They exchanged silent looks of concern with each other and patted my trembling hand. Forcing cheerful smiles. Promising to schedule the fitting for another day to help me try it on and complete any alterations needed.
I’ll probably never see them again.
I’ll probably never wear that dress again.
I’ll probably never be sane enough for you to marry.
I think of that damn monster when I find out what you did.
You probably won’t be happy with me when you discover that I got the dress back and it’s stored in one of the guest room closets. I don’t know jack shit about ordering gowns or how the process works. But I’m damn sure no other woman will wear what’s yours. You wanted this one. You picked it out for yourself. For me. For our wedding. It will stay in this house until you’re ready to wear it. That’s one more thing I know for damn sure.
I think about that son of bitch when Jane says I need to talk to you more about the wedding.
There shouldn’t be anything to fucking talk about. You know I love you and want to marry you and live with you until I die.
At least I thought you did. So why the fuck are you suddenly having doubts? What else did he fuck with you about?
Jane says that’s how the healing process often works. That things seem to be moving forward, improving in outlook and optimism. Then something happens to trigger fear and uncertainty. Yeah, that’s all fine and good but it’s fucking bullshit when she wouldn’t reveal what you told her. I was highly pissed. She knew I was mad yet didn’t back down. Only encouraged me that I need to talk to you.
Like I need any fucking encouragement. All I want is to talk to you. But you’ve been so quiet the last few days, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to hear you tell me you won’t marry me.
I think about our first date when you make me your favorite drink.
Mine now too, when you make it. I’m not sure what you do differently, but your version is always better than any bartender has ever made for us. Maybe because I know it’s made perfectly with love.
My first drink since I was kidnapped. I’d forgotten how good it tastes. How easily it goes down. How tipsy I get when I have more than one.
Both of us were in a pensive mood until the alcohol kicked in. Both of us finding a bit of respite with the booze. Sexy as hell when you loosened your tie and shrugged off your jacket. Your long legs spread out, so far the coffee table hid your sleek black dress shoes. Smirking when I told you how handsome you are. Responding with how fucking beautiful I am while caressing my cheek with your huge hand.
I smiled into your palm. A little bit drunk and a whole lot more relaxed. Although I tensed when you shook your head and sighed. Seemingly frustrated and confused. You looked me straight in my eye and told me you don’t know what goes through my gorgeous head anymore. Maybe good, maybe bad. But either way you don’t fucking know anymore. That maybe you never did.
I wanted to reassure you. Say good. Only ever good. But I didn’t want to lie.
You tapped the bottom of your glass on your thigh, and said regardless of what I think, I need to know you love me. You want to marry me. Whenever I’m ready, that’s when we’ll do it. No argument. No pressure. No worries. Just know that it will happen as soon as I say the word.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than in that moment. It wasn’t your famous dirty, bruised martini either. It was your huge heart. Compassionate and forgiving. For me anyway. For your rosy girl.
When I woke up hours later in our bed, in your arms, I knew everything you said was true. You really would wait forever for me if I asked you to.
I think of you when my Mom accepts a second helping of homemade cranberry relish.
You despise the tart concoction, but when I told you she loved the fruity side dish with tiny tangerine slices and finely chopped walnuts you had Mrs. Griffin prepare enough for twenty people. Reminding me once again how thoughtful and generous you are. The soft spot you have for me hidden behind your deadly façade you show to the rest of the world.
The domino effect of her presence is apparent.
She’s happy to be here. With me and with us. At our table.
I’m happy she’s never figured out the truth. My scars have faded along with my nightmares.
You’re happy that I’m happy. Genuinely, completely happy.
For the first time, since I came back, I think we have a chance of making it.
I think of you when I hug my Mom good-bye.
Having her here for so long was exactly what I needed. I know you didn’t mind, even though I spent more time with her than I did with you. Although ironically I think you and I grew closer too because of her visit. Having to pretend everything was fine between us. Acting as if everything was normal actually helped make things more normal. I love holding hands with you and sitting next to you at dinner and cuddling on the sofa together, laughing over the stories she would tell. Good natured teasing at my expense from silly childhood memories.
I know I’ve said thank you too many times already but I just really want you to know how much I appreciate everything you do for us. That I realize you give me what I need even when it isn’t you all of the time.
I think of him when I slip down the straps of my negligee.
It’s been easy to avoid the damage. I rarely look in the mirror anymore. You always tell me I’m stunning, gorgeous, magnificent. I haven’t believed you. I know you’re lying. I know you’re just trying make me feel better. To make both of us feel better.
Although somehow you’ve worked your magic on me again, and it seems more and more lately I’ve wanted your compliments to be true. I’ve wanted to look beautiful for you. I’m not sure if that’s possible. After all you’ve done for me, I could at least try. Attempt to look better than I have.
Since you won’t let me leave the house without you, I’ve called Piper and asked her if she would please come and cut my hair, and Betsy for a manicure and pedicure. Now, I need to face what I’ve been hiding from. His mark might be gone, but I don’t know if the scars he left me with will ever completely fade. The doctor’s either.
They’re not as bad as I thought but still ugly. He’s a very skilled surgeon. You demanded the best and wouldn’t accept anyone else once you found him. Another gift you gave me that I’m thankful for. I hope you know how much.
Two thin lines flank each side of my torso. The skin in-between smooth and flawless. A sharp contrast from the black and red ink previously marring the area. Different. Better. Normal.
I hope.
Maybe that’s wishful thinking.
When I found you staring at me from the doorway I wished I could know what you really thought.
I can’t think of a damn thing when I catch sight of you.
My run was worthless. I couldn’t get the image of your contemplative expression when I left this morning off my mind and had to come back to the house. Striding to our room needing nothing else but to find you.
God fucking damn did I find you.
My entire body flushed, hard and tight, from you standing in front of the mirror wearing only tiny purple panties. With your silky robe pooled at your feet. Your delicate hands brushed over your plump breasts before stroking down your flat stomach while you scanned your reflection. Looking for what, I had no idea. I couldn’t even really fucking think straight with your beauty wasting me just like every damn time I see you. All I know is I’m one fucking lucky bastard.
Forcing myself not to ravish you, I grasped the door frame. My fingertips digging into the wood over my head to prevent them from trying to reach for you. Enjoying the view for as long as I could get away with it. Before you caught me and hid like you always do. Like I always hate.
I couldn’t fucking move or breathe when you twisted to check out your amazing ass. Only my cock worked at that point. Straining against my thin running shorts. Eager to touch you too.
It fucking killed me when you caught my gaze and wide eyes, flood
ing with shame, reflected back at me. Discovering me admiring you and unhappy about my approval. I smiled, hoping you could see what I see. Wishing you could believe how exquisite I think you are.
You didn’t. You don’t.
Instead, you scurried downward, desperate to grab your chemise, and yanked up the jade green fabric. Fumbling with shaking fingers to cover yourself. Wrapping the silk belt as tight around your waist as your arms wrapped around your torso. Hiding your insecurities from me.
A humiliated expression drew down your sweet face that made lava race through my body. More proof you’re still not yourself. More confirmation you still don’t trust me. Damn.
I know I shouldn’t have been but I was angry. At that bastard. At you. At myself. You’re wearing my ring. Living in my house. Calling yourself my girl.
But neither of us were acting like it. That was going to stop. That was going to change. Right fucking then.
You didn’t move at first when I told you to come here. Curling tighter into yourself with hesitation. Fuck that. I growled your name at you, and I swear your body arched toward me of its own volition. You’re damaged, I get that. So am I. But you and I both know who owns you.
Third time must really be the charm. I whispered and you took a tentative step toward me. I encouraged you with my silence. My feigned tolerance. My pretense of a patient wolf. Until you finally made your way to me.
A shaky gasp answered my command to touch me. On my chest. Feel my heart pounding for you rosy girl. On my dick. Feel how rock hard and throbbing I am for you. On my face. Feel my cheeks smiling like the fucking lovesick fool I am for you.
You seemed to trust me since I wasn’t touching you back. Keeping my arms above my head. Forcing my fingers to cup only the door mount.
I was hot and sweaty, not just from my abandoned run. But from you. Fireworks following your fingertip trailing down my damp skin. Bombs blasting from your lips brushing my mouth.
Taking that breathless kiss as permission, I slowly lowered my arms and grasped your hand. Leading you to the bed. I dropped a knee to the mattress and motioned for you to lay down. I fucking hated your trembling but loved that you obeyed me. Despite the anxiety swirling in your big blue eyes as you watched me. I never let your fingers loose as I grabbed a pillow and waited patiently for you to lift your narrow hips. Never letting go when I awkwardly tugged down your thong. Not at all slick or sexy in my movements. Yet none of that mattered. Not to either of us.
Your gorgeous breasts raised and lowered with your heavy breaths. Your sweet nipples torpedoed in the cool morning air. Your stomach quivering with the apprehension of giving yourself to me. At least your pretty pussy to my tongue.
I nudged your legs apart and slowly lowered myself between them. As I kneeled in adoration, my hand remained entwined with yours. Creating our own temple with our interwoven fingers. The other cupped your hip. Firm enough to hold you down. Gentle enough to let you up.
Tears dropped on your rosy cheeks when I told you that I can’t take back what he did to you. I can’t erase the memories. But I can prove to you I’m not him. That when we’re in this bed together I will only ever pleasure you. That I will only do what he never did.
The tip of your satin finger brushed across my mouth when I told you I’d stop. Say the word Giselle, and I’ll fucking stop everything for you. But you didn’t seem to want to hear my promise. Maybe you just wanted us like we used to be. I was going to give that to you. To us.
I’d never forgotten how sweet you taste. I’d imagined your honey in my mouth so many times. After four long licks with a flat tongue your free hand was in my hair. After three nips of my teeth on your rosy clit, your moans were in the air. After two fingers dragged through your arousal and caressing your favorite spot, your ass was off the bed. Shoving my face deeper into your glorious heaven.
You cried out your release. Arching up to come on my tongue and weep to the ceiling. With pleasure. Relief. Exhaustion.
Thank fuck you didn’t roll away when I crawled next to you. Even better you curled against me. Burying your head in my chest and sliding your hand onto my back. Clinging to me while you sobbed. I stroked your silky hair and kissed the top of your head until you settled down. Until the bond between us was no longer broken.
I think about him when you tell me we’re having a dinner guest.
Emilio Ricci. An enemy eager to become an ally now that he’s risen up to take the place of one of the men you killed while searching for me. You’ve told him you’re open to hearing him out and agreed to share a meal together. Reflecting your willingness to consider his offer of partnership. Only because his company can benefit yours. No regard as to whether the opposite is true as well.
I don’t want to go. You told me I didn’t have to. But I want you to be proud of me. To think I’m strong and brave and whole. All the descriptions you believe of me that I’m not sure I believe of myself. That I’m not sure are really true. Or ever will be.
You assure me I’m safe. That you’ll never allow me to be alone with him. Won’t permit him to speak to me. Refuse to let him scare me in anyway.
So I smiled and nodded and feigned acceptance. After all you’ve done for me, surely I can manage eating one uncomfortable meal for you.
All I could think about was that bastard when Emilio said he could see why I’ve been hiding you away from everyone.
I’m so fucking sorry Giselle. I swore I would always shield you from the violence. Never expecting to expose you to my wrath in our own fucking dining room.
But I came unglued when he insulted my intelligence and disrespected you. So furious I don’t even remember flying across the table and shoving my fist down his throat. Pounding into his face long after he was dead. Until my guys pulled me off, and I found Sampson carrying you down the hallway. Protecting you from Emilio. From me. From the memories of him.
I fucked up. I should never have let him into our home. I should never have asked you to join us. I should never have killed him so quickly and with so little pain.
I know he thought you were beautiful. Hell, no man with a working dick could think otherwise. The first comment was out of respect, in your honor, conceding to me as the boss with an amazing woman by my side. When he said you were gorgeous, I swear I almost got fucking lost in your blush. I loved that you were realizing how magnificent you are to everyone including me.
The second remark was a fucking death wish. A smarmy insinuation I couldn’t allow. An outright blatant stupid innuendo when he teased what a fool I was for keeping a woman as alluring as you all to myself. Pathetic motherfucker had to be fucking crazier than I am to ever think I’d offer you to him. But now he and the entire fucking underworld know exactly what I think about his suggestion. His annihilated face evidence of the consequences if any other bastards think you will ever be shared.
I think of him when I can’t stop your suffering.
You’ve been beating yourself up for three days. Even though I’ve sworn to you that you don’t deserve it. That I’m okay now. That yes I was shaken up but I understand why you did what you did. I know I’m safe.
I won’t lie. I’ll admit I was terrified. I’ve never seen you like that. Almost as if it wasn’t you. Only a hint of you perceptible in the rage. The man I love lost to his fight and his fists and his fury. Such a contrast to your treatment of me.
But when you caught up to us as we raced away from the attack, you were you again. Snatching me out of Sampson’s arms. The bodyguard smart enough not to fight you. We strode in silence to our bedroom until you dropped down on the bed. Peppering me with apologies as you cupped my face. Searching my expression for fear. Examining my body for injury.
When the only thing hurting me was my heart. Then and now. You think I still blame you for my kidnapping. You think I don’t trust you. You think I don’t believe that you’ll always protect me.
Except that I do. I absolutely do. Now, I had to prove it.
That’s why I somehow found
the courage to confront you while you stewed in your office. Lost in thought, your fingers tapped erratically on your MacBook. Until I climbed on your lap and they instantly wrapped around my waist while I sank against your chest and whispered in your ear, “Doesn’t he know you’re the boss? That he should be the one presenting gifts to you? Instead of expecting you to offer them to him?”
Harsh breaths blew on my shivering neck, and the hard bulge growing under my butt made me realize I’d more than reassured you. I awakened my beast. Dormant while I recovered; yet, always lurking under the surface. Ready to come alive for me again.
The contents of your desk crashed to the floor before I could stop you and I was on my back with your head between my legs. Tears piercing my eyes from you holding my hand. Even in your urgency you made sure I knew you were there with me. You weren’t out of control. You weren’t him.
But I knew. I’ve always known. Because you always give. Never just take. And, God Kane, did you give me everything. Your evening scruff tickling my already sensitive skin as you buried your nose in my panties. Breathing me in through the fabric. Inhaling the essence already dampening the silk from your possessive growl.
I used to be embarrassed how quickly and easily I’d come from your touch. Your tongue. Your teeth. But you’d just grin your wicked grin and smile against those wet lips. I lost myself again as your enormous palm pushed my thigh farther, wider than I thought possible. Opening me so far and dirty and blatant for you. When you sucked in my clit, I didn’t care any more about anyone or anything else but you doing it again.
Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 9