by July Hall
“No,” Sandra agreed. She took in a deep breath and let it go. Then she blinked again, and another tear ran down her cheek. His eyes widened.
“It was such a small thing,” he said. Now he sounded as bewildered as a child. “You do believe me?”
Sandra closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Then what for fuck’s sake is the matter? I know you. This is not right. Look at me!”
I know you. He’d never said anything so terrifying. She gulped. “Please let go of me. You're hurting me.”
His breath caught. He let go of her wrist so she could step away. There would be a bruise there, she was sure. She looked down at where her pale skin had reddened from his grip. That was something else Bradley had done, once, left fingerprint-shaped bruises on her skin.
She kept looking at her wrist. “It hurts too much,” she said.
“Christ.” He sounded horrified. “I didn’t mean to…dammit, let me see.”
Sandra cradled her wrist to her chest and shook her head. “No, no. I mean—we hurt. This thing we're doing. It hurts.” She heard him take in a breath, and closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t mean Josephine or whatever. If you don't care about her, then…you said you don’t, right?”
“No.” Charles stepped back into her space, but didn't touch her again. “No, I don’t. And nothing happened. So what on earth’s the…what do you mean, it hurts?”
Wow. He didn't get it after all. Maybe that was a good thing—if he couldn't see how badly he could wound her. But…
But she was honest. With him and herself, if nobody else. She focused on his white bow tie. “I mean, when I thought you were with her, it hurt.”
“Well, of course it did,” Charles said, but he sounded uncertain. “That’s natural. I’d be angry too, in your place. To say the least.”
“I didn’t say I was angry. I was angry when Bradley did it. This time—I don’t even know how to put it.” Sandra looked up at him, into his beautiful eyes. Again, he looked shocked by whatever he saw on her face. “I mean it,” she said. “This used to be fun, and now it’s not. I mean, Jesus. If this is how I feel from such a stupid little thing…” She put a hand over her mouth and looked away again. Don't cry, don't cry. “Uh. I should go. We, uh, we can talk about this later. Maybe your brother's wedding isn't the best time.”
“Obviously not,” he said. “But it seems to be the time we’ve got.” At the edge in his voice, she looked back at him to see he’d gone pale again. “We’re not going anywhere. What are you saying?”
“I—I’m saying—” Sandra clutched at her throat instead of hugging herself again. She had to stop looking at him. This was too much to bear. “I sneak in and out of your life, and…it’s not fun anymore, it’s not a thrill. It’s too intense for me and I can’t…” She had to say it. She had to admit it. “I can’t do it anymore.”
No, not anymore. After their first weekend together, she’d been so grateful to learn that she could feel this deeply about someone. It had been a beautiful, wonderful discovery. It didn’t feel wonderful now. It made her want to crawl into somewhere dark and quiet, and stay there.
“You can’t do it anymore,” Charles said.
Sandra cringed.
“Because it’s too intense,” he said. She felt his hand, first on her shoulder, then curling around the back of her neck. He pulled her against him, so close that she could feel his pounding heart. She shivered.
He pressed his lips to her forehead and muttered, “No.”
“Charles,” Sandra whispered. She put her hands on his chest, wondering if she should push him away again or if she even could.
“This can be fixed.” He kissed her temple and slid his other arm around her waist. She braced herself against him, almost pushing him, but not quite. “If this is a problem, then it can be solved.”
Solved? Jesus, what did he think she was saying? This wasn’t some new minor misunderstanding they could sweep under the rug. These were the facts on the ground. She loved him. The longer they stayed together, the more she would love him, and the more degraded she would feel when he didn’t love her back, and she had to sneak out through the side entrance, and people looked at her with pity or asked what was wrong with her.
“If I’ve been too…intense, then I apologize,” Charles said. His voice was perfectly calm, but his grip was unyielding. She could barely move. “Is that what’s wrong? You don’t have to worry about that. In fact…” He cleared his throat. “That’s why I wanted to speak to you. I only wanted you to know that I—care for you. That’s all.”
That’s all? That was all. Sandra let her head fall forward until it thumped against his chest. She had to get out of here.
“I am placing no pressure on you,” he said. “I’m not asking for your—for anything. Do you understand? I don’t expect anything more than this, I just…care for you. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Okay, sure. That was about as effective as telling someone they didn’t need to be afraid when they were running out of a burning house. The fear wasn’t the point. The point was you had to get out of the fucking house.
“That’s not so bad, is it?” Charles continued. “After all, it’s…very early. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I’d have to be crazy to want more. Wouldn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Sandra mumbled. Another tear fell down her cheek. Her throat ached.
“You already give me so much,” he said. He slid a hand up and down her back and moved the other one to cup her cheek. He kissed her forehead again. Sandra whimpered as that one soft point of heat sent flame rushing through her whole body, even now, like this. “More than I could reasonably want. I’m not asking for anything. Nothing has to change.”
There was an odd note in his voice, but she couldn’t work out what it was, and she didn’t care. The words were enough. She finally pushed him again, snapped, “Let go,” and stumbled backward when he did.
She took a step toward the door, looked back at him, and almost gasped. Had that mild voice been coming out of him? His face was like granite, rigid and unmoving, but his burning gaze darted all over her, looking for…what?
If he kept looking, he’d find it. He was like that. “I’m glad you have all you want from me,” she said. “It’s not much, is it? You won’t miss it when it’s gone.”
“When it’s—” He struck forward, as fast as a viper, and pulled her into his arms again. “I’m sorry,” he said through his teeth while he gathered her to him. “I must not be making myself clear. That’s what I want, and now I just need you to tell me what you want. That’s all I’ve ever needed you to say.”
I want to get out of this room, she could tell him. I want to get away from this idiot I’ve turned into and be the boring girl I was before. I want never, ever to feel like this again.
“Tell me,” Charles repeated. “I think you’ll find I can give it to you. You’ll be amazed what I can do.” His grip tightened. “You haven’t seen the half of it.”
“What, more necklaces?” Sandra asked bitterly. “Pretty underwear? Come on. I told you I didn’t want you to spend a dime on me and you did anyway. You didn’t listen to a word I said.”
“I’m listening now. For Christ’s sake, just tell me. Sandra.” His grip slid down to her elbows. “It is a very simple request.”
“I did tell you,” Sandra said. “I told you and told you. You never listened.”
“What? No you haven’t. I—”
“I told you, Charles.” She felt her mouth contorting again, but this time she wasn’t smiling. She was baring her teeth. She wrenched herself out of his grip.
Then she looked into his eyes, and stepped backward again, almost falling over the bench again. Charles looked like he was about to explode. And yet his voice was soft, as reasonable as if he was trying to coax a cat down out of a tree.
“Sandra,” he said, so gently, “you are upset. I can see that. It’s because of that misunderstanding with Josephine. That’s what—” He he
ld up both hands when she started to protest. The gesture was placating, but his fingers twitched, as if he wanted to seize her again. “That’s what stirred this up, you can’t deny it. We should talk about this later, when you’ve…we’ve had a chance to cool down, at my apartment. All right?”
Oh God. That was all she needed. To be surrounded by his house and all his things, every piece carefully arranged by Eleanor Magister. At least this was the one room in all his property that had a bit of Sandra in it.
If she had to make her last stand, then this was the place.
“I wanted you,” she said, her voice thick. Her throat hurt. Her eyes were wet with tears, and her hands were shaking again. She had never felt less self-assured or more exposed. She really might as well just pull out her beating heart and give it to him. It would be faster. “I told you a million times.”
Charles looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking in some kind of moon language. “You have me,” he said. “I’m right here. What—?”
“No I don’t,” Sandra said. “I don’t have anything. I just know that you look at me, and…” She looked at the floor and dug her hands into her hair. “And you see this girl who doesn’t know anything. You like to take her places, and give her stuff, and f-fuck her…” She gulped down a sob that would have broken her in two.
He said nothing. She couldn’t look up. She couldn’t move. It was like they were back on his plane again, on the flight home from Hong Kong, when she’d thought these exact same things. She’d thought about ending it then, but she hadn’t had the strength, she couldn’t bear the thought. Now she was paying for it. Everything had only gotten worse.
She whipped around to stare out the window again, turning her back to him. She couldn’t really see anything, though. It was all too blurry. She was crying now, for real, because she was an idiot and hadn’t left the room when she knew she should. “Anyway. This is all sort of…um.” She strove for air. “Too much. I can’t do it anymore. And you said you care about me, so…I mean, if you do, you could maybe think about that? I need, I need to go home now. I have to leave.”
His hands touched her shoulders again. She tried to shrug them off, and said, “No.” He didn’t listen. Of course he didn’t. He grabbed her tight, then tighter. She whimpered. He couldn’t keep touching her. If he did, she would shatter, atomize, there would be nothing left but fragments so small nobody could see them. She’d be invisible. “Please let me go.”
Charles’s breath stirred the hair at her temple. He was so close that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You think I care about you?” he whispered.
Sandra’s knees nearly buckled. Oh shit. No, he couldn’t take that back. No matter how mad she’d made him, he wouldn’t take that from her, would he? It might not be enough, but it was something.
She had to get out of here before he could do that. She tried to pull away.
Instead of letting her go, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pinning her back against him. His free hand spanned the width of her collarbone, burning against her skin. His voice was so coarse that it sounded like the gears of a great and terrible machine grinding together when he said, “You think I care?”
And then he pressed a hard, cruel kiss against her throat.
“Oh God,” Sandra said. Electricity raced up and down her spine. She grabbed his hand at her collarbone and tried to tug it off. “No, no, you said you did.”
“I don’t.” Before she could react to that with more than a sob, he whirled her back around to face him.
She actually cried out. Not in his office, not in front of Richard Zhou, not anywhere, had she seen such a look on his face. Or on anybody’s face. It wasn’t even human. Charles was no longer the man who’d been set off-balance by desire or who’d punched someone who’d offended him—now he was all claws and bloody teeth, ready to rend the nearest soft-bellied creature into pieces. To rend her.
He rasped, “I don’t care for you. I don’t want you.”
Oh God. Sandra looked away and squeezed her eyes shut. He didn’t have to do this. Why wouldn’t he just let her walk away? “Stop it,” she begged, trying to pull free again.
“No,” he said. “Look at me. I’m going to give you more than you want.” At that, she opened her eyes again and stared up at him. He cupped the back of her neck so she couldn’t turn away. “You think you want me? Well, you’re going to get me. You’re going to get the presents, and the trips, and my money—”
“Charles,” Sandra gasped, “what are you—”
“And you’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay right here, with me, where you belong—”
He hadn’t been listening. “I don’t, I told you I—”
“Because I love you. And I don’t give half a fuck if you don’t love me, too. I don’t care.” His hand on the back of her neck dropped to the fastening of her halter top. “How do I get this off? That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to make you scream.”
Everything blurred for a second. Sandra wondered if she’d fallen and hit her head. She wondered if she had a concussion. While she gaped at him, his fingers fumbled at the hooks he found, the ones Kristen had helped Sandra fasten. They were tiny and delicate. He gave a low cry of sheer frustration, yanked, and she heard the hooks tearing apart, the snap of broken thread.
The halter straps fell down, but the bodice was so well fitted that it stayed up. Charles’s hands slid down to the small of her back, seeking out the zipper. Then he gave up and splayed his hands over her back, dragging her against him while he began covering her bared shoulder, then her throat, with kisses.
She pushed at him. He reared back and stared down at her. “Wait!” she cried. “Wait, stop, you…you what?”
“I love you,” he said again, his eyes wild. “I love you, every piece of me loves you, and I’d do anything—Jesus Christ.” He took her by the arms again. “You think I give you presents and want to fuck you? You think that’s what this is? I’d jump in front of a goddamned train for—”
“Charles—!”
He kissed her, hard, and made the frustrated sound again. She knew that sound. It meant not enough. He slid his hands up and down her back while his body grew even tenser against her, his breath even more ragged.
“I wish I was a poor man,” he snarled. “I wish I didn’t have anything to offer but my life. Would you take that?”
Spots were dancing before Sandra’s eyes again, but for a different reason. He pressed another punishing kiss to her throat, and then another, and she grabbed the lapels of his jacket to stay upright.
He groaned, said, “Fuck it,” and reached past her. She saw him grab hold of the curtain cord, and the heavy drapes fell into place over the window. Oh Jesus, she should have thought about—
He pushed her down on the bench. It wasn’t long enough. He didn’t seem to care. He put one arm behind her head for a pillow, braced himself with one foot on the floor, and sent his free hand wandering up and down her body while he kissed her.
She could let this happen. She could wrap her arms around him and let him fuck everything right out of her until nothing mattered but what they did with their bodies.
Both her hands were free. Sandra slid them into his hair, dug her fingernails into his scalp, and hissed, “Stop.”
The sting, plus the iron in her voice, appeared to knock some sense back into Charles. He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes still frenzied, his face red. His body was rigid against hers.
They stared at each other. He kept looking all over her face, at her eyes and lips. He was panting.
Sandra scrambled to think. This was important. She had to think. One of them did, anyway. If she didn’t do something, he’d be all over her again, and this time she might just let herself get swept away. Either that or she’d resist him, struggle with him—pit her physical strength against his when he seemed half-crazed—
Sandra took a deep breath and relaxed her fingers, so she wasn’t digging her nails i
nto him anymore. “Shh,” she whispered. She could barely hear her own voice. “Shh, it’s all right. Just…” She swallowed. “Be still with me.” She slid one hand down to stroke his face, to rub her thumb against the bristle on his cheek. She husked, without meaning to, “Baby, let’s be still?”
Charles gasped, and all the fight went out of him like she’d flipped a switch. His eyes fell shut.
Sandra closed her eyes too, and they remained that way in silence for a moment. She was shaking again. He felt it. She knew, because he stopped touching her, taking his hand from her side.
“I hurt you,” he said.
She kept her eyes shut. “No.”
“I did. And I frightened you.” His voice was heavy with self-loathing. She’d never heard that before either.
But it was better than the frenzy. Sandra opened her eyes, looked into his, and repeated, “Shh.” She looked dazedly at his mouth, which had smears of her own berry-colored lip gloss all over it, and stroked his chin. “Shh. Be still.”
“Please,” he began, and stopped. She looked up at him and held her breath. He swallowed.
“Just ask me,” Sandra whispered.
He said, “I don’t know how. I don’t.”
She shuddered, a lump filling her throat.
“No,” he said. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t—”
“Why not?” She was shaking again. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“You could…do what you said.” His eyes were full of a horror she had never seen there before. “You could go.”
Sandra closed her eyes and gulped for air. “You said you loved me.” She couldn’t believe it.
He rested his head on her shoulder. His temple was damp with sweat. “Sandra.”
“How are you going to love somebody you don’t trust?” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh my God, Charles. I don’t even know what you really want. You can’t just tell me what you’re going to do about something, that’s not the same thing.”
“If you don’t know what I want,” he managed, “you can’t make a fucking promise that you’ll say yes to it.”