"One of the biggest parts of the help that I found here was—is—the woman who's sitting to my left—Gemma. She'd been here for a while before I came. Her husband—who I know she loved just as much as I loved my wife—died of a sudden heart attack, so she, too, had come here for help and support.
"Gemma befriended me. Not that everyone else didn't." That got a titter from his audience. "But she became a very close, special friend. We were pals for a long time, but a short while ago, we made the transition to dating, and it was the first time in a very long time that I've actually been happy.
"And I know that some of you right now—especially those for whom the loss is very new—cannot imagine ever feeling that way again. And I'll do you the courtesy of not saying all the platitudes that everyone around you is trotting out, because they are not 'one size fits all'."
He paused again and took a deep breath. I watched him, absolutely mesmerized and terrified, not knowing what it was that he was going to say or get into with this little speech.
"But suffice it to say that I now am much more of a believer in those platitudes. Gemma made me happy, and that made me sad, in a way, to think of letting go of my old, treasured memories of Jane in favor of the new memories I was making with Gemma.
"But I also knew that is exactly what Jane would want me to do." His voice cracked noticeably. "I know because she told me so before she died." He almost laughed. "Frankly, she would have been horrified at how long it took me to do that. She wanted me to live, for the both of us, but I'm afraid I wasn't very good at doing that."
He turned and looked down at me. "Until I met Gemma. She was everything I needed, everything I wanted and more. She was a wonderful friend. We're both very busy people, both doing well in demanding jobs, so we didn't spend all of our time together, but we got together fairly frequently and kept in touch as much as we could, more so when things became less platonic and more, uh, romantic."
There was a bit of an embarrassed titter at that.
"But one of the problems that I've faced—and that you might well encounter, too—is that Jane's family wasn't willing to accept that I might move on. And that kind of conflict tears at you, because you don't just want to completely jettison the family of your loved one, but you don't want them to interfere with you getting on with your life—in whatever way that manifests itself—either."
"But I did that. Gemma and I had a wonderful start and were just kind of hitting our stride together as a couple, and I allowed someone from Jane's family to mess that up, in a way that hurt me by forcing me to choose between them—and making the wrong choice, at first.
Worse than that, though, it hurt—" He stumbled here, then took a deep breath and corrected ruthlessly. "I hurt Gemma, badly, in doing so, in allowing myself to feel that it had to be one or the other."
His watery eyes found mine. "But it doesn't have to be that way, and anyone who tells you different is wrong, and you shouldn't listen to them."
Deck cleared his throat again, then reached down to grab a Kleenex, taking two and offering me one, which I took because it was desperately needed.
"So. In conclusion, I am a complete and total idiot, who allowed someone to make me feel that being with Gemma was somehow being untrue to Jane's memory when it most certainly is not. That wicked, evil person is no longer a part of my life.
"Unfortunately, neither is Gemma, really. On very bad advice, I pushed her away and pushed her away and pushed her away, until now, we don't see each other anymore, and I am a lesser man for both allowing that to happen and for not having her in my life."
Decker came to stand in front of me as he continued speaking. "And so, I stand here before you all—and, more importantly, Gemma here—tonight, to beg her forgiveness. To say that I'm sorry I'm such an a-hole, and that I know I'm completely undeserving of the forgiveness that I'm asking for, but I'm doing it anyway, and that I promise not to be an a-hole in the future."
Then, adjusting the timber of his voice to be much lower than it was, he knelt in front of me and took my hands in his. "Do you think you might forgive me, maybe, sometime?"
What was I going to say after that speech, and in front of all of those eyes staring at us, who were all expecting me to do what he wanted? He certainly knew how to pick the right place to apologize for the maximum possibility of forgiveness, if somewhat coerced.
What could I say? No? From the look of all of them out there, with hope and love in their eyes, if I did that to this man, who had humbled himself in front of me and them, they'd draw and quarter me!
"I forgive you," I murmured.
I hadn't expected the enthusiastic round of applause I was given for having done so. I was not very fond of being the center of attention, so I was really just trying not to faint.
Deck knew how I felt about things like this. It was why he never told anyone at a chain restaurant when we went there that it was my birthday, because he knew they'd sing to me.
While everyone else was celebrating, he looked at me—really looked at me—and asked, "Do you really mean it?"
I nodded. "Yeah, everyone's entitled to one big screw up. You've used yours."
He kissed the backs of my hands but didn't let go, raising his voice again to say, "Thank you for your forgiveness, Gemma. It's more than I deserve, I know. But I do have another question for you."
There were gasps from the audience, who seemed to know something I didn't, because I couldn't find a reason to gasp.
I don't know why I was so obtuse that evening, but I was. I couldn't imagine what else he might want to ask me. I'd already forgiven him—what more could he want from me? Frankly, I wasn't prepared to give him much else.
"Oh?"
"Yes. Since I'm already down here, on my knees—" He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulled something out.
I was still Ms. Oblivious. I didn't have any idea where he was going with this until he opened the ring box, showing me an obscenely large, obscenely beautiful heart shaped diamond ring.
"Gemma Louise Mercer, I love you with all my heart. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, so I can take care of you and spoil you and love you for the rest of our time together on this planet?"
I froze.
I had no idea what to say to that. My mind wasn't functioning, and I just stared him in the face, mouth agape like a lack wit.
He smiled back at me. "Yes? No? Get the frig out of my face, you annoying bastard?"
Since my brain was no longer functioning, my heart—broken though it had been—took over, making me nod my head up and down a few times.
The audience went crazy at that, but Decker remained where he was in front of me, using their noise to cover what he was saying to me.
"Yes?" He leaned closer to me and whispered, "Are you saying yes?"
My head was down, and he put his face right beneath mine, looking up at me from that awkward angle.
"You'll be my wife, please?" he cajoled.
And I nodded again.
"Say it for me, love. I need to hear it."
"Yes, I'll marry you, you annoying twit!"
Ever the ham, Deck stood up and announced proudly that I'd called him an annoying twit, which was definitely an acceptance of his proposal.
Then he leaned down and lifted me up into his arms.
"Shall we do an Officer and a Gentleman ending, just to pander to the crowd?" he whispered into my ear.
My, "No!" was lost in the din of congratulations we were surrounded with, then he did actually carry me out to his waiting car.
As he put me into the passenger's side seat, he murmured, "I judiciously forgot to mention in there that not only would I be spoiling and loving and caring for you during our married life, but I will most definitely be spanking you, too. But I thought you'd prefer it if I left that part out."
"Smart man," I whispered, because it was all the gumption I could muster after that. "How did you find me?" I asked when he got into the car.
"I called your cell and emailed you and called your office and the house and, of course, I texted you. I thought you might not want to talk to me, then I just kind of tried to think like you do—"
"Oh, you poor, dear man!" I interjected, if somewhat feebly.
"—and I ended up going to the place where I knew you'd found comfort and support before." He shrugged. "Just a lucky guess, really."
He didn't take me home to my house, nor home to his. Instead, he drove me into the city, to an obscenely expensive hotel room overlooking the harbor, with a king-sized bed, room service and an in-room Jacuzzi tub.
As he tipped the bellhop, he looked at me, saying proudly, "I believe those are all of your requirements—bed, tub, room service?"
I had to laugh that he'd remembered that, but then, that was the type of man he was. He paid attention. He remembered the little things—things that other men might consider insignificant.
I sank down on the end of the bed. "Well, they're a very good starting point, anyway."
"Tonight," he said expansively. "You may have whatever your little heart desires." He came to sit next to me, wrapping those strong arms that I'd missed so much around me to hold me tight to his side.
And then I burst into the tears I'd been holding tenuously back since he'd appeared at group.
But they didn't seem to faze Decker much, as if he had expected to encounter them at some point.
He held me until the storm passed, then left me—admonishing me to stay right where I was and not move—while he drew the curtains, set the temp to one I would be comfortable with, then grabbed one of those plush white robes the hotel provided and proceeded to strip me down completely while I stood there, being abnormally docile.
Once he had me swaddled in the robe and ensconced beneath the covers, he did the same thing for himself, then joined me there, pulling me into his arms.
"I know you said you forgive me, and I thank you for that, but I want you to know that I will happily spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I am so, so sorry to have hurt you like that."
I looked up at him and said hoarsely, "I understand. It was unbelievably awful, but I do understand."
He looked so grateful that, if I hadn't quite forgiven him when I said it in front of twenty-five other people, then I did now.
"And, if you're going to be making up to me for the rest of our lives, then I won't be getting spanked."
He raised his eyebrow at me and growled, "Don't bet on it, woman."
Chapter 9
Six months later, I was bent over the end of our bed, being thoroughly strapped for not calling him to come pick me up when I'd gotten a little soused during girls' night, and instead, had ridden home with someone who I couldn't be entirely sure was sober—since she wasn't our designated driver.
And it was as horrible as it sounded.
But in a way, it was wonderful.
We were in our bed room.
In our house.
Not the one he'd shared with Jane and had stayed in.
Not the one I had shared with Andre and had stayed in.
Not long after he'd won my forgiveness and my hand in the same night, Decker had a marvelous idea that he didn't tell me about immediately. Lord knew he loved the element of surprise. All he would tell me was to keep the next weekend open.
So I did. Because I'm such an obedient girl.
Not. Hence the strapping.
Saturday morning, bright and early, we went to my favorite breakfast place and indulged in pancakes for him and waffles for me. When we'd finished, he paid the bill—which I was very okay with—and escorted me out of the restaurant and down the street about a block, then into a real estate agent's office.
"Mr. Hale?" the pretty agent asked, her hand already out.
"Yes, are you Ms. Olyphant?"
"Yes, but please call me Kate."
"Well, I'm Decker and my wife is Gemma."
"Great—ready to look at some houses?" The woman was disgustingly perky.
She appeared confused at my startled face. I turned to my husband. "Look at some houses?"
Decker grinned. "I haven't told her about this," he explained to Kate. "It's a surprise."
"Very much so," I said. But I'd always loved to look at houses, so I didn't object too strenuously.
Kate got us into her big SUV, then ran into the office because she forgot something.
As soon as she was out of earshot, I said, "Houses? Really? Don't we already have two big ones between us?"
"Exactly! You have a house full of memories of being with someone else, and so do I. I just thought that we could look at a new place that was ours."
And so we did, but we had a hard time finding one that had everything we wanted. I wanted land so that if I wanted to have a dog—or maybe even horses, at some point—there would be enough room for them. Decker had to have an office at home, and he wanted hardwood floors throughout, especially if we were going to get a puppy, which I'd been threatening him with for quite some time but had yet to pull the trigger.
The more houses we saw, the less enchanted we became, until I finally suggested to him one night in bed that—duh—we should build a house instead of buying one, and then it would be done to our specifications.
I had thought that he'd probably do it with his company, but he pretty much specialized in high rises. It turned out he had all sorts of connections in the construction business, so he knew exactly who to get to build our dream house.
And it was, although I was a bit anxious about the cost of it.
It always surprised me when I was the more practical of the two of us, because I really wasn't. I tried to pin him down about just how much he wanted to spend doing this, but he always just said that he wanted me to have whatever I wanted.
So I perked up and made some deliberately absurd suggestions. "A bowling alley? Movie theatre? A zoo? An amusement park in the back yard? A pool in the living room? A TV that comes down from the ceil—"
He rolled over onto me suddenly, knocking the wind out of my outrageous sails.
"Whatever you want within reason, my love."
"That's too vague. How do I know whether you consider that something's," I used air quotes, "within reason?"
"Well, I guess, Mrs. Hale, that you'll just have to ask nicely, then, won't you?"
I could feel where he was going with this. I was pretty much always ready for him, but sometimes more so than others. This time was one of the less expected ones, and there wasn't a lot of my honey to easy his way—which only meant that I felt every bit of him even more acutely than I usually did.
It didn't hurt, but it certainly did make me take notice.
Especially when he flipped us both over—always very careful of me—so that I was astride him and he could press himself even further into me with each stroke.
I used to think that this position would allow me more control over our lovemaking, but I have since been disabused of that notion, because someone always kept his hands on my hips, almost never letting me establish the rhythm anymore, in favor of imposing his own.
Not that I minded in the least, of course.
How could I, when he was filling me practically to bursting with every potent thrust as he held me still to receive them, making me gasp every time he touched bottom within me, one thumb lazily drawing circles around my clit as he did so?
"Please! Please!" I begged, but he was a master at keeping me right there, on the edge, and I wasn't going to get off unless he wanted me to.
Luckily, that night, he was merciful, but he wasn't always, necessarily.
Our engagement had been quick—he wanted us to be married, and we did so within about a month or so of the time I had accepted his proposal. Oh, there had been some lingering hurt feelings for a few weeks after, but he was such a sweetheart to me the entire time that I couldn't keep being mad at him, especially when ninety percent of me had already forgiven him.
The wedding was not a big society affair, alth
ough that might have been better for both of our businesses.
But we didn't care. We wanted a wedding with our friends and family—even our former families, with one particular exception. We even invited everyone from the grief support group, since they had been in on both the inception of our relation and its resurrection.
It was a warm, fun, casual affair, full of love and even a few tears. But mostly, it was a celebration of our love for one another.
And food, of course. There was lots and lots of food, including a make your own sundae bar, chocolate fountain and candy bar.
Deck had shaken his head at me while I was planning it, but he had let me have my way about it, which was something he didn't often allow me to do.
The more we explored the sexual side of our relationship, the more we settled into our roles together as Dominant and submissive, the more dominant I wanted him to be, and he seemed to take to it perfectly, knowing almost unfailingly just when to put his foot down and when to take me in his arms and whisper that everything was going to be okay.
When I looked back on how we'd begun, I couldn't believe that D/s wasn't something that I'd been into all my life. It felt so right—but then, it was an intrinsic part of Decker's makeup and, apparently, mine, too.
The wedding was held in the city, in a beautiful pavilion by the harbor, and catered by one of the best restaurants in the city—along with my favorite bakery, Sully's, with a whole table full of big-as-your-head glazed doughnuts.
Because the house was in the middle of construction, we didn't honeymoon right away. Instead, we spent a lot of our evenings daydreaming about it and planning it—he was finally taking me to Europe, and this time, I knew that he wasn't going to cancel it.
Even when it was finally done, it was awfully close to winter, so we set the trip for April and moved in.
Which was how I found myself in the predicament I was now in, feeling the bite of the belt against my rear and trying not to give him the satisfaction of crying out because of it. But that wasn't going to last very long, considering how expertly he wielded that blasted thing.
Decker almost never denied me permission to go out with my girlfriends, whether we were making a trip to one of those nearby huge outlet malls, heading up to Montreal for the weekend to take in the city, or just your normal average girls' night out, and he'd sent me off with his blessing this time, too, but with the caveat that I was to make sure I went home with the designated driver.
Ready for Love Page 10