A Perfect Dilemma

by Zoe Dawson

  He said nothing, only held my gaze for the longest moment. Then he took my hand and pulled it to his lips. He pressed his sore mouth against my palm and kissed me there so sweetly, looking up at me with those impossibly blue eyes.

  “Hold that for me,” he said as he tucked my fingers over the kiss.

  I smiled and snuggled against him. He picked up his remote, pushed a button, and faint music came from somewhere.

  His jaw was looking worse, more swollen. Probably felt pretty bad, too. I slipped off his bed and went to the bathroom to find his bottle of painkiller, then filled a glass with water.

  Back in the bedroom, I handed him the water and shook two tablets out.

  “Three,” he said.

  “Do you want some ice, too?”

  “I’d better. It feels kinda bad.”

  “Should I wiggle it to make sure it’s not broken?”

  “Stop making me want to grin,” he said. “It hurts.”

  “Yeah, now you know how my nose felt.”

  “It’s not broken. I can tell. I hope your brother’s hand is hurting like a son of a bitch.”

  “It was pretty banged up. I’ll get the ice for you.” I got off the bed again and headed for the door. When I turned back to ask him if he had ice packs I caught him staring at my butt. It took him a moment to realize I wasn’t moving.

  “You getting a good look?” I asked.

  His eyes jerked up and grinned, then winced.

  I skimmed my eyes down him. Damn, the man was ripped. “You do have six packs…I mean, ice packs?” I asked, smiling.

  He laughed and winced again. “Both,” he chuckled again, holding his jaw. “Six pack right here, sugar, ice packs are on the top shelf of the freezer.” He popped all of the pills in his mouth and swallowed, his throat working.

  I laughed at my silly mistake, but, geez, what was a girl supposed to do with such gorgeousness right out there to be ogled?

  In his immaculate kitchen I opened the freezer portion of his impressive commercial-grade fridge and looked around. It was the neatest freezer I had ever seen. Even the freezer at home wasn’t this organized. The ice packs were on the top shelf, as promised. I took out one and found a kitchen towel.

  Out of curiosity, I opened the fridge. Everything there was neat and tidy, too. With a lot of stuff you wouldn’t see in a guy’s fridge unless he cooked, things like cream and asparagus, garlic and sun-dried tomatoes.

  Back in the bedroom, it was my turn to stare. Brax was propped against the headboard, the sheet half covering his groin, his abs so hard and ridged it was no wonder I was thinking six pack instead of ice pack. The sexy indentation in his hips, his wide chest and broad shoulders, added up to more than enough to give me the vapors.

  “You can stare at me up close and personal, from right here next to me, you know.”

  True. I settled next to him on the bed. Wrapped the ice pack in the towel and gently set it against his jaw.

  He closed his eyes and covered my hand with his, absently caressing my knuckles with his thumb. “You want something to wear?” he asked

  “No, I’m content skin to skin with you.”

  He sighed. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Why didn’t you fight back?”

  The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I guess I keep remembering him as a little kid. Geezus, River, we had so much fun. I also didn’t want to hurt your brother.”

  “He needs a swift kick if you ask me,” I said.

  “I told you—”

  “Right. Black and white, blah, blah, blah. If he so much as lays a hand on you again, I will disown him. He needs to work through his own shit and stop using me as an excuse and you as a punching bag.”

  “You couldn’t do it, any more than I could disown my fucking pushy, gotta-have-their-freaking-noses-in-my-business, brothers.” He gave me a disgusted look. “I’ve done that.”

  “What?”

  “Used my brothers as punching bags. Blow off some steam.”

  “Well, then you need to work through your own shit, too.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “And maybe you don’t understand what it’s like to have testosterone.”

  “Nice excuse. There’s no maybe about it.” I smoothed my hand over his chest. “This anger you hang onto isn’t good for you. It’s consuming you.”

  “Not more get-in-touch-with-your-feelings bullshit. I get enough of it from Boone how-do-you-feel-about-it Outlaw.”

  I giggled. I couldn’t help it. He was so sarcastic, and I knew exactly how Boone could be. He was the beating heart of this Outlaw outfit. I knew Braxton loved him like I loved both my stupid brothers. “Siblings. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t kill ’em.”

  His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Well, at least not without a plan.”

  I laughed at that, too.

  “I noticed you brought a bag with you.”

  “Yes, I’m staying with you tonight.”

  “Are you? The Princess has decreed?”

  I glared at him. “I don’t like that name. I’m not perfect, you know.”

  “Yes, you are. I don’t have any illusions.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said, feeling huffy…and hurt. I didn’t want him to buy into all the shit from high school or the international woman in glossy magazines. They weren’t me. They were an overblown caricature of me.

  “Well, yeah,” he said, reaching over to his nightstand and pulling open the drawer. He pulled out a book and settled it on my lap. Snuggling closer to me, he turned slightly so he could meet my eyes.

  I looked at him, then down to the book. Finally I opened it. There was a picture of me from one of the fashion magazines in an amazing ball gown-style brown and blue dress, with elbow length, chocolate-colored gloves. I had this regal, you-can’t-touch-me look on my face. As I paged through the book, my anger climbed. More pictures of my fashion life, but not one of me as just River Pearl.

  “Is this what you really think of me? Regal and untouchable?”

  I wanted him to see the real me, and it hurt to learn he didn’t. It got all tangled up with the way my momma treated me, what she expected of me. When I changed my hair color, she disapproved. If I wanted a piece of pie, she disapproved and worried out loud that I’d ruin my figure. If I got too much sun or happened to wake up and come downstairs without my hair brushed. Sometimes I wanted to scream.

  I got out of bed and started to get dressed. I couldn’t stay here. Geezus, it hurt.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, the sleepy relaxation gone.

  “I’m going…somewhere else.”

  “What?”

  I walked out of the room and stomped towards his gym. Before I could make it, he was there, his arms wrapped around me. “Tell me what I said. Fucking explain it to me before you leave.” His arms tightened. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Which mollified me some. Although maybe I was fooling myself and we couldn’t find common ground.

  “Give me a chance, here,” he said. “I’ve spent years wanting you. Give me a few minutes to tell me what I did wrong.”

  “I need you to see me as a person. Not as the plastic doll with the fake international smile.”

  “Is that what you meant by Princess?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it how you see me?”

  He nudged my hips and shifted me around till I could see his incredulous expression. “Fuck, no. I see you as a woman who could have any man she wanted. Sassy, strong, and very complex. So complex it could take me years to discover everything about you, yet it also feels as if there are worlds in your eyes and I understand them all. There is no one else I see the same way. I didn’t show you the scrapbook to make you feel bad about how I see you. I showed it to you so you could see how beautiful you are. And, it...” he looked away, “…comforted me to have you all to myself.”

  “When I saw you giving your brother hell because of me every summer…not overtly, so I’d have to feel embarras
sed or everyone would think me weak for letting you stick up for me, and making me a bigger target. When I was sixteen, the night on the bayou, I was so hot for you. It was amazing to see you as just a girl being silly with her friends. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me that night. I still can’t.”

  He looked away again and whispered. “I wanted you...but not sexually. Does that make sense? I didn’t want you to just be some girl I fucked.”

  I was speechless. It was more than he had ever revealed to me before. “You mean it?”

  He leaned in and brushed his lips just below my ear, inhaling deeply. “I fucking don’t say what I don’t mean. Don’t leave.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

  “It’s how I think of you, but not in a bad way. I’m sorry things are hard for you, too. I didn’t know.”

  I rubbed at my forehead. “From as early as I can remember, my momma has pushed me into junior beauty queen pageants, the adult ones, and modeling, and now she’s pushing this show. I knew the shades of lipstick by heart by the time I was eight. She dyed my hair as soon as it started to get darker. Then it was Miss Teen, then cheerleading, and finally modeling. Everything was about my beauty. And, sometimes, deep down, I wonder…if I was ugly, would she love me?”

  “Have you ever talked to her about it?”

  “Yes, but she always assures me I’m being silly. Of course she loves me.”

  “Did you ever consider maybe all this pushing and prodding is a way to show you how much she loves you? She wants what she sees as best for you?”

  “You have some experience with pushing and prodding?”

  “Times two.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Annoying…and like they care. And I’ve been guilty of it myself.”

  “With my momma, it feels mercenary. Like it’s about pride and status, and that’s all. I don’t want to be pushed into doing a TV show in California or entering the Miss Louisiana pageant.” Shit. I couldn’t believe I had blurted out all those silly things to him.

  But he didn’t tease me about Miss Louisiana like I expected him to. Instead, he said, “California? It’s a long way from Suttontowne. You seriously considering it?”

  “Yes. It would be amazing exposure and it’s a show revolving around fashion. I could get a lot of work out of it.”

  He was silent for a moment. “It’s pretty far away.”

  I leaned back. “I know. But that’s the biz.”

  He nodded and smiled. “So you’re staying for now…Princess?”

  I laughed. “Yes.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You look tired,” I said. “Come on. I’ll read the rest of Duel’s love letters while you nap.”

  We walked back to his bedroom, but I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how upset he’d been at the thought of me leaving.

  I hadn’t wanted to leave, and I was glad we talked about it. And very surprised he’d opened up so much. I tried very hard not to fall under his charming spell, but it was difficult. We only had a month, and it seemed so brief.

  There was a war between my need to indulge myself to the max while I could, and my need to preserve some distance so I wouldn’t want too much. Or hurt too much when it was over. There was so much I wouldn’t be allowed to keep. All I would have when I left would be memories. Whichever I decided to do, the TV show or modeling, it would keep me away from Suttontowne most of the time.

  My gut churned. He was right. California was a long, long way from Suttontowne. Unreasonably, I missed it already.

  And a painful chasm opened up in me at the thought of saying goodbye to Brax.

  It didn’t take long before his even breathing told me he’d fallen asleep. Digging through my bag, I flipped through the Colonel’s journals until I came to the second or third one. Paging through them, I came to the passage I thought I remembered seeing.

  1867

  I stopped some of the boys from hurting Michael, Duel’s second son today. I was just coming out of the diner when I heard a scuffle in the alley. They had him cornered. I sent them on their way with a stern warning. Michael was a tough little guy. He hadn’t backed down. He reminded me so much of his daddy. Ah, how I missed Duel’s counsel. He was always so wise. A friend who had stood by me like a trooper. My guilt is debilitating. Debilitating. I think about him and I feel wretched. His warmth and generosity would be something I would remember for the rest of my sorry life. He’d even let me borrow his prized mare when I’d been without a horse and destitute…

  Just as I’d remembered. Poor Colonel. The guilt he felt must have stemmed from his inability to save Duel that day. I felt so sorry for him.

  I set the journal back into my bag and pulled out the letters as the speech continued to form in my mind. I was almost ready to start writing it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Braxton

  I had fallen asleep against River’s hot, silky skin while she rustled her way through my ancestor’s own silly love story. I was on my stomach, my nose and part of my face against her hip. My arm was across her lap and wrapped around her waist. I sighed in a kind of half-waking, half-sleeping world. I didn’t want to put too much stock in it, but I’d never experienced anything so overwhelmingly…perfect. Ever.

  Even if nothing else in my now crazy-mixed-up existence wasn’t stellar. This…moment in time with her was perfect. What she got out of reading about Duel and his relationship with his wife…uh…what was her name? Amy, that’s right…was beyond me.

  The painkillers had kicked in and the throbbing in my jaw and my ribs went from sharp and immediate to achy and dull. I didn’t want to analyze too closely why I’d let Jake kick my ass without so much as throwing a punch.

  Yet, did I actually harbor some sense of not being good enough for River? Was it why—and I didn’t even want to think this—I wouldn’t bring myself to let her go down on me? When she’d taken me into her mouth the first time, I almost came. Geezus, I’d been so strung out then, but I’d gotten an irrational, weird feeling and jumped away from her.

  An orgasm from a BJ is one of the best things a guy can ever experience. Sometimes it’s even better than regular sex. So, why, fucking why, was I having such a hard time letting her do me? I wanted her to, wanted the connection with her, wanted like hell for her to suck me off.

  I got hard just lying there thinking about it, smelling her fragrance and breathing her in. Then the weirdness came over me again and I felt uncomfortable. I almost snorted. Me. The guy who’d fucked and done just about every damn thing I could with just about every woman I could get my hands on? Plenty had sucked me off. This was so damned peculiar I didn’t know how to sort it out.

  Something drifted across my brow. With a start, I realized it was her fingers. She thought I was still asleep. She skimmed the pads absently across my forehead, then threaded her fingers through my hair, then rubbed the strands between her fingers.

  River was doing something to me. I couldn’t define it. Wasn’t sure I would ever be able to. But I felt she had reached right into me and changed me in the past few days. I had been nothing but hostile to her, no matter how hard she’d tried to interact with me. I had been afraid of what might happen if I gave in. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle how she made me feel. And I’d been right to be afraid.

  But man, I had been missing out all the years it was nothing but wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. But back then I didn’t like it when girls clung to me. Half the time it was only because they wanted to fuck an Outlaw, but I never wanted to let any of them touch me emotionally, where it mattered. And it seemed with River I was helpless to resist.

  I tried to not let it matter. But it did. Profoundly. It had been easier while I kept my vow. I had never engaged my heart with any of them and I fucked a lot. But this emotional involvement was…completely amazing. I’d had no idea how much I would like it until River. And maybe it was because of River I wanted m
ore of her, craved more of this…not the hard, body-to-body fucking…although, yeah, it was amazing, too…but this intimacy. I lay still, trying to keep my breathing even. She snuggled deeper into the pillows and I heard her take out another letter.

  Then I heard it in the quiet of my room. A sniff. I opened my eyes and saw she was intent on the letter. It was the last in the bundle.

  It had gone murky outside and I heard the telltale sound of thunder. She’d opened my porch door, and the agitated breeze gusted into the room, bringing with it the gray smell of rain. I heard the branches thrashing and the unsettled sound of the bayou, felt the thick, almost intent air, as if the very land was holding its breath, waiting for what was coming. Edgy, like I felt. The storm was probably boiling up from the Gulf. Lightning flashed in the semi-dark room, casting a silvery glow over her to match the luminescence of her eyes. The only light in the room came from my overhead reading lamp.

  She brushed at her face as she read, being so careful as she put one page behind another. Then she closed her eyes, her hand going over her heart, and mine squeezed at her expression. She opened her eyes again and turned her head. Saw I was awake, smiled sweetly at me through those tears. Tears for my dead ancestor and his wife. Tenderness such as I had never felt before rocked me hard. Her compassion rolled over me like the storm brewing outside.

  She put the letter back together and tucked it in the box she’d set on my nightstand. Very slowly, very gently, she ran her hand down my back, then ran her nails back up.

  Then the edginess hit me full force, and my body went on full alert, my dick throbbing with each crash of thunder and the feel of her lightly scoring my back.

  A guy could die of this, I thought, taken aback by what I saw in her gaze—a hunger as deep as my own. Just up and die from making love to her and forgetting to eat or sleep until there was nothing left.

  I lifted up, tightening my arm around her waist, dragging her under me in one pull, settling my dick right between her legs. She had on my shirt, the one I was wearing yesterday, and nothing else. Thunder rattled the window glass and settled in me as rain began to fall, the scent of it cool and green and sweet.