Secrets In Our Scars

by Rebecca Trogner

  “Oh, it did, Miss Aldridge. Tremendously.” He runs his finger across his lips as if to remind me of how they felt on my skin. “Now, anything else?”

  “Can we do more?” I asked that—me, frigid queen extraordinaire. What is he doing to me?

  His eyes dart to my breasts and back up again so quickly I almost don’t catch it. Mr. Lethal is a breast man. My nipples approve. His sexy grin and tilt of his head have me slamming my knees together. Roy chuckles and resumes driving.

  I’m dazed and aroused, and don’t know whether to laugh like a loon or rip my dress off and beg him to take my virginity by the side of the road. Is this a sign I’m not frigid? I hold my breath and wait for Charlie to pipe in with a foul comment. Not a word.

  To calm myself, I inhale through my nose, exhale out my mouth, and gaze out the window as the Virginia horse country rolls by. I’m still trying to contain my raging hormones when he turns onto the lane of one of my favorite estates.

  “Chadwick. Really? I didn’t know they were selling.” We usually hear all the gossip at the shop.

  “The family’s keeping it quiet. There are liquidity issues.”

  “I’ve heard the house needs work.”

  Before I can say more, we pull up the circular drive, where a red Jaguar’s parked. Long legs shod in red high heels appear as the car door opens and are quickly followed by a tall woman. She’s wearing a black dress hemmed to mid-thigh emphasizing her long legs. Even her hair is perfect, straight and blond and hanging like a silken curtain to her lower back.

  I slide out of the Range Rover with my toenails painted neon pink—courtesy of Vincent—wrapped in my favorite flip-flops. My Target dress I thought was oh-so-cute now seems juvenile and rumpled. My red curls are probably a frizzy mess in the high humidity. In short, I am the antithesis of the impeccably coifed creature greeting us.

  “Mr. Blackwood.” She nods to him and gives me a quick once-over. “I have the keys and the agent’s permission to view the house and grounds as you see fit.”

  “Ms. Darwin, this is Miss Aldridge. Please proceed.” Roy is all business.

  Acutely aware of my flaws, I follow along inside the mansion as she runs a commentary on when the house was built, the acreage, the taxes, and all things important. Finally, I motion to Roy I’m going to roam on my own. I’ve been in most of the estate homes making deliveries or occasional parties, but this one I’ve always wanted to see up close. The scale of the home is intimidating. My farmhouse has eight-foot ceilings. Changing the light bulbs is a real pain. I tilt my head back. Do they bring in scaffolding when a bulb goes out? These have to be at least fifteen feet.

  I wander through the great rooms whose purpose I’m unsure of, under the doorways wide enough for a horse and rider, and back to the foyer dominated by the massive staircase. How long must it have taken to construct? The carved banister curves up to the second floor, no doubt filled with more palatial rooms.

  While not neglected, it’s clear the home hasn’t been properly looked after. The millwork lining the walls needs to be sanded and refinished. In the parlor—I think that’s what it’s called—the hardwood floors are scratched and wavy in places. There are scant paintings on the walls. Maybe the family had to sell them. The furniture is stately, mainly antiques, and it fits the style of the home. I always pictured Roy in a modern cube with white walls, windows all around, and no privacy or comfort.

  I walk toward the back of the house and find the kitchen. It’s stunning. Cabinets all the way to the ceiling, their glass fronts gleaming. In the center is an island with seating for ten, at least. There are two industrial refrigerators and an immense oven and range like the one Vincent’s family has in their kitchen. Funny thing to covet, but I’ve always wanted one; it puts my old GE set to shame.

  A long farm table sits in front of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out to an English garden. I stroll through the French doors, imagining the peonies and hydrangeas in bloom. The pavers laid out in a herringbone pattern draw you to the edge, where a scenic view of the valley awaits. Roy and Ms. Darwin join me with talk of heating and plumbing. Pointing off to the side, they discuss something called an infinity pool.

  Roy places his hand on the small of my back. “Do you like it here?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve only gotten glimpses of it whenever the hunt rides through. Far more than I imagined, like something out of an Austen novel.”

  His brow furrows. “The hunt?”

  “Foxhunting. I guess you don’t have that in LA. The hunt has ride-through privileges from all the big farms.” He nods his head, but I know he hasn’t been told about this aspect of Middleburg life. “You shouldn’t close your land to them.” I don’t add unless you want to be an outcast to the locals.

  “No, course not. It’s tradition.” I can tell he’s thinking about it, though.

  “Should I inquire?” Ms. Darwin asks.

  “No.” Roy keeps his face forward. “Make the offer.”

  “Of course. I’ll be out front if you need me.” She turns, disturbing the air and dispersing her no-doubt-expensive perfume.

  I wait until the French doors close. “She’s not from around here.”

  “No, Los Angeles. She manages all my real estate acquisitions.”

  “I’m sure she fits right in there.” Why is he interested in me? Why not Ms. Perfect? “She’s pretty.”

  He turns his back on the view to survey the house. “What I always imagined.” His voice sounds wistful. “She needs a lot of work, but she has good bones.”

  Is he serious? “I meant your realtor lady.”

  He cuts me a sideways glance. “I suppose. It’s her real estate expertise I pay her for.”

  “So this is an investment?” I can’t keep the disapproval from my voice. These estates should be cherished.

  “No.” He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “This will be my family home.”

  His thumb draws circles on my back. I have to use all my willpower to focus on what he said. Oh, right, something about a family. Cripes, I never asked. “You have a family?”

  “Come on, let’s go inside.” He takes my hand and leads me through the kitchen and down a hallway off to the left I didn’t notice before. “I’m an orphan.”

  I don’t know why, but that shocks me. “Wife? Children? Girlfriend? Dog? Cat?”

  “None of the above. What about you? Husbands? Children?” He whispers, “Secret lovers?”

  I shake my head.

  “Guess I can have my way with you.”

  Yep, I think—single, virgin, probably frigid, utterly infatuated with a sex god. What could go wrong?

  He slides open pocket doors, revealing an immense library with dark-wood bookcases lining the walls. Midway up the cases is an iron walkway to access the shelves that reach all the way to the ceiling. A fireplace is encased along a far wall with large leather chairs flanking either side. In the center of the room sits a long table with chairs. Like the kitchen, a wall of windows overlooks the garden and down to the valley.

  “You told me you liked books.”

  “This is…” I’m at a loss for words. “I could get lost in here.”

  “It’s one of the things that sold me on the house. I pictured you curled up in a chair with a roaring fire and snow on the ground.”

  I’ve been telling that small voice inside my head that she’s delusional. That Roy isn’t interested in me. I’m a novelty that he’ll soon tire of. But being here with him, hearing him say he thought of me in this room, makes me realize he does care. Whatever this is between us, I need to see it through, because if I don’t, I’ll regret it.

  “Why the serious face? You don’t like it?”

  “I do, really. It’s just I don’t understand why Middleburg? It’s not like a lot is going on here. You’re used to Los Angeles. Aren’t you worried you’ll get bored?”

  “Ah, I see.” He walks across the room and runs his hand along the exquisitely carved stone mantl
e. “It’s a goal I set for myself. To own a great house, something to leave to future generations.”

  “So this is where you’ll run your empire?”

  “I’m converting one of the barns into office space.” He sits in the wingback chair by the fireplace, resting his ankle on his knee.

  “But they might not accept your offer.”

  “They’ll take it. All cash, no contingencies.” He cocks his head to the side, assessing me. “I’ve arranged for a cleaning crew to come in tonight. I’m buying the furnishings with the house, except for a few heirloom pieces the owners want to keep.” He runs his hand along the chair arm. “There are some nice things here.”

  “Must be night and day compared to LA.”

  “Each has its charm. One day, I’ll take you to my house in the hills. The view is breathtaking.”

  Me, in LA. A nervous laugh escapes.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I can’t see myself in a place where everyone looks like you or Ms. Darwin. She’s perfect.” I gnaw the inside of my cheek.

  “You have nothing to be jealous of.” His green eyes take in my bare legs, my breasts, slide up to my lips, and finally, our eyes meet. “I’ve never needed a woman the way I do you, Miss Daisy Aldridge.”

  “Hum…well…” Pull yourself together. “It’s good to know what you want.” Oh fuck, did I say that?

  “What I want you is for you to walk over here, sit on my lap, and kiss me,” he commands.

  I’m halfway there before I realize it. My fingernails bite into the flesh of my palms.

  He slides lower in the chair and leans his head back. “Stop overthinking everything and do it.”

  I run sweaty palms down my skirt, pressing the fabric to the backs of my knees and sit sideways on his hard thighs. When I turn to face him, his eyes are closed. It allows me to explore his face, all the angles coming together in such a perfect way. Stubble I want to rub my cheek against like a cat against its master’s leg. His lips part, waiting for mine.

  I rest my hands on his forearms and press my lips against his. The softness always surprises me and just to confirm I run my tongue along his lower lip, and the plumpness has me suck it between mine ever so slightly. He groans. I lean back. His eyes are still closed.

  “Do as you please. I won’t move.”

  I need that reassurance. Need to explore without being overwhelmed by him. Tentatively, I release my grip on his arms. He remains steadfast. His neck. I’ve wanted to kiss him there, and do, right along the artery. He’s hard and rough and soft. Complete opposites, I know, but all true. My lips are greedy for his. While his body remains immobile, his tongue is free and dances with mine. I could do this forever, moving from his mouth to his neck and back again. His scent mixed with cologne, intoxicating, reminds me of fresh winter snow in the woods. Through his shirt, my fingers explore the contours of his muscled arms and down his chest, and further still to his hard stomach.

  His growl vibrates through my body. “You make me weak.” Those beautiful, improbable green eyes of his open and search mine. “You need to stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop,” I whisper.

  “Hmph. Nor do I, but I don’t think you’re ready for me to bend you over that table and sink my cock deep inside you.”

  I draw back and scramble off his lap, straightening my dress as I try to do the same with my mind. He’s never spoken to me that way before. It’s…exciting and sexy. I’m fascinated by the mental picture he’s so clearly described. Involuntarily, I walk over to the table and run my hand along the smooth wooden surface.

  “Are you hungry?” I hear him stand, and a moment later his hand is on my shoulder. “I have reservations at The Ashby Inn.”

  Slow your breathing. Have some semblance of dignity before you face him. “Sure, okay,” I squeak like a chew toy. I blow out a breath when he focuses his eyes away from me. I’m scrambling for conversation, something mundane after his oh-so-blunt statement. Should I tell him I want him too? How can he not know? I am way out in the weeds on this one.

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and walks me out to the car.

  Ms. Perfect is on the phone and gives him a smile and a nod as we walk past. I guess Roy has bought a home.

  “You know.” I’m cut off when he opens the door, and I slide into my seat. “These estates cost.” He closes my door and gets behind the wheel. “They cost a fortune to maintain.”

  “It will cost a fortune to renovate.” He puts the car in drive. “I don’t care. I want it. It’s mine.”

  That should be a beer slogan. For the man who knows what he wants. I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. Probably because I’m scrambling to think of anything other than the sex machine sitting next to me, I concentrate on the lack of road noise. It reminds me of an isolation tank, like in a movie I saw where there is no outside sound except for what I accept into my environment.

  “Are you alright?”

  I’m euphoric. I kissed Roy. No bad thoughts. No panic attack. “I’m good.” I roll my head to the side and gaze at Mr. Lethal, steady and controlled, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm thick with muscles. “Your cars… They’re so quiet. It’s like we’re insulated from the world. Did you see the film Altered States, with William Hurt?”

  He whistles. “Surprised you have. Yes, referring to the isolation tank?” He gives me a quick smile, as he turns left onto Mosby Highway toward Upperville. “I’ve done that. The tank, I mean. It was part of military training. Minus the LSD.”

  “How did you stand it? I’d freak out being closed in.”

  “The instructors had a saying. Mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. My vehicles, they’re armored against weaponry. We use them in the field and for our clients. They’re sealed to a much higher level than soft-skinned cars.”

  We’ve passed through the sleepy village of Upperville. “I don’t think you’ll need it out here.”

  “I have a contract with a German company. I don’t send my employees into harm’s way without knowing every aspect of their equipment.”

  “In harm’s way,” I repeat, not liking how it sounds. Roy is the only veteran I know. How do military families keep from going insane with worry?

  “I know what I’m doing,” he reassures.

  I’m sure he does, as do his opponents.

  “They aren’t as well-trained or well-equipped.”

  How did he know what I was thinking? It truly is uncanny the way he can pick some of my thoughts out of the air. “Stop it.”

  “You have an exceedingly expressive face.”

  Thankfully, we’re soon at the turnoff to the Ashby Inn, which is tucked in at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in the tiny hamlet of Paris. And a few minutes later, we're seated outside in a private area under the arbor, next to the fountain.

  “Everything is ready, Mr. Blackwood.” A waiter in a crisp white shirt pours the wine for Roy to taste.

  He quickly sips. “Perfect.” As the server fills up his glass, he nods to me. “It’s light. I think you’ll like it.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer a Coke.”

  The waiter disappears, and Roy takes another a healthy sip of wine before placing it back on the table.

  We steep in silence. The waiter, burdened under a huge platter of food, along with my Coke, sets up a stand next to our table and lays out the feast.

  “That will be all.” Roy dismisses him.

  I blink, taking in the copious amount of food. Roy has ordered a small portion of everything on the restaurant’s menu except for the desserts, which is just plain mean. “Are you feeding an army?”

  “No, I might bring clients here. Eat what you want. Or, if you’d like, order a dessert.”

  “No, this is good.” I reach for a mini stuffed potato. Where do they get such tiny potatoes? And how do they stuff them? It’s a small explosion of taste as I chew the Barbie-sized tuber.

  Roy isn’t eating, which is strang
e. He’s pushed back from the table, slowly drinking his wine.

  “Buyer’s remorse?”

  He loosens his tie and releases the top button. “The opposite. Savoring the moment. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  “You should eat something.”

  “Isn’t that my line?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  His eyes linger on me. “I’m not hungry for food.”

  There’s no misunderstanding what he means. “Try this.” I place something wrapped in bacon on his plate.

  The appetizer, impaled on a toothpick, looks ridiculously small as he twirls it around before placing it on his tongue.

  He seizes my arm when I go to take another appetizer for him to taste and brings it up to his lips, running his tongue over the almost-healed mark on the inside of my wrist. I try to yank it free, but he holds me firm. “There was a cut on your arm when we went to breakfast. And now this.”

  Inside, my shame wars with my anger. “It’s not what you think.” I yank my arm until he opens his hand. “I did it cutting fabric. Things happen.” Why am I defending myself? “You’re the one with a gash in his shoulder. Maybe I should ask you the same thing.”

  His eyebrow lifts a fraction at my ridiculous remark. “Is someone hurting you?”

  “No, no...nothing like that.” He’s too perceptive. I won’t be able to keep my secrets from him much longer. “Clumsy is all.”

  He nods and lets it go.

  “So, when will you move in?”

  “Are you free tomorrow evening? I want to spend the first night in my new home with you, christening every room.”

  “Like with champagne?” I’ve heard of christening a ship, but never a house.

  Roy exudes supreme confidence as he runs his thumb over his lip. “Champagne is definitely on the menu, but I was thinking of christening it in other ways.”

  “How?”

  He places his hand on my knee and leans in to whisper, “By the sound of your orgasms echoing through the halls. After the third one, your fear of being frigid should disappear.”

  My eyes widen with understanding. Yes, I want to. No, wait, what’s happening to me? Roy, I answer, and he wants to fuck my brains out. Why not shut up and let him?