His Canvas

by Tymber Dalton

  When Kel finally called it a day with the ropes, they helped him pack them up, learning how he made the rope braids that kept them from getting tangled. She wasn’t sure what to expect when they climbed into his truck for the short drive around to his apartment. When he unlocked the door and they walked in, the office looked neat and tidy, not homey, but almost as if a staged scene out of an IKEA brochure or something. Two desks formed an L in one corner, with three large monitors, a desktop, and a laptop residing there. A three-drawer file cabinet held a regular printer, while a table on the other side of the desks held what looked like a large, professional-grade photo printer.

  Framed pictures hung on the walls, everything from gorgeous nature shots to tasteful bondage scenes.

  “Wow.” She walked over to one. It was a close-up of what looked like a woman’s lower arm, coils of blue rope still wrapped around her, but fresh ligature marks left behind just above them. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Some of my favorites. I love playing with textures and patterns in my photography.”

  He led them upstairs. The apartment was as neat and tidy as the office. He waved them toward the sofa in front of the TV. “Feel free to put the TV on any channel you like. I’m going to change. I’ll be right back.”

  When they heard the door shut down the hall, Chelbie leaned in. “Okay, I’m going to say this right now. If you don’t chase his ass, I’m going to.”

  “Shh!” Horrified, Mallory glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone.

  “I mean it,” she said. “He’s giving you all the signs. Kudos to him for wanting to take it slow. Let. It. Happen.” She frowned. “Unless you aren’t attracted to him.”

  Heat filled Mallory’s face. “I am,” she whispered, “but do we have to talk about this tonight? Or here?”

  Chelbie grinned. “Nope. Just wanted to make sure I was reading the signs right.”

  * * * *

  Kel threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Before he left his bedroom, he grabbed the T-shirt Mal had worn, which she’d returned to him a few minutes earlier, and inhaled. It still felt a little warm from her body.

  And now it smelled like her, sweet and delicious.

  Dammit.

  He knew he had it bad.

  Slow down. Take your time. No rush.

  He’d always silently scoffed at people in the lifestyle who jumped head over teacup into a new relationship within days—or sooner—of meeting someone. They almost always flamed out in a spectacular way, like a dragster exploding as it sped toward the finish line.

  Usually maiming hearts in the process, and sometimes taking friendships with it as people took sides.

  Yes, he’d felt passing attraction to women before. This was more. This felt deeper. This was beyond anything he could remember experiencing, a visceral level sparkle that left him wanting to keep Mallory around as long as possible, reluctant to let her go.

  It was also something he’d never felt for Krystal, his ex.

  He cooked them an easy meal of spaghetti and homemade meatballs. They ate at his small, four-person dinette, and he tried to drag the evening out as long as he could. They helped him clean up. Then they sat on the couch and talked while the TV played on, ignored.

  Finally, Mal let out a yawn around nine o’clock. “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right. I hope you’re feeling better, though.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  He took her hand in his, holding it against his chest, not wanting to give her up. “Next Saturday, would you like to get together? Dinner and then the club?”

  Her smile lit his soul. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

  Chelbie grinned. “Why don’t you pick her up for dinner? I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  Mal looked at her friend. “What? Meet us there? Why not come with us?”

  “Oh, come on. Seriously? You don’t need a chaperone every time you two get together. If he was a serial killer, he would have offed us by now. Either of us disappear, our DNA is all over the dang place.” She smiled at him. “No offense. Not saying I think you’re a killer, mind you.”

  He laughed. “No offense taken.” He admired Chelbie, could see why Mal loved her. She was a fiercely protective and loving friend who was probably one of the few tethers to normalcy in Mal’s life. Based on what he’d learned about Mal’s uncle, Chelbie was probably the closest thing to real family Mal had, too, in terms of emotional and loving support.

  “You didn’t confirm it for him, girlie,” Chelbie chided. “When I said he could pick you up.”

  “Yes,” Mal said. “I’d love that.”

  He kissed her hand. “I’d love that, too.”

  He drove them back to Chelbie’s house and walked them to the front door. There was another car in the driveway that hadn’t been there earlier when he’d picked them up.

  “The ’rents have safely returned,” Chelbie said. She stuck out her hand to Kel. “Thank you, dude. This was a great day. I’ll leave you two alone to say good night.”

  After Chelbie slipped inside and shut the door, Mal turned to him. “I really did have fun. Thank you.”

  He wanted to lean in, grab her, and kiss her, hard and deep.

  Taking a deep breath, he reined in that urge and leaned in to place a sweet, tender kiss on her forehead. “I loved it, too. I want you to text me this week. Or call me if you need to talk. Promise?”

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Stop that. It’s not a bother. If you get my voice mail, leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I have a couple of shoots this week, but mostly some post work to do.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Next Saturday,” he said. “Six thirty. Text me your address so I know where I’m picking you up.”

  * * * *

  The last thing Mallory wanted was her uncle starting shit in front of Kel. “You can just pick me up here,” she quickly said.

  His head tipped to the side. “I don’t mind picking you up at your place.”

  That was when she realized how it might have sounded. “Sorry,” she said. “My uncle…I really don’t want a battle with him. I mean, if you want to pick me up there, okay, but I’ll warn you in advance he might start something.”

  Something flashed in Kel’s gaze, a brief, dark flare that disappeared as quickly as it had emerged. He stepped closer, capturing her hands again, gently squeezing. “Mal,” he said, his tone lower, deeper. “If he gives you any trouble, I don’t care what time of day or night it is, you will call me. Promise me.”

  She swallowed hard but nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled, resting his forehead against hers, still not releasing her hands. “As soon as Chelbie lets you have your phone back, text me your address so I know I have it. I’ll pick you up at six thirty Saturday evening. And, if you want, I have a spare bedroom at my apartment. If you’d like to bring an overnight bag and spend the night at my place, you’re more than welcomed to do that, too.”

  “I don’t want to be an imposition.” Inside, her heart screamed yes, yes, yes!

  “I don’t offer things if I feel it’s going to be an imposition,” he said. His voice dropped in volume, nearly to a whisper. “If you want to be my play partner, you will have to learn to take me at my word and not question my motives. I’m a grown-up. If I want to offer to do something, all you need to do is say yes or no. You don’t need to try to figure out anything else beyond that. Can you do that?”

  The dry click in her throat when she swallowed didn’t go away when she swallowed a second time. “Yes,” she whispered after summoning the courage to utter it.

  Play partner?

  Her knees felt weak.

  A teasing smile curved his lips. “For the record,” he added, “while I might rig other people, I don’t have anyone else I consider a play partner.”

  “Me?” She wasn’t awar
e she’d said it aloud until he moved in closer.

  “You,” he whispered. He placed another tender, scorching kiss on her forehead. Her eyes dropped closed, a soft whine escaping her.

  “We can talk more during the week and next weekend,” he said, giving her hands one final squeeze before releasing them and stepping back. “But the offer is on the table, if you want it. Now make sure to text me your address. I expect it on my phone before I get back to my place.”

  She nodded, heart racing.

  He smiled. “Good night, Mal.”

  “Good night, Kel.”

  She stood there, watching him as he got back in his truck and pulled out of the driveway.

  Play partners?

  She nearly ran into the front door in her excitement to get inside and tell Chelbie. When she threw the door open, she ran smack into Chelbie, who’d been standing there eavesdropping.

  “Well? I couldn’t hear everything.”

  “I—” She remembered his admonishment. “I need my phone! I have to text him my address before he gets home!”

  Chelbie spun on her heel and raced for her bedroom, Mallory close behind. With the bedroom door closed behind them, Mallory snatched her phone from Chelbie’s hand, impatiently waited for it to power up, and quickly swiped through the text messages, missed call, and voice mail notifications—all from her uncle—that popped up.

  After texting Kel her address, she looked up into Chelbie’s expectant gaze.

  “He said he wants us to be play partners. That he doesn’t call anyone else a play partner.”

  Chelbie let out a piercing squee and engulfed Mallory in a crushing hug. “That’s great! I knew he was into you!”

  “That’s not a relationship.” She tried to control her excitement, tried to keep her brain in charge despite her heart’s rebellion to the contrary.

  “It’s a damn good start,” Chelbie countered. “Take him at his word. He’s not trying to get you into bed right off the bat. He’s taking things slow.”

  “He offered to let me stay at his place next Saturday night,” she said. “After the club. He said he has a spare bedroom.”

  Chelbie’s head cocked to the side. “Hmm. Let me think on that.”

  Mallory blinked. “Um, my decision.”

  Chelbie poked her in the chest. “Um, you’re my bestie. I get veto powers if I think you’re making a mistake. Just like you get veto powers over me. Let’s see how this week goes.”

  “You said yourself you don’t think he’s dangerous.”

  “I said I don’t think he’s a killer. He earned massive brownie points for assuming I’d be part of the package last night and today. And next weekend,” she added. “A predator usually likes to divide and conquer. Kel also doesn’t have a player rep. But promise me, if I nix it, you’ll listen to me. Right?”

  Mallory loved Chelbie, knew her friend only had her best interests at heart. “Okay, fine.”

  Another crushing hug. “Now, what did Slimon have to say? I think I pissed him off last night.”

  “Ugh. I don’t even know if I want to know.” She stared at her phone’s home screen. “I know I’ll have a battle on my hands when I get home.”

  She remembered her promise to Kel.

  Did he mean I could call him tonight?

  She hoped he did.

  Because if there was one thing she could count on, it was her uncle being a shithead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mallory’s stomach knotted into a painful ball of nerves as she slowly drove home. It was too tempting to flee somewhere else.

  Anywhere else.

  Preferably back into the safety and calm of Kel’s arms, but she knew she had to face this like an adult.

  When she pulled into the driveway, she was dismayed to see lights still on in the living room.

  Dammit.

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly got out, gathered her things from the car, and headed inside.

  Saul didn’t even let her get all the way inside the front door before he pounced on her, blocking her progress through the foyer. “Where the hell have you been? Why haven’t you answered any of my texts or phone calls? And how dare that little bitch of a friend of yours talk to me like that!”

  She lowered her head and started walking, forcing him to finally step aside or be plowed over. He harangued her all the way down the hall until, at her bedroom door, she whirled around.

  “Stop it!” she screamed. “Just stop it! I told you I wouldn’t be home until late tonight. How dare you harass me about this!”

  He straightened. “It’s time you stop hanging out with that girl. She’s nothing but trouble.”

  “She’s been more like family to me than you’ve ever been,” she shot back as she walked in and dropped her stuff on the bed.

  He stopped in the doorway. She didn’t know if he rummaged through her room while she wasn’t home or not. She’d never seen any evidence of him doing that, but ever since she’d turned eighteen, he’d stopped coming into her room even though he still vocalized his opinions of her housekeeping skills.

  “Mallory Ann Weaver, you listen to me and you listen good. You will fill out that graduate school application and—”

  She wheeled around and got in his face, rising up on her toes. “I want to see the fucking trust paperwork. Right now. Tonight. Go get it.”

  His eyes widened. “Quit trying to change the subject, young lady—”

  “Stop with the ‘young lady’ crap. That worked on me when I was ten. It doesn’t work on me anymore. The trust paperwork. Now.”

  He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have to stand here and be insulted like this! I’ve taken care of you, took you in—”

  “And I appreciate it. But it’s time for me to take charge of my life. Go get them.”

  “The last thing you need right now is worrying about that. You have two more semesters of college, and then you’ll go—”

  “Out on my own. To work. The papers.” Her heart pounded, her fists clenched. She knew, deep in her gut, that he wasn’t going to show her the paperwork.

  “You are going to quit that stupid job you have, focus on your studies, and focus on getting your master’s degree.”

  She felt like she was stuck in a really bad Twilight Zone episode. “Seriously? Is there a name for your condition?” She pushed past him and headed down the hall toward the spare bedroom he used as his home office.

  He managed to squeeze past her and stand in the doorway. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Trying to deflect my attention from your atrocious behavior this weekend isn’t going to work. I don’t understand why you’re fighting me about going to grad school. You will go, and that’s final.”

  She laughed. Actually laughed in his face. “They’re right. All of them. You’re a fucking thief or something.”

  His face turned a shade of beet-red she’d never seen it take on before. “How dare you—”

  “How dare you! I’m going to be twenty-three, Uncle Saul. I want to know what the hell’s the deal with the trust. Obviously there’s still money in it if you’re so batshit crazy to get me into grad school. So fork it over.”

  “You have no clue how to manage a trust. I’ve been doing this for almost thirteen years now. If you think I’m going to let you squander away your future, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  They had reached impasse. She didn’t know what he’d do if she tried to get through that office door. Hell, if he had his desk or file cabinet locked, it wasn’t like she could force the keys from him.

  “And who was that man, hmm?” he said, startling her. “Oh, yes. I followed you and that little witch of a friend of yours this morning. I saw that man pick you up. And where was that he took you?”

  “You followed me? You’re stalking me now? What kind of sick freak are you?”

  “What kind of sick freak are you?” he spat back. “I looked up that place you went today,” he said. “Some sort of sex club. I’m su
re the cops would love to hear about that. I can’t believe it’s still in business! Bet they’d love to hear from a concerned citizen about that, wouldn’t they? And that guy, bet his photography clients would love to hear about the things he does in his spare time, huh?”

  It was one thing for him to be a pain in her ass.

  If Saul outed her friends or caused aggravation for the club, she’d never forgive herself for bringing that trouble down on top of them. At a loss to respond and too shocked to fight to discover what he’d done with the trust, she stormed back down the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her, locking it.

  On her bed, she saw her phone light up from an incoming text.

  It was Kel.

  Got it. :) Thank you for sending it.

  Desperation set in. She didn’t know what else to do. Chelbie’s parents would likely already be asleep and wouldn’t appreciate their world being upended over her family drama, no matter what they said to the contrary.

  And Kel had been the one directly threatened by her uncle. She’d never known Saul to be so vindictive and ruthless. Whatever was going on, she knew she couldn’t handle this on her own any longer.

  She made the call.

  Kel sounded concerned when he answered. “Mal? Everything okay?”

  “No.” She tried to hold back her tears as she quietly told him what had happened, the threats her uncle had made, everything spilling out of her.

  All the while, feeling beyond terrified that Kel would be pissed off that she’d brought this down upon him and the club. And if he was, she wouldn’t blame him in the least for it.

  “Shh, okay, Mal,” he said. “It’s all right. Calm down. For starters, the club has all its paperwork and permits and is completely legal. So he’s full of shit. Secondly, my clients can all see my portfolios. I make no secret of what I do in my free time, so he’s full of shit there, too. Is he threatening you? Did he lay a hand on you?”

  She jumped as Saul pounded on her door and she heard him try the doorknob.

  “Mallory!” he yelled through the door. “I’m not kidding. Either you come out of there and agree to grad school, or I will put your friends through a world of public shame and make sure they know you could have stopped it!”