by Iris Morland
“I’m going to call Ted,” he said as he ripped up old newspapers for kindling. “This is absolutely ridiculous. I didn’t sign up for Little House on the Fucking Prairie.”
Thea snorted. “I can’t imagine you churning butter.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be the one churning the butter. That’s for the women.”
“Oh, please. Real men can churn butter.” Her expression sobering, she said, “Thank you for doing all this. I’m glad you knew what to do, because God knows I don’t have any wilderness skills.”
He turned back to the fireplace. Her thanking him—again—only made him want to tell her never to say those words. He wasn’t doing this for her. He was doing it for himself, just like he did everything else. He never did anything without a motive.
But now that he’d gone down memory lane, he couldn’t help but think how he’d come to this point. After his little sister had died, it was like his parents had decided that she hadn’t existed. Anthony hadn’t thought of Gretchen in ages. He’d been so young that her loss hadn’t registered in his mind. Yet now, the bits of memories he had of her saddened him. He wondered how his parents had coped with losing a child. Or had they coped at all?
Irritated with his morose thoughts, he picked up the poker by the wrong end, where it had already been heated by the fire. His hand burning, he dropped it with a colorful string of curses.
“Are you okay?” Thea rushed to him. “What happened?”
He gritted his teeth. “Nothing. It’s fine.” But his palm was on fire, and when he opened his hand, he hissed. God, he was an idiot. He’d gotten so distracted that he’d picked up a hot poker.
“You’re not fine. Did you burn yourself?” Thea clasped his wrist and held his hand to the fire to get a better look. She clucked her tongue. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Anthony wanted to protest, as he didn’t like to be fussed over, but Thea just pointed at the couch. He found himself obeying. She soon returned with a bowl of water and a rag that she dipped in the water.
“Most people think you should put ice on a burn, but actually you should put just cool water on it. When I was a kid, my younger sister Lucy burned her finger on the stove and I remembered that we learned that tip in school. Handy, right?”
She took his burned hand and gently wrapped the wet cloth around it. He winced at the contact, but the wet cloth lessened the severity of the pain in a few moments.
They sat there in silence. The burn on his palm faded away as he focused on the feeling of Thea’s hand that still clasped his.
He didn’t need her to hold the cloth on his palm. He could do it himself. But he didn’t want to tell her to stop.
The firelight flickered across her face. In profile, she was beautiful. He told himself that her nose was too long, her chin too pointed, to be considered beautiful. He didn’t understand the point of having a septum piercing like that, through the middle of her nose like a bullring. Her hair was too short, too bleached; her nails were painted some garish orange that was chipping. Her tattoos were overly bright and colorful, covering her entire arm like a shirtsleeve.
But she smelled so good, and when she smiled, it was like the clouds parted and the sun finally shone through. God, he wanted her. He wanted to lick and taste every inch of her pale skin. He wanted to hear her moan his name when he was inside her.
Yet he knew that sleeping with her would be a terrible idea. Thea wasn’t the type of woman who wanted a one-night stand. She would want everything—the commitment, the ring, the white picket fence. The declarations of love. Despite her appearance, she was as conventional as apple pie. And Anthony didn’t like apple pie.
As if sensing where his thoughts were going, Thea let go of his hand and moved further away from him on the couch.
“I need to check on Sneaky,” she said, getting up. “Is your hand feeling better?”
“Who’s Sneaky?”
“The rabbit.” At his confused expression, she shrugged. “He was sneaky about eating his food. And I thought it was cute.”
She went upstairs, leaving Anthony to ponder that response. Of course she’d named the rabbit. Knowing her, she’d keep it as a pet and carry it around in her purse.
He blew out a breath. Pulling the wet cloth from his hand, he flexed his fingers. Although the burn still stung, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
Thea returned downstairs carrying a cardboard box. “What are you doing?” she said. “You need to keep that cloth on there.” She set the box on the coffee table.
“You brought the rabbit?” he asked, peering down into it.
“It’s cold upstairs. Anyway, I need to feed him. I’m going to get something to eat, too. Want anything?”
It was ridiculous, but the question sounded so wifely that it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel.
Roughly, he said, “I don’t eat rabbit food.”
A flash of hurt crossed Thea’s face, but she masked it well. Anthony refused to feel guilty.
He couldn’t let her get too close.
11
Thea was tempted to leave Anthony to his gloomy thoughts, but she didn’t want to freeze upstairs. Granted, it wasn’t that cold, but it was the principle of the thing.
She sat down on the couch next to him with two plates of food: one for her, and one for Sneaky. She tore up some of the lettuce and placed it inside the box. She smiled when Sneaky immediately began eating. Soon, she’d have to figure out a way to let him get some exercise. She’d tried to let him hop around her room earlier, but he’d hidden in a corner the entire time.
Thea then bit into a carrot stick of her own, loudly crunching it. Anthony raised a sardonic eyebrow, but she just smiled widely.
“You said you have four siblings?” said Anthony apropos of nothing.
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. Why did he suddenly care? She bit into another carrot. “Yeah. Why?”
He shrugged. “I could tell. You acted like an older sister.”
She wanted to snort. She sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about Anthony like an older sister. Wouldn’t her siblings just laugh at her now if they could see her?
“I had to help take care of my siblings when we were young,” she said with a shrug. “I guess bossing people around is just a part of me now.”
Anthony didn’t ask her anything else. Thea refused to let the silence draw out. If he wanted to know about her siblings, then why not tell him? He could sit and listen to her prattle on for hours. The thought amused her enough for her to continue talking.
She told him about how her family had been middle class until their father, Edward, had lost his job, and then things had gone downhill. The family had struggled to put food on the table. It hadn’t helped that their mother, Beatrice, had been suffering from undiagnosed mental illness—most likely bipolar disorder, Thea had discovered later—and Edward had taken out his anger and frustration on Beatrice.
To anyone else, telling this man about her childhood and her family might’ve seemed strange. But Thea had this ridiculous urge to connect with him, to draw out that vulnerable, caring side of him that she’d seen flashes of. She knew it existed. She’d seen it when he’d saved Sneaky. So why did he usually hide it? If she made herself vulnerable, maybe he would drop his guard, too.
“When my mom died, I had to take on a lot of responsibilities,” she explained. “My younger siblings needed a mom. I tried my best to be one.”
It hadn’t been that simple, of course. What twelve-year-old knew how to take care of her traumatized siblings? Thea had been little more than a child herself. At least she’d had her older brother Trent to lean on. The two of them had managed well enough together, with their father doing little more than paying for the leaky roof over their heads and some meals. After Beatrice had died, it had been like Edward had just given up entirely.
“I wanted to leave for ages, but I couldn’t leave my siblings. I did move out, though, but I still helpe
d take care of Ash, Phin and Lucy until they were old enough to fend for themselves.”
Anthony hadn’t said anything in a while. He was gazing at seemingly nothing, and Thea wondered if he’d been listening at all.
“You’re not angry about any of that?” he finally asked. He looked her in the face now as he spoke. “You didn’t hate your parents for taking away your childhood? Or resent your siblings for making you stay?”
“Maybe when I was younger, I did, but I guess I don’t hold on to anger like that. It wasn’t my siblings’ fault, either. And I’ve seen how my parents hurt them. I’m not saying the hurt isn’t still there.” She shrugged, because she didn’t know if she could explain it.
She’d never hated her parents. She’d hated the circumstances. She’d hated that no one outside of the family had tried to help. She’d wished that things could’ve been different. But what did hate and anger do? Would they somehow take away what had happened? She’d soon learned that holding onto anger didn’t help anyone.
“I forgave my parents a long time ago,” said Thea softly.
Anthony looked incredulous. “Why? They didn’t deserve that.”
His voice was hard, his expression even harder. She didn’t fully understand why he was so intent on her answer. She had a distinct feeling this had nothing to do with her parents at all.
“It wasn’t about them deserving it,” she said slowly, “but about letting myself keep living. Forgiveness isn’t for the perpetrator—not really. It’s for you. It’s freeing. That’s all. I couldn’t let the cycle continue with me, even though it would’ve been easier, I guess.”
Anthony looked at her like he’d never heard anyone say something so crazy. But Thea knew she wasn’t crazy. She’d seen how anger had hurt Trent, how it had kept Ash walled away from the world.
Needing to break the tension, Thea muttered, “It’s still really dark in here.” She went into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets, frowning when she found her bag of quinoa amongst a bunch of cups and plates. She finally found a drawer with tea candles. Placing a few on a plate, she brought them into the living room and lit them.
But lighting candles had been a mistake, because it only made the entire scene feel cozier. More intimate. More romantic. Thea wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, feeling stupid for being so self-conscious.
Anthony, for his part, seemed far away.
“When do you think the power will turn back on?” ventured Thea.
Anthony didn’t reply. She repeated the question, and he finally looked at her, as if he were surprised she was still sitting there.
“Um, I don’t know. I called Ted, but the call was dropped. Who knows, with this wind?” Anthony leaned back onto the couch, his arms crossed, before asking, “How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Forgive your parents.”
She wasn’t sure how to explain. “I mean, there isn’t like a checklist,” she joked. At his grim stare, she said more seriously, “It was just a mental decision, but I also went to my parents’ graves, too, to tell them. Like I said, it was for me, not them.”
“And that’s it? You just forget everything happened?”
“No, you don’t forget. Do you ever forget? No, you just…” She chewed on her lower lip, thinking. “You move past it. Sorry, I’m not great at explaining. My last boyfriend always said that I was too forgiving. That’s probably why I dumped him,” she added wryly.
Anthony’s expression lightened somewhat. “Probably.” Then: “What about your latest boyfriend?”
His tone seemed nonchalant. She couldn’t read him at all. “I don’t have a latest boyfriend,” she whispered. She took a deep breath. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you married, have a girlfriend…?”
“No. Considering we kissed last night, if either of us had said yes, it would be rather awkward.”
Thea shivered at the memory. “Of course. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Anthony continued, “No, I’m not married. In fact, I’ve been single for two years since my divorce. It might have soured my outlook on marriage in general.” His voice was wry, although Thea could detect an underlying bitterness, too.
She thought of the photo she’d found in his briefcase, the articles online about his divorce. But the articles hadn’t mentioned why they’d divorced, and they certainly hadn’t taken into account the hurt that would result from a breakup that had clearly once been a love match based on that photo.
Jealousy nipped at her, that that woman had gotten to see a side of Anthony Thea would never get to see. What had he been like as a husband? she wondered. Had he been attentive? Sweet? Or had he treated it like any other business deal? Her curiosity almost overwhelmed her.
Right then, their gazes collided, then held, the tension in the room increasing until Thea struggled to take a deep breath. She couldn’t help but stare at his mouth: his lips were plush, but his jaw was hard. She remembered how he’d kissed her, how strong his arms had been around her. Her skin prickled, goose bumps dotting her arms. When she licked her lips, his forehead creased, his nostrils flaring.
Despite her best intentions and despite every thought in her head telling her it was a bad idea, Thea wanted Anthony to kiss her again. She wanted him—so much. She practically ached with the need spiraling tighter inside her.
Her knee brushed Anthony’s as she moved closer to him, like an invisible string pulled her along. He didn’t tell her to stop. Emboldened, she touched his knee, skimming her fingers upward, her intention crystal clear.
“You’re playing with fire,” he said hoarsely.
She smiled. “Is that a warning? Or a promise?”
“Both.”
Then she was in his arms as he kissed her. His mouth was hot, devouring. She clung to him, letting herself get swept away by sheer sensation. Her entire body burned. The stubble on his chin and cheeks scraped at her tender skin, but it only heightened the intensity of his kiss.
Anthony Bertram kissed like a fiend. There was no other way to describe it. Where Thea’s previous lovers had been almost tentative, Anthony was dominating. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tipping her head back. Thea could only surrender. She’d never been the type to be passive, but in this instance, she could only bend to his will.
But her passivity could only last so long. She broke the kiss. At his growl, she pressed a finger to his mouth and climbed onto his lap. Now they were face-to-face, and she could touch him like she’d wanted to do since the first moment she’d seen him.
Thea began to unbutton his shirt. He hitched in a breath, watching her intently. Unveiling his chest covered in dark hair, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss right over his heart.
Anthony bit back a groan. Thea’s clever fingers continued to unbutton his shirt, skimming across his skin with a touch like a butterfly’s. His cock pressed against the zipper of his jeans, almost painfully hard, and he’d only kissed her. She shot him an impish smile that boded ill for him.
He should push her away. And then he should go upstairs and lock his door for good measure. He should tell her this was a beyond stupid idea that would only get her hurt and him distracted. He needed to focus on his company. He needed to avoid entanglements with women who would want commitment. He needed to—
Thea kissed him over his heart, and his breath caught in his throat. It was such a small gesture, but it was like being pushed into a river. Swept away in the current, he could only kiss her again, tasting lemons with every brush of his lips against hers.
He pushed her shirt up until he could splay his hand on her lower back. Her skin was silky soft, and when he traced the bumps of her vertebrae, she shivered.
She barely weighed anything, sitting on his lap, but her warmth and strength were unmistakable in every inch of her body. When he traced a figure-eight in the middle of her back, right below her bra, she wiggled, her crotch rubbing against his.
He hissed, hol
ding her still. “This is going to be over before we’ve started,” he muttered, glaring at her.
She dimpled, and God Almighty, it only made him harder. She tried wiggling again, and he wrapped his arm harder around her.
“Bad girls get punished,” he whispered in her ear, “and if you keep doing that, you’ll be next on the list.”
“Oh, I’m very, very scared.” Thea nipped at his shoulder.
“Don’t bite, brat.” Anthony moved his hand to cup one of her breasts, and she let out a deep sigh of satisfaction when he thumbed her nipple through her bra. He desperately wanted to see her naked, drink in every inch of her, but he was trying to restrain himself. Because if he had her in his bed once, he wouldn’t stop himself from taking her again and again until they finally went their separate ways.
He played with her for a while, just touching, learning the hills and valleys of her. She did the same, delving beneath the edges of his shirt. She flicked one of his nipples with her nail. He growled before lifting her shirt over her head and tossing it away.
Her breasts were small but well-formed, and her nipples were hard little peaks through the sheer lace of her bra. He pushed her bra straps down her arms, and finally, her breasts were free and bare. He drank in the gorgeous sight: her nipples were puffy, a dark rose color, and he could see blue veins below her creamy skin.
Thea ran her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Anthony…” she whispered.
He licked one breast, tonguing a nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. Thea moaned, long and low, only giving him more of a reason to continue. He laved each breast until she was gasping and shivering. He wondered if he could make her come just by sucking on her breasts.
But he needed more. Cupping her sex through her jeans, he began to rub her, the heat of her almost burning his palm. Thea sucked in a breath before she began to undulate with him. When he found the right spot, he pressed harder. Thea leaned down and bit his shoulder again as she rocked with him.