WickedSeduction

by Tina Donahue

  “Really?” He seemed surprised.

  Marnie rested her hand on his. “Talk to me. I’ll listen.”

  “Okay.”

  “So how do you come up with the designs?”

  Tor lifted his shoulders. “I’m not sure.”

  “How can you not be?”

  “I see images in my mind that seem to come from nowhere and I simply sketch them.” He took her hand between both of his. “What about you?”

  “I’m not artistic at all. Even my penmanship is awful.”

  He laughed. “No, I mean your work. Do you like the giftshop?”

  “Alice is wonderful.” So much affection welled in Marnie for the old lady, tears stung her eyes. “She’s a great friend. I love her to death. You have to meet her.”

  “Say the word and I will. Do you like sales? I’m assuming that’s what you do there.”

  “I prefer to look at my job as guiding customers to the right purchase.”

  He laughed.

  The rumbling sound stirred Marnie as much as his touch. She curled her fingers into his palm. “Although I love working with Alice, I really want to be a social worker.”

  “Yeah?” He grinned. “You going to school?”

  “Online. I don’t have a car to get to classes. Bus fare gets to be expensive too. This is the cheapest way.”

  “Will you specialize in some part of that work? Wait.” He made a face. “That was a dumb question, right? Do social workers even have specialties?”

  They did. However, Marnie wasn’t ready to tell Tor what hers was at this point even though she knew their conversation would eventually turn toward her past. A part of her wanted to run to avoid revealing anything. A greater part longed to be close to him, building intimacy…over time. Right now, keeping things more on the physical side—except for sharing a few bits of personal information—seemed the safest course.

  Given what Tor had said, he wanted more than to simply sleep with her.

  In the most protected parts of Marnie’s being, she did too but didn’t yet trust what might happen.

  “Yeah, there are specialties,” she said. “Substance abuse, military and veteran care, community work. I haven’t decided what I most want to do. Actually, I’m just starting out.”

  “You love the work though. I can see how happy you are.”

  Having him here had a good deal to do with her mood. Smiling, she inclined her head toward the table. “How about we discuss my college dreams and your art while we finish dinner?”

  He gave her a roguish grin, his dimples lusciously deep. “Still hungry?”

  Always, for him.

  Tor couldn’t believe how great tonight had turned out despite his decision not to bring condoms. Sure, his boys and rod were protesting like mad, pressing against his fly, wanting to get out of his clothes and into her.

  However, the conversation he and Marnie shared made the wait worthwhile.

  They held hands as they ate and talked, Marnie about the ton of classes she had to take before getting her bachelor’s degree, especially the dreaded math courses.

  “Algebra is killing me.” She curled her upper lip in disgust. “I mean, we have calculators and computers to figure out stuff like that, so what’s the point in learning this junk when you’re not going to be a mathematician or engineer?”

  Tor couldn’t have agreed more. “I hated math too even though I was pretty good at algorithms, equations, ratios, reciprocals—”

  “Oh my God, stop, you’re giving me a migraine.”

  “The basic concepts aren’t hard.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re a guy. Math is in your DNA.”

  Tor laughed. “Tell that to Vickie Hernandez. She won all the math awards in college. Last I heard, she was a scientist with NASA, creating new solar systems or something.”

  “Sounds boring.” As he laughed again, Marnie squeezed his fingers. “When did you know you wanted to draw?”

  In the womb probably. “Can’t recall a time when I didn’t. My parents still have a sketch I did when I was three. Rather than eating dinner with the rest of the family, I used the enchilada sauce to draw my brothers’ faces on a napkin. Totally awful, looks as if I used my feet rather than my hands, but hey, I was still a baby.”

  She laughed softly, her smile lighting up her face. “How many siblings do you have?”

  “Five brothers and two sisters. I’m the second oldest. You?”

  Her smile started to fade but she covered her discomfort quickly with a shrug. “No siblings, though I would have liked a baby sister. Did your parents approve of your art or did they want you to study for a more traditional career?”

  “They were cool with whatever I wanted to do, as long as my choice was legal.” He lifted the tamal cubano, offering the last of the appetizer to her.

  Marnie shook her head. “I’m good. Legal, huh? You were a bad boy?”

  “Only when I wanted to be, same as now.”

  Marnie’s cheeks turned rosy. She got a faraway look in her eyes as though she were thinking of bed play, the same as he was.

  Wow, she was something. Puzzling at times, given the way she’d pull back without a moment’s notice. Hot-blooded too, the same as he was. Marnie had been fire in his arms, her responses exactly what Tor needed as a man, her desire fueling his.

  The memory of their kiss had his cock straining against his boxer briefs again. He finished the last of his beer, hoping the booze would calm him down.

  Marnie polished off her Mountain Dew, sighing as she lowered the can to the table. “Want to split what’s left of dessert?” She pointed her fork at the flan. The caramel sauce was gone, scraped away by her earlier in the meal.

  “I’m stuffed,” Tor said. “You go ahead.”

  A kid at Disneyland couldn’t have looked more pleased. As Marnie finished the dessert, Tor gestured to his backpack on the floor. “Ready to pose for me?”

  She regarded his bag as though he’d packed weapons inside rather than art supplies. “Should I fix my face?”

  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful, her lips slightly puffy from their kisses, skin radiant, eyes soft and yielding. Her mussed hair looked as though she’d been rolling around in bed, which she had been…briefly.

  “Up to you,” he said. “I want you to be comfortable.”

  She chewed her lip, as though uncertain how to accomplish such a goal. “How should I look—my facial expression?”

  “Whatever way you are naturally. Pure Marnie. No one else.”

  “What if I’m not sure who I am?”

  “We’ll keep trying things out until you are.”

  She regarded him and finally squeezed his hand. “Should I sit here?”

  Tor pointed at the window by the sink. “Over there would be better, once you open the blinds.”

  She looked over. “I can turn on the lights if you need the apartment to be brighter.”

  “Natural light is better. The sun won’t make your apartment any hotter—the rays are shining in the other direction. Pretty soon it’ll be dusk.”

  In spite of his reasoning, Marnie didn’t move.

  “Do you feel more comfortable with the blinds closed?” he asked.

  Marnie rubbed her arms as though she was suddenly cold or agitated. Her attention drifted to the door. Tor suspected she was looking at the locks, possibly gauging how hard they’d be to break through by someone on the other side.

  “I hesitate bringing up anything bad,” he said.

  She turned to him briefly before focusing on their empty plates.

  Tor debated whether to drop the subject and decided against doing so. “When we spoke at the parlor yesterday, I mentioned my brother Dante. He’s friends with the cops here. If you need protection of any kind, I can talk to him and have him speak to the authorities for you.”

  She rubbed her arms harder, stopping abruptly. “I’m fine.”

  “No one’s following you?”

  Marnie gave him an odd lo
ok and shook her head. “No. Why?”

  “I thought…” He glanced at her arm and leg. “Ah, given how uncomfortable you seem at times, I guessed you were having problems with someone. A guy.”

  “I’m not. Do you want to open the blinds so you can adjust them to how you want?”

  “Sure.” Now wasn’t the time to press Marnie in spite of her obvious lie. Tor had seen a flash of terror on her face before she’d masked the emotion.

  Once he’d adjusted the blinds, he slung his backpack over one arm. “Let’s move over there,” he said, gesturing to the sink. The waning day cast the apartment in soft sepia tones, the look as vintage as the furniture. Perfect for the portrait he had in mind.

  “I’ll get this,” he said, easing Marnie’s hand from the back of her chair before she could drag the furniture across the room.

  Tor set up the seating so she faced the window, her face bathed in the available light, hair shadowed, the ends blowing slightly in the rush of air from the window unit.

  Marnie lifted her hands to her head. “Is my hair all right?”

  “For me, yeah. Do whatever style you want.”

  She made a face. “Are you always this easy to please?”

  Tor pulled out his sketchpad and chalks. “You think I’m easy?” He pushed out his bottom lip. “Should I be offended?”

  Marnie laughed. “Are you doing my picture in chalk?”

  “Initially. Once I’m back at my place, I’ll do another in watercolor then in pen and ink, see which one of the three you like best.”

  “That’s a lot of work.”

  “You hear me complaining?”

  She sagged back in her chair, arms crossed. “Either you’re the nicest guy since time began or you really enjoy doing your art.”

  “I’m both, as long as you’re my subject. Tilt your head to the left a bit and look at me, not at my chest or lower.”

  Her gaze snapped up, cheeks reddening. She arched one eyebrow. “Are you teasing me?”

  A little. “You want me to be serious?”

  Marnie laughed. “Do you ever give a straight answer to a question?”

  “Sorry. Dante’s an attorney. I picked up a lot of his bad habits, like never answering a question directly. Same as the cops he knows. That’s probably why he and the law like each other; they’re on the same wavelength.”

  Marnie didn’t comment.

  “Just a suggestion,” Tor said, “but can you relax your shoulders and not scrunch them toward your ears?” He did the same with his, showing her how she looked since he’d mentioned the police again.

  Embarrassment flashed across Marnie’s face as though she’d allowed him to see how vulnerable she felt. She rolled her shoulders, breathed deeply but couldn’t seem to relax. Gone was the woman who’d approached him first with her kiss, a wicked seduction Tor wouldn’t forget and wanted back.

  However, he knew Marnie had to come to him in her own time. Whatever troubled her, whoever had or was giving her grief, was a subject she had to bring up when she was ready no matter his concern for her.

  “If you get uncomfortable, let me know,” he said. “You can stand up and stretch whenever you want.”

  “I’m good.”

  She was too lovely for words, sharp, sweet, funny and strong. Tor sensed she was alone in the world, without emotional support except for Alice. Marnie had said they were friends. He hoped she’d count him as one after tonight.

  He sketched in silence, getting into the zone as he always did at Wicked Brand. Every once in a while, the rest of the world intruded. He heard shouts, laughter, music down on the street, the hum of the refrigerator, walls popping in the old building, a steady drip from the sink.

  Finally, Marnie’s sighs.

  He’d been going steadily for a half-hour or more, suddenly realizing the time she’d had to sit still. “You getting tired?”

  “No.”

  “If you want to get up and walk around, you can.”

  “I know. You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile, okay?”

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m not.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “The scars aren’t what you think.”

  Without meaning to, Tor looked at her arm and leg again, as he had earlier. “I wasn’t thinking—”

  “I got these when I was twelve,” she said. “Not a couple of years ago from a guy your cops need to save me from. Everything started when I was a kid.”

  Started? How about ending? Tor didn’t understand what she meant. Even though he’d encouraged her to open up, he wasn’t certain what he should say when Marnie finally told him her story. Hopefully, he’d be able to offer her the comfort she needed. “Okay. I mean, I’m listening.”

  She didn’t say anything else.

  He figured he should, unable to leave another conversation dangling. “Were you in some kind of an accident?”

  “No.” She looked at the window rather than at him, a nightmare only she could see obvious in her eyes. “I got in the way of my father’s rage. He tried to kill me.”

  Chapter Five

  Marnie had spoken so quietly, she wasn’t certain whether Tor had heard her or not. Ever since the attack, she’d kept the secret from others—only family knew the truth. They never discussed what had happened, as though to deny those fateful moments would make the past go away and everything would be magically better.

  “He didn’t mean it,” her mother had always said when he’d brutalized her. “We have to try harder.”

  Marnie had done everything she could to follow the plan, afraid to speak or move when her father was around, not knowing what the repercussions might be. When she and her mother had ultimately survived the worst of his violence, Marnie had tried to pretend their lives were finally okay. Hadn’t worked. What he’d set into motion continued to affect them like an untreated wound festering beneath the surface, destroying everything in its path.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tor said. He put his sketchpad and chalk on the counter and went to one knee at Marnie’s side.

  Although tears stung her eyes at his obvious heartache for her, she refused to cry, having done so too many times over the years. Time for her to be strong, to heal and change her future. “I know you are, and I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

  “You’re not.” He rubbed his fingers on his jeans, cleaning them of chalk then cradled her face, his thumb skimming her cheek. “Are you all right now? Has your father been threatening you?”

  “He died the night he attacked me.”

  Tor’s features went slack with obvious shock.

  Marnie sensed what was going through his mind and answered the question she figured he wouldn’t ask. “I didn’t kill him in an attempt to protect myself. By the time he died, I was unconscious from bleeding so heavily.”

  “My God, what happened?”

  What hadn’t? Marnie searched Tor’s eyes, seeing worry there, along with so much kindness and warmth, she couldn’t run away any longer. Still, she hesitated to reveal events she’d only discussed with her therapist and Alice. “Are you certain you want to hear this? No need to be polite. I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

  The warmth of his mouth comforted Marnie as few things could.

  Tor eased back. “I want to know…if you can share. No pressure.”

  She smiled weakly. “You are the nicest guy on planet Earth.”

  “Since time began,” he said. “There is a difference.”

  Marnie laughed, surprised she could. “I wish Mamá could have met you.”

  Tor looked stricken again. “Did he…?”

  “No,” she said when Tor didn’t continue. “My father didn’t murder her. She died almost two years ago of breast cancer. I know this sounds awful to say but I think for her, passing was a relief. She’d had such a hard life.”

  “After your father was gone things
didn’t get better?”

  “Not really. It’s hard to unlearn what you’ve come to expect as normal. When he was around, Mamá tried to make everything perfect, terrified if even one towel wasn’t folded right or if her shoes weren’t lined up in the closet all hell would break loose. Nuts, I know.”

  “Not if you’re trying to survive.”

  “We were definitely trying to do that.” She lowered her face, ashamed but also angry at what he’d done to them. “Sometimes, when I’d come home from school, she’d be on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen linoleum with a toothbrush to get every bit of dirt, even though there wasn’t any I or anyone else would be able to see. I think after a while, cleaning became her talisman. If she kept everything sparkling, he’d be okay when he got home after work. He never joked around or was nice, but there were times when he’d be quiet for a few hours until he fell asleep. Of course, no matter how hard Mamá or I tried to make him happy, his anger kept escalating over stuff we couldn’t predict.”

  Tor shook his head. “Like what?”

  “He gave her a black eye when one of the buttons on his shirt had a loose thread. He kept screaming about what a lousy homemaker she was, how stupid and lazy. Didn’t matter that the shirt was new and the manufacturer had caused the imperfection. My father raged for minutes at Mamá for not being the kind of person he deserved to be married to. After he got tired of screaming, he punched her in the face as easily as anyone else would swat a fly. The moment she fell to the floor, his anger evaporated as though the previous minutes hadn’t happened. While she was still sobbing, he told her to get me ready for my cousin’s birthday party. I was five or six at the time. Mamá’s eye was swollen shut by the time we arrived at my aunt’s house. Everybody noticed, I could see them sneaking peeks at her, but no one said anything. My male relatives greeted my father as if he’d done nothing wrong, shaking his hand in greeting, slapping him on the back, talking sports, laughing. No one ever stopped him.”

  “Your mom was afraid to call the police?”

  Marnie laughed sadly. “Three of my uncles are cops. Where was she going to go? They sure as hell didn’t say anything at the party. They looked embarrassed, as if she’d caused my father to hit her. Her fault, of course. If she’d only been a better wife and mother, he wouldn’t have gotten angry.