“Oh, we’re doing this.” He rips off his shirt. Buttons go flying around the room. I unzip him as he yanks my leggings off. “Do the splits for me.”
I don’t know what he loves more, my flexibility or my fucking tits, as he calls them. With ease, he lifts me up, and I slide my legs over the long bathroom counter until I’m flush with it. I swear he had the counters made to the exact height, so his cock would be level with my pussy. He cups my ass and slides me onto him.
For days after St. John I was sore, front and back. Even now, when we have a particularly intense round of sex, I’m deliciously tender. He’s always concerned about it, and I wish I could reassure him better, but all I know to say is I love it, being used by him for my pleasure and his, and the consequences make it all the better for me.
Now, I think no more as he glides in and out of me, filling me, completing me. He’s gentle, and so is my orgasm as it blooms through me until I’m limp.
“Lay back, baby.” He brings my legs in front of me to hang off the edge of the counter and leans my back against the mirror. I watch, fascinated, as he works himself, violent and fast. He’s all male, my male, and I’ll never tire of seeing him thus.
“Fucking tits,” he groans, and a long stream hits them, and another and another, until he’s leaning against the counter inches from his work.
“I’m yours,” I whisper and rub his cum into my breasts.
“Mine,” he repeats. He kisses me hard and deep and puts me down, giving my ass a good slap. “What happened to the shy young woman I bedded in St. John?”
I toss my hair back. “You fucked the shyness right out of her.”
His laughing echoes around the room as he goes to dress.
I wrap my hair up and jump into the shower. What should I wear? Roy has filled a closet full of clothes for me. It irked me at first until I realized it was only a kind gesture on his part. I rarely wear any of the clothes he’s bought, but it’s nice to know I have them available.
Briskly, I dry off and walk barefoot into the closet. I decide on a strapless blue dress. It’s almost the same shade as my engagement ring and only a few shades darker than my eyes.
“Ten minutes.”
“Jesus, Roy.” I must have jumped a foot. “You have to stop sneaking up on me.”
As always, he’s devastatingly handsome in a dark-gray suit. His short hair accentuates his strong jawline.
“Let me help you.” He turns me around to zip up the back.
“Ouch!” I grab my breasts. What the hell is going on?
“Did I pinch you?” He’s running his finger along the inside of the back of the dress.
“No, my nipples are on fire.” His hand slides around my waist. “Maybe you’re playing with them too much.”
He gives me a sexy smirk and takes my hand to twirl me around. “Breasts are meant to be kissed and squeezed and played with too much.” His kiss is gentle. “Are you on your period?”
I shake my head.
“Daisy.” He lifts my chin. “Last week was the fourth week. Correct?”
I focus on his lips. “I had some spotting and a weird cramp.” I shrug. “That was it.”
His smile fades.
“I’m taking them every day.”
“I know you are.” He kisses my forehead and waits while I pick out shoes. “I’ll call Dr. Johnson and see about getting you an appointment.”
“You will not.” I place my hand firmly on his chest. “I’m sure the hormones aren’t quite right.” My aunts are always telling me most female problems are the lack or abundance of hormones. “Maybe I need a different pill or something.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “Go on.” I smack his ass. “You’re distracting me from getting ready.”
“I’ll make some work calls.” He checks his watch and turns back to me. “Seven minutes, Miss Aldridge.”
“Yes, sir,” I snap back.
Of course, he’s talking on the phone when I descend the stairs. I’ve never seen a person so connected to his job.
“Are you sure? Fucking prick…Have a mind to send Proctor. What? Never mind, I’ll take care of it.”
Roy’s pacing and doesn’t even notice until I take the last step. “The deal?” I ask. I don’t know the details. If it means him not traveling so much and never, ever going back to the Middle East, I’d be happy.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now, my lovely girl, let me escort you to the car.”
“Everything alright?” I persist and wrap my arms around me to ward off the chill in the air.
“You should have a shawl.” He scowls and opens the door for me. “Or something.”
“I don’t like coats. They’re bulky.” I slide in the soft leather seats of the Mercedes.
He takes off his jacket. “Here, this will keep you warm until the heater kicks in.”
We’ve passed through the first electronic gate and are waiting for the second one to open.
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Nothing to worry about.”
I search my mind for something to talk about, something to say to lighten the mood. I know if I keep picking at what is bothering him, he’ll close up tight. It’s best to wait until he’s ready to open up to me.
“So, about Gavin.”
“Yes, what about him?” He gives me a quick glance.
“Maybe he could come with me to New York, instead of Proctor.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t going.”
Nothing better for indecision than someone telling you it’s forbidden. “Yes.” I turn in the seat to face him. “I am.”
“No.” His voice is almost threatening. “You are not. The photographer is unreasonable. I’ve asked nicely for him to change the shoot date, but he refuses. Hate these fucking arty types.”
I’m taken aback by his…attitude, words, tone—well, everything. “I’m going,” I say calmly.
“As your fiancé, I say no.”
“What? No.” I’m shaking my head, but his eyes are on the road. “It doesn’t mean you have the right to order me around. I’m going, and I’m taking the money. I need it for my aunts.”
“You don’t need money. I told you I’ll pay for the addition. It’s pocket change.”
“I’m going,” I say again, “And I’m not taking Proctor. Vincent’s coming with me, and we’re staying in his family’s apartment.”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Because he’s such an ass about this, I’m committed to going. Both of us are too hardheaded for our own good. How did we even get on this topic? Oh, I remember, I was going to ask about Gavin. We’re almost to the mountain. If I’m going to ask, I need to do it now. I twist the overused, overextended band that I wear mainly for sentimental reasons tight around my wrist. “Does Gavin have a wife?”
“No.” I let him put his hand on my thigh. “Ask me what you want to know.”
“Does he like men or women?”
Roy laughs and turns left onto Blue Ridge Mountain Road. It’s like in the heat of summer when the humidity is high, and you pray for rain so it will cool things off a bit. That’s what Roy’s laughter does to my mood. “Vincent’s eyeing to make a conquest, is he?”
“Please don’t tell Gavin about this.”
“Don’t worry. Tell Vincent that Gavin doesn’t limit himself to one gender.”
I turn in my seat. “So he likes both.”
Roy chuckles and squeezes my knee. “If he’s attracted to them, it doesn’t matter to him.”
I’m mulling this over. I’ve never felt the desire to kiss a woman. I never felt the desire to kiss a man until Roy. “Do you think he’s attracted to Vincent?”
“Do you want me to pass a note to him?”
“Alright, you don’t have to be snarky about it.”
We’re midway up the mountain when the lane to Stoke comes into view. “It’s like a fairy tale.” Gas lights flicker along either side of the driveway all the way
to the castle. It’s stunning at night, lit up from within.
“Wait till you get inside.”
I’m thankful for Roy’s arm firmly placed around my waist as we walk up the stairs. A man is waiting for us. He’s average-looking, medium height, short-cropped brown hair, and, as we get closer, I see a slight smile on his face.
“Mr. Blackwood, so nice to see you again.”
“Merlin.” Roy shakes his hand. “This is Daisy Aldridge.”
“Miss.” He bows slightly to me. “If you would follow me.”
I look up to Roy, needing his reassurance. He squeezes me tighter against his body.
The colossal-sized doors make even Roy look small as we walk through. Inside, there is artificial and gas lighting, creating an atmosphere of antiquity. The hall resembles a museum filled with artwork. It truly is a castle worthy of royalty.
Merlin slows his pace. “Quite stunning, isn’t it?”
His accent is English, I think. “Yes,” I reply without taking my eyes off the paintings.
“I’ve lived here for three years now, and I still find myself in awe of this space.”
“Where is the meeting?” Roy asks in his business tone.
“Of course.” Merlin sweeps his hands toward an archway. “This way.”
I drag my feet, wanting to stay and roam the vast hall. They can’t be real, I keep thinking. They must be well-done forgeries. Roy urges me on toward two men standing like sentries on either side of a door. They’re gigantic, with eyes straight ahead, backs ramrod straight, adorned or armed—however you look at it—with swords.
Roy holds me close and whispers, “Nothing to be afraid of.”
I think fear is the appropriate response.
“He’s expecting us.” Merlin stands in front of the men who are blocking the door.
They nod in unison and step to the side.
I know I’m nervous, but I don’t see how the doors open; they just do. Maybe they have sensors?
I don’t notice him at first. His stillness is complete. Not like anything I’ve ever seen in nature. Even the Earth rotates, and the wind blows, and the oceans flow, but Mr. Barnes seems untethered. When I do notice him standing by the fireplace, I’m immobile under his penetrating gaze. His hair is dark, brushed back from his angular face, with the ends brushing against the top of his shirt collar. His posture and expression are of complete calm and control of all around him. He’s neither young nor old and looks in his mid-thirties, if I had to guess. I’m awkward and inadequate and have the absurd impulse to curtsey or subjugate myself at his feet.
As if sensing my uncertainty, he rocks back on his heels, tilts his head back slightly as if smelling the air for snow, and places his hands behind his back.
“Merlin.” His voice is deep and rich, like caramel dipped in chocolate. “Notify the Medicus his services might be needed. Tell Liam to bring Lily.”
I hear the soft patter of Merlin’s shoes across the stone floor and hear the door close. I’m aware of Roy standing at my side. But my total focus is on Mr. Barnes. I’m shamelessly staring at him, and he is doing the same to me. And I’m unable to break eye contact with him.
“Mr. Blackwood has told me you are searching for information regarding your birth mother.” He has an accent, though I can’t place it. “Thank you,” he nods to Roy, “for accepting my invitation.”
I realize I’m leaning in and adjust my posture. I should be afraid, but I’m not. It’s like a balm has soothed over my nerves until I’m left with a profound curiosity.
“You’re otherness is quite a surprise.” Mr. Barnes motions his head toward a grouping of chairs. “Come, sit and warm yourself by the fire.”
“Yes.” I hear my voice like it’s not my own. What did he mean by otherness?
He waits until I’m settled, and Roy takes the seat next to me.
“Elizabetta stayed here for a short while. I can’t say I knew her, but she was known to me.”
He said knew. She’s no longer here, or dead? “My mother?”
His eyes are gray as a winter sky when snow is in the air. “I can’t say for sure. Merlin prepared a folder with his research. Perhaps something in there can help you.” He looks to Roy. “If looks are any indication, she is the image of Elizabetta.”
I hate how he’s looking at Roy instead of me. I want to be one to hold his attention. “So you knew about me?” I sigh with relief when he blinks and our eyes meet. “I mean, she must have said something.”
He tilts his head back, ever so slightly.
“I knew of only her. No child. She rented the house by the road while she worked for the Stanwyck family. The association did not last long; I assume she was not well-equipped for their kind.”
Their kind? “You mean the wealthy?” And I realize Mr. Barnes probably has more money than all of Middleburg put together.
He doesn’t smile, but his face softens. “I’m told Elizabetta was shy but wild, a contradiction in personality. It did not serve her well.”
I shiver.
Roy leans his elbows on his knees and takes my hand.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Mr. Barnes takes the seat across from us and nods to his desk, where a leather folder with a black band sits on the corner. “It is all I have to offer regarding Elizabetta.” He lowers his eyes and dips his head a fraction. “For she is, indeed, dead.”
“How?” My mother was here, maybe even in this room. I have so many questions. “When?”
“Daisy.” Roy is rubbing my hand. “You’re ashen. Let’s get you home.”
Not taking my eyes off Mr. Barnes, I plead, “Please, I need to know.”
“She was found in a gas station bathroom with her wrists cut.”
His words hit me like a hammer, knocking me senseless. I’m floating and hearing voices around me. It’s freeing and frightening, and I don’t know if I’m still sitting or time has shifted and I’m somewhere else. He said Elizabetta cut herself. She committed suicide. Like me, my mind jumps. She cut herself just like me.
“Daisy…Daisy.” Roy’s frantic voice cuts through my haze.
Another voice is talking, not Mr. Barnes or Merlin’s. “She’s fainted. Not uncommon…”
I struggle to stay present, but my mouth won’t move, and my eyes won’t focus, and the blackness takes me.
I have no recollection of how long I’m out. I only know my eyes flutter open to see a face that surely can’t be real. Skin pale as new fallen snow. Hair fanned around her face, white and thick. Eyes a shade of purple, not false and harsh, yet nothing I’ve ever seen in nature.
“Are you an angel?” I ask.
“No,” her soft voice reassures me. “I’m Lily.”
“Lily,” I repeat.
“Daisy.” Roy’s voice is strangled with emotion. “Thank God.” His hands clutch mine.
“What happened?”
He helps me sit. “You fainted.”
Mr. Barnes and Merlin are by the fire. Lily glides to stand next to Mr. Barnes, who puts his arm around her waist.
A man I don’t remember walks toward me. “You gave your fiancé quite a scare. This happens to most—”
“Now is not the time.” Mr. Barnes cuts him off.
“Yes, of course, as you say. I’m the medicu…the doctor. Let me check your pulse.”
When he’s done, he releases my hand and steps back to stand beside Merlin. “All’s well, dear. Perhaps eat something when you get home.”
How can I think of eating?
Roy has me in his arms, carrying me from the room.
“No, there so much more I need to know.”
I must have fainted again because one moment I was looking at Mr. Barnes by the fireplace and the next he’s blocking Roy’s path.
“Daisy, if I may call you that. You are welcome here always and at all times. Come back when you are better, and we can talk further.” Mr. Barnes hands Roy the folder.
“Thank you,” Roy says, and waits for him to m
ove out of his way. “You understand I have to get her home. She’s had a shock.”
I don’t want to go. Lily is watching me, almost like she’s waiting for me to do something. How can someone be that beautiful? I blink, thinking she’s not real; I’ve made her up. Roy strides out of the great room with the paintings and sculptures, and Merlin opens the grand doors as Roy carries me past and takes the stairs two at a time until he’s bundling me into the sedan.
“This was a mistake.” Roy is behind the wheel, driving too fast down the steep lane. “I fucked up. I should have never taken you.”
“My mother’s dead.”
“We don’t know this woman was your mother.” He gives me a quick glance. “I think you’re in shock. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No.” My voice is weak but determined. “I will not go to a hospital. I want to go home. I need to think.” I slump in my seat.
“You need to see a doctor. The therapist. Remember, you promised me. Fuck!” He takes a turn too fast and uses the emergency brake to straighten out the car. “I’ll call and have her come over tonight.”
“Please, you aren’t doing me any good like this.” At first, his forearm is as hard as rebar, but after a moment the muscles soften. “You’re right, and I want to talk with someone. It’s a good idea.”
“I never thought he’d be this abrupt.”
“Mr. Barnes told me what he knew. Maybe there’ll be something in the file.”
Finally, we’re at his estate, waiting for the first gate to open, and in the waiting area, and through the last one, and pulling up to the house. He opens my door and lifts me up, using his hand and foot to open the front door.
“Undress me and take me to bed,” I murmur against his shoulder. Gently, he unzips the dress. “I need you.”
“Let me get you something to eat first. A sandwich or…Evelyn can make you something.”
“I’m queasy. A Coke.”
“Maybe caffeine isn’t the best idea. It’s late.”
“Roy.” I cup his face. “It will calm my stomach.”
I fall apart while Roy is gone. Cutting oneself is nothing at all like committing suicide, is it? Is it genetic? Could Mr. Stanwyck really be my father? And Charlie, my brother?
Secrets In Our Scars Page 31