Oh? Aren’t I?” Deceptively neutral, but he was neither an angry man nor a violent one.

  “No.” She had nothing to fear, though his low tone raised the hair at the nape of her neck. “You like it. You like that I invited her, and you like that I’m not backing down now.”

  “Wrong, Alice.” Eyes dark, voice harsh, he gripped her tighter. His cock ground against her stomach. “Like is not at all the proper word.”

  Shivering heat swept through her. Another pair of panties for the laundry pile. Was it wrong to dream of him taking her to bed morning, noon, and night? Last night, he’d said three climaxes a day. Could she get that in writing?

  “Love, on the other hand—” He growled in her ear. “Yes, that I feel in abundance, even when you so aptly display your distaste for being ruled by others.”

  “Not all of the time,” she murmured, despite the expanded contract terms with which she’d granted him such power. “Just—”

  “Some of the time, yes,” he finished with her. He nipped at her neck. “Such a delightful challenge and a constant temptation. But one I’ll wait to indulge.”

  Her whimper, so much like Jay’s frequent refrain, surprised her. No wonder the poor boy made it so often. No other sound so thoroughly encapsulated the frustration of desire denied.

  “Only for you,” she mumbled. She took a deep breath to clear her head.

  He let her go, mostly, clasping her hands as he stepped back.

  “But I still think dinner is a good idea.”

  “And why is that, my dear?”

  “She sounded like she needed it. And she wanted to apologize in person.”

  “Well.” Henry frowned. “One thing at a time. I suppose you know you’ll be giving up your free time this afternoon to go grocery shopping with me.”

  “So you told her it’s okay? She’s coming to dinner?”

  “She is.” He pumped her hands in a shared heartbeat, one-two, one-two. “I expect it won’t be what she’s expecting. Nor, perhaps, what you are.”

  Her Sunday best behavior might not get tons of use, but she’d mastered politeness, for God’s sake. “I wasn’t going to interrogate her.”

  “No, my dear, I know.” He sighed, a fleeting breath. “I believe we’ve a lovely breakfast growing cold at the moment.”

  She allowed him the abrupt change of subject. “Yeah, I made—”

  The foil covered a much shorter stack of French toast. A mass of bread and syrup rested in front of Jay, a heaping forkful headed toward his mouth.

  “Well, I did have a big breakfast of French toast ready.”

  Henry ushered her to her regular seat, kissed the top of her head, and seated himself.

  “You guys seemed like you’d be a while.” Jay speared another piece on his plate. “But I’m happy to report the food’s super-good and totally safe to eat. Job security, you know.”

  Henry snorted over her laughter. “Thank you for your extremely useful assessment, my boy. Now I needn’t worry that Alice is attempting a poisoning. I do hope you left some for the rest of us.”

  Jay grinned. “There’s lots of fruit left.”

  Chapter 4

  Henry sent Jay to the door. The soup didn’t need tending, the salads had been plated, and the main course wouldn’t go into the oven until the salads had been served. He’d opened the wine bottle a few minutes ago. He could’ve gone to greet Emma himself.

  But he stood in the kitchen with his arm around Alice and his hand splayed on her back. Resting his forehead against her temple, he breathed warmth in her ear.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Let it out slow.

  Jay’s voice anchored a distant murmur of polite hello and may-I-take-your-coat chatter. On his best behavior for their guest. Having another woman in the house wasn’t a threat to him. Ugh. It shouldn’t be a threat to her, either, not with Henry’s reassuring attention. Though Emma’s presence served as a reminder to them both of last week’s disaster. The memory might be all that had her on edge.

  “No, thank you, Jay.” A light, feminine voice. “That’s a gift for the chef.”

  Henry kissed her, leaving behind a whisper. “I love you, sweet girl.” He straightened, though his hand stayed on her back.

  Opening her eyes, she nodded once. No problem. She could handle this. She’d been the one to make the invitation. Impulsively. Out of equal parts compassion and curiosity. Which everyone knew only killed cats.

  Emma turned the corner with her escort, her hand resting on Jay’s forearm.

  Yeah, no. Definitely more than nerves over seeing a woman who’d been at the club. Irrational fear seized her chest.

  Emma was the sort of woman who screamed perfection. Well, not screamed, because ladies didn’t do that. She dressed impeccably without Henry’s guidance. Alice nurtured a polite smile as she studied their guest. Outside the club, she wasn’t distracted by other concerns.

  Mahogany hair, a deep brown glinting red in the light, twisted up in some elegantly simple design. Not a strand out of place. A knee-length sheath dress not unlike the one Henry had chosen for Alice to wear tonight. Emma’s was a smoky blue-gray. Not flashy and designed to draw eyes from across a room, but tasteful. Understated.

  Bet she didn’t own a pair of jeans. A woman who’d never run to pick up takeout in a T-shirt, pajama pants, and sandals. With this expert woman right in front of him, Henry had to be wondering what the hell he’d seen in the beginner model.

  “Emma.” Henry extended his hand. “It’s lovely to see you. I trust Jay was the consummate butler.”

  Emma patted Jay’s arm as she let go. “He was indeed. He’s grown into quite the proper valet.” She stepped forward and laid her fingertips over Henry’s cupped hand as if it were a dance they performed. One ending with a half embrace and a kiss on Henry’s cheek before Henry released her hand and Emma stepped away.

  Her smile at Alice raised tiny lines around her eyes. The eyes matched the dress, a shadowed, winter blue. A choker of platinum and pearls circled her neck above the slight vee of her dress. She clasped a book to her chest with her left hand, upon which rested two rings. Antique sapphire engagement ring. Platinum wedding band with intricate scrollwork.

  Relief fizzed like a fresh can of soda. Emma might be widowed, but she wasn’t in the market for new love.

  Henry petted her back in slow circles. “As we have the opportunity for a proper introduction this evening, Alice, this is Emma, a dear friend.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.” Alice added a wry twist to her smile as they shook hands. “I hope you’ll excuse me for not saying hello at our first meeting.”

  Emma laughed quietly. “Entirely understandable. I’ve been in the same situation many times myself.”

  Manners. Kindness. Two more to add to the list
of Things Emma Excels At. Alice growled at her jealousy in silence until it settled down.

  “My boy, would you pour the wine, please?” He’d set out a dry white for the evening, a Verdelho that paired well with every course. She’d gotten the full rundown while they’d prepared the veggies and Jay set the table.

  Jay went to work, and Emma held out her slender book to Henry. “I know, I know, wine or dessert for the host is traditional, but I wouldn’t dream of usurping your prerogative in your own kitchen. I hope this will suffice in their place.”

  Henry accepted the book with both hands, leaving her back cold and empty. He opened the cover. Flowing script inside ended in the words With love, Em. Alice forced herself not to read the lines above.

  Henry turned the page with a soft hum. The elegant script continued, page after page, but those pages, at least, held titles with words like chicken and beef and pastry.

  “Victor’s mother gave me a copy of the family recipes when I married him. The collected wisdom of her kitchen and her mother’s kitchen and so on back down the line.” Emma took the wineglass Jay held out to her and inhaled the bouquet. “I don’t suppose I’ll have a daughter to pass the wisdom to, but you’ve a family to feed these days, Henry. Surely you can find some use in it.”

  “You wrote out a fresh copy for my own kitchen, Em?” He caressed the edge of the pages. “A thoughtful and tremendous gift.”

  Her gut twisted. Henry’s gentle tone belonged to her and Jay, for their gifts. Disliking someone who made Henry happy was irrational at best and shameful at worst.

  “They’re all in there, Henry. Including that spicy beef dish you loved for Saturday supper and the sweet pirozhki for Sunday breakfast.”

  Irrationality ripped through the room and took the floor under her feet with it. Emma’s wedding ring might not mean she still mourned her husband or even that their marriage had been monogamous. Santa had a wife, yet he’d been playing at the club. And Henry had Jay, but now he had her, too. But he’d said he and Emma weren’t lovers.

  “Thank you, Emma.” Henry closed the book with care. He dropped his arm into its former place, curling Alice into his side.

  She rested her hand below his breastbone. Mine.

  “I do enjoy the opportunity to instruct my dear ones in the kitchen, though some of them have terrible thieving manners.”

  Distributing the remaining wineglasses, Jay boasted an unrepentant smirk. “I’m chief taster. It’s an important job.”

  Emma laughed. “William used to insist he fulfilled the same function in my kitchen until I shooed him out.”

  Henry raised his glass in a toast. “To hearth and home, and all those who gather therein. Where’er they roam, may they find their way back again.”

  Glasses touched. Smiles passed around. The wine was cool and dry going down, with a sharp citrus aftertaste.

  Emma surveyed the room, making a show of peeking at everything in sight. “In all the years we’ve known each other, and all the time you’ve spent in my kitchen, do you realize this is the first time I’ve gotten a look at yours?”

  Her brain was developing whiplash. Categorizing Henry and Emma’s history necessitated revision with every conversational turn.

  “It’s that secretive quality of yours that kept all the girls and boys so intrigued before you settled down.”

  His kitchen wasn’t a secret. He’d invited her into it from day one.

  Her. Not Emma.

  “And here I’d labored under the mistaken impression that my skills held their interest.” Henry hung his head in mocking mourning. “All they sought was a glimpse of my kitchen.”

  “I want a glimpse of more than a kitchen,” Jay faux-whispered.

  Alice giggled. “Because you know Henry’s skills are excellent in every room.”

  “Ah, my lovely chorus of defenders to the rescue.” Henry’s eyes gleamed dark and intense. “I’m pleased to be more to you both than a full stomach. Though that, too, is important.” He gestured toward the dining room. “Jay, if you’ll seat our guest, please, and then come assist me at the stove.”

  Jay offered his arm to Emma and waggled his eyebrows. “Soup’s on. I haven’t tasted it yet today, but the chef is excellent. May I show you to your seat?”

  She laughed, polite but genuine. “By all means. I can’t recall the last time I had such a handsome escort.”

  Henry led Alice to the table and lowered her into her regular seat. Adjusting the back of her chair, he brushed his mouth against her ear. “I do so love to see you sitting here, dearest. Such a pleasant temptation.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks and less-visible places. She’d been sitting right here in August when he’d spoken his first command to her. An order to stand. If she hadn’t listened then, no way would she be here now. Did he think of that life-changing moment as often as she did?

  Emma smiled as she unfolded her napkin. “I finally had the opportunity to drop by the gallery this week and see the fruit of Henry’s skills in the studio. One of those rooms in which he excels, wouldn’t you say, Alice?”

  She accepted the conversational diversion, holding up her end while Henry ladled soup and Jay carried bowls. Maybe the ability to pick a route through a potential verbal minefield wasn’t strictly a dominant skill. Henry masterfully directed conversation without seeming to, but Emma wasn’t bad herself.

  Years of dinner parties or small talk at the club would teach subtlety. Henry and Emma shared a knack for it. Not a skill she possessed. Directness, that was more her style. Jay’s too.

  They kept to safe topics, agreeing that Henry’s agent, though a cheerful fellow, drooped with a cadaver’s gauntness.

  “The nerves, I expect,” Emma said. “I’ve never met that man when he was standing still.”

  “He did seem high-strung when I met him. Jay fidgets a lot—I mean, a lot.”

  Bringing the last of the soup bowls, Jay stuck his tongue out.

  “But Henry keeps him well-fed.” She resisted the urge to return Jay’s gesture. Better not to open the floodgates and spill the less-cute juvenile shit clogging her head in front of the intimidating woman across the table. “Enough to put meat and muscle on his bones. Otherwise he’d be a dancing skeleton.”

  “Dibs! I’m calling it now, so nobody else can be a dancing skeleton for Halloween.” Jay’s enthusiasm caused laughs all around. “Henry, you heard me call it, right?”

  “I did. We’ll investigate the possibilities of body paint at a later date.” Henry set his hand on the back of his chair.

  Jay slid into his seat at the foot of the table.

  Emma swiveled, one perfectly manicured eyebrow rising. “You don’t have a server? I would have thought—” She glanced at the floor beside Henry’s chair. At Alice. Settled on Jay and shook her head in a single slow motion.

  Jay had already brought the soup to the table. Full-service waitstaff.

  “No, no pillows this evening, Em.”

  Her glance again went to the floor beside Henry’s chair as he sat.

  Holy shit. Emma expected someone to kneel at Henry’s side instead of participating at dinner. A cold night in January. Henry’s voice snapping commands. The hollow feeling in her stomach, the chill in her chest. The unpleasant distance between herself and Henry. To be loved and rewarded for her submission was one thing. To sit ignored like a slave unless the master needed something was another thing entirely. Not a game she wanted to play.

  Henry picked up his soupspoon.

  With the quiet clink of the metal against the ceramic bowl, Emma drew her chin up and focused an unwavering stare at Henry.

  Her intensity matched Jay in his best waiting pose.

  “Grateful though I am for Victor’s training in the formalities, I don’t run my household in the same fashion.” Henry steered the spoon in a slow curve through his soup. “As he balanced his needs with yours, so I balance mine with Jay’s and Alice’s.”

  “No, of course.” Emma nodded, more to herself t
han to Henry. “Of course you would.”

  The talk turned to inconsequential chatter, Henry smoothly encouraging Jay to share stories of the week’s most amusing deliveries. He settled down as Henry guided him, Emma asked polite questions, and Alice chimed in on occasion. The charming comedian. Untroubled by the deeper currents. Definitely not thinking about Emma’s marriage or what her submission had involved. Things Alice couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Jay even remembered to tip his bowl properly away to spoon up the last of his cream soup. Henry laid his own spoon down as he surveyed the table. “Salads are in order, it seems.”

  Jay stood, picking up his soup bowl. Emma half stood.

  Shit. No point in standing when she’d already been out-subbed by both of them. Whatever the mindset needed for a submissive, she didn’t have it. The instinctive desire to serve. Fuck. Henry would’ve done better to pick this other woman, the one who spoke art fluently and offered her service with smooth elegance.

  “Just Jay to clear, thank you.” Henry gestured to his left. “Emma, please, sit. You’re our guest tonight.”

  “Of course.” Emma retook her seat. Her hand went to the choker at her throat. “My apologies, Henry.”

  Silence fell over the noise of Jay bustling about with the dishes, swapping soup bowls for salad plates. Henry excused himself to put the main dish, a baked seafood ravioli tossed with fresh vegetables, served in separate ramekins, in the oven to heat while they enjoyed their salads.

  Alice chased down a stubborn piece of lettuce with her fork and stabbed. “Your necklace is beautiful.” Three rows of pearls circled Emma’s neck, little silk knots between them. “Was it a gift?”

  “Oh, yes.” The depth of Emma’s smile dazzled, a brilliance more than simple politeness, and her eyes shone. “Victor gave it to me many, many years ago.”

  “A wedding present?” Expensive, for sure, with vertical bars of platinum evenly spaced after every five pearls.