She's All Tied Up: Club 3, Book 2

by Cathryn Cade

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. She rubbed a hand over her chest, to soothe the pain behind her breastbone for the boy he’d been, suffering neglect when his mother should have been loving him, no matter their circumstances. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Lots of kids do, come out fine. I did. That’s not why I’m tellin’ you, baby. Don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I am who I am, thanks to a few good teachers, and to the Marines. The good part of me, anyway. The asshole part, the part that hurt you, that’s all on me.”

  Remembering, hurt stabbed her again. “I’ll agree with that.”

  He winced. “Thought you might.”

  They gazed at each other for a moment. Then his gaze wandered over her face, her mouth, down over her in the blush dress. “You look real pretty in that color,” he said, his voice rough. “Same color as those roses.”

  “Thank you,” she said politely. “They’re lovely.”

  He nodded. Then he moved off the sofa to one knee before her. He braced his hands on the arms of her chair and looked up into her face. She felt breathless. What if he kissed her or something? What would she do? Her fists worked in her lap.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna touch you,” he said. “Just wanna ask—” He swallowed, his throat working. “You think you can find it in you to ever forgive me?”

  She shrugged, looking everywhere but at him. Which was hard when there was so much of him, all rugged and tanned and in her space. And he smelled so good.

  Like the jacket she’d worn home from the club. Finding it the next morning, she’d picked it up, then sniffed and realized it was Jake’s. It was the smell of his skin, his faint cologne that had comforted her the night before. How twisted was that?

  With Daisy and Sara watching, she’d marched through her apartment, opened the front door and hurled the jacket down her steps. It fell on the walk in a heap of seasoned, soft brown leather, glossy in the morning sun. When she’d turned to her friends sitting at her small dining table, coffee and donuts before them, Daisy had shrugged. “Trace said to do what you want with it.”

  “Guess you just did,” Sara added. “Want a donut?”

  Carlie suspected one of them had rescued the jacket and returned it to the club, but she wasn’t about to ask.

  Now she frowned. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she whispered. It might be the Christian thing to do, but the hurt was so big.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “S’okay. You don’t have to decide anything now, baby. Sleep on it.”

  He rose and walked away, across the sitting room. “Bye, Dais,” he called.

  “Bye, Jake,” Daisy called from outside.

  Jake looked back at Carlie, a long look, as if he were memorizing her. “So you know,” he said, his voice full of steely determination. “I’m not givin’ up.”

  Then he nodded and walked out of her apartment. Of course, being an idiot, she craned her neck to watch as he jogged gracefully down her stairs and along the walk to his truck.

  Slapping her hands on the arms of her chair, Carlie rose and walked out to join Daisy on the back patio. She flounced into the patio chair beside her friend and scowled at the beautiful summer scene.

  “Jerk,” she said fiercely. “Thinks he can make me feel sorry for him, and I’ll forgive him. Huh.”

  Daisy put her warm hand over Carlie’s and squeezed. “Men are put on this earth to drive us crazy,” she said. “There is no doubt in my mind.”

  Carlie nodded. This was true.

  “Only a few things make them worthwhile,” Daisy added. “Their big, hard cocks being one. And lifting heavy things. Oh, and checking out scary noises at night.”

  Carlie smiled, just a little. “Taking out the garbage when it’s raining.”

  “Mm-hmm. And thinking we look pretty even first thing in the morning.”

  Carlie looked at her. “Really?”

  Daisy nodded, smiling to show this one was true. That was nice.

  She made a fist and bumped Carlie’s knuckles. “And don’t forget groveling with flowers.”

  Carlie scowled again. “I’m thinking there may not be enough groveling to cover this one,” she muttered.

  Jake called her, as he’d promised. And out of curiosity, or self-flagellation, Carlie wasn’t sure which, she answered. The first time he simply asked how she was doing, how her week had been, told her they had some new weights at the gym she might like, then said good-bye.

  The second time, he asked her to go to supper with him.

  The main reason she agreed was because if she didn’t, she was going to have to appear at her parents’ for supper that evening, and she was still angry with her mother. This way at least she could say she had a date.

  Also, Sara had mentioned tentatively that Jake looked like he’d lost some weight, and she had watched him work the weights at the gym until he was staggering with exhaustion, Dack finally going over, obviously annoyed, to tell him to quit before he hurt himself. So, maybe it was time for the two of them to either try to get past this or move on.

  And Carlie found that despite the way he’d hurt her, she couldn’t bear the thought of Jake driving himself that way. What if he injured himself?

  Then Daisy phoned to announce, with a tinge of awe, that Jake had not set foot in the club since that night, even though Trace and Dack were pissed off at him for neglecting his duties there, Dack so frustrated he’d told Daisy he was just about done with this shit, even if Jake was like a brother.

  Jake had stopped going to the club? He wasn’t there, screwing other women or even spanking them? Carlie had asked Daisy if she knew the blonde. Daisy didn’t and said Dack would only tell her “just someone Jake knew, end of subject”.

  Carlie had a lot of questions, which, if she didn’t like the answers, she and Jake were through, no matter how he made her insides go all soft and needy. So when Jake invited her to dinner, she accepted.

  They met at Monroe Ales. This was a brew-pub a few blocks from the gym. A nice one, though, with indoor and outdoor seating and such good food even nondrinkers came for that. Jake had offered her the choice of going there or to Stanford’s, a very expensive steakhouse in downtown Portland. But although she loved Stanford’s, that felt too much like a serious couple date to Carlie, so she chose Monroe Ales. She insisted on driving her own car, even though Jake’s voice when he agreed to this was clipped.

  Carlie wore a pair of slim black slacks and a deep pink halter that was cut high in the front but left her back bare. She covered it with a short, snug black cardigan and stepped into her favorite black platform sandals. She started to twist her hair up in a French roll, muffed her first try, and then took some hair paste, fluffed her fingers through her hair until it was a mass of wild waves around her shoulders, pulled the front up and back with a clip, and fixed her makeup. She put on a little dark pink lipstick, looked at herself in the mirror and put on a lot more. Since she wasn’t going to be doing any kissing, she wasn’t worried about it smearing.

  She arrived on time, which annoyed her because she’d planned to be at least five minutes late and make him wait. But traffic was light, and she wasn’t childish enough to pull over and sit by the roadside for five minutes, so she pulled into the parking lot promptly at seven.

  Jake was waiting anyway, leaning on a huge planter full of bright zinnias in front of the modern building, which was faced with a mixture of aged corrugated tin and old brick, with a painted sign over the door.

  He looked good in a black polo and khaki shorts, black woven shoes on his feet. Although, she saw as she walked up to him that his cheekbones were more defined, as if he had indeed lost weight. His face was grim, but then it generally was, so that was no different.

  But he straightened as soon as he saw her, and walked forward to meet her.

  “Hey,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the sounds of traffic on the street, and the chatter of voices on the patio behind them. “Thanks for
coming.” The words were impersonal; his tone was not. It matched his warm gaze.

  Carlie nodded, trying not to shiver with pleasure when his hand settled lightly in the small of her back as they walked through the open front doors. Inside, a wall of noise hit them, music and voices from the patrons filling the tables in the open-ceilinged space.

  “I got us a table outside,” he said, his mouth close to her ear to be heard over the music. The hostess, a perky college-aged girl, emerged smiling from her podium with large menus in her hands. She led them outside, to a table near the back of the patio, where Jake seated Carlie in the shade of the young tree growing in a pot by the patio and sat across from her.

  They ordered some beer, amber ale for Carlie, a stout for Jake. Then they ordered dinner, Carlie an Asian salad with chicken, Jake the same with a chicken sandwich on focaccia.

  The beer was good, and Carlie relaxed a little, enjoyed her dinner, enjoyed watching Jake eat with precision and economy of fuss, packing away the calories needed for his huge frame. It was oddly peaceful, unlike most of the time they’d spent together so far, not super-charged with sexual intent.

  Although that was still there, under the surface. She watched his beautiful, big hands pick up his beer, and remembered them cupping her breasts, glanced at his mouth and remembered how it felt against hers. Listened to his voice and remembered him ordering her to do things, and the quiver of delight in being made to do them.

  He set down his beer and leaned forward. “Baby, you keep lookin’ at me that way—”

  Carlie looked up, mesmerized as he spoke, his eyes heavy, his voice a sexy rumble. Then her gaze caught movement beyond his shoulder.

  The blonde who’d stood with him that night at the club stood at the entrance to the patio, with another woman. She was watching Carlie and Jake.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The blonde smiled, gave a little wave, looking delighted to see Carlie and Jake together.

  Carlie was not delighted to see her. She froze, the hurt and humiliation of that night, of coming face-to-face with someone who had been there with Jake as he slashed at her solidifying her dinner in a sickening lump.

  Jake had broken off, his eyes narrowing at her look. Then he twisted, looking over his shoulder. “Fuck,” he muttered. He jerked his chin, and the blonde gave him a wave, but she no longer looked delighted; she looked embarrassed. She was backing up, saying something to her friend. They disappeared into the building.

  Carlie sat, not sure if she could speak without throwing up. She swallowed, rubbed a hand over her tummy.

  “I’m not involved with Sash,” Jake said quietly.

  “Really?” Carlie’s voice was as sharp as the knife by her plate, and she did not care. “So you weren’t with her that night? Because it sure looked like you were.”

  He looked as she’d punched him, but he clearly knew he deserved it so he didn’t dodge the blow. “No. Or anyone else.”

  So Daisy was right. “Then who is she?”

  “She’s just a friend,” he began.

  “Just one of your subs?” she broke in. Like me, she wanted to add, but didn’t, because that would make her throw up.

  He stared at her. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. That told her a lot. She knew doms didn’t talk about their “clients” with other people. She looked away from him, her stomach twisting harder.

  “Sorry, none of my business, is it? I knew that walking into Club 3.” She took a breath and reached for her purse. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for dinner.”

  “Sit still.” Jake’s voice, though soft, thumped her back into her chair as if he’d put a heavy hand on her. She stared at him, shocked.

  His face was tight, his eyes turbulent. “I used her, all right?” he said, his voice quiet but harsh. “That night. She’s back in town, had some trouble in Seattle. She was tellin’ me about it. Her man turned out to be a royal fuck-head, I was mad about that, had walked into the club mad about somethin’ else. I’d just come from havin’ a drink with my dad. He had a fight with his current woman, got drunk, cryin’ in his beer. Then he got goin’ on about my mom, about how he’d loved her and she’d hurt him. I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it a thousand fuckin’ times. So fed up with his drama, can’t even tell you.”

  Carlie stared at him. “You have a dad?” she asked, which sounded stupid even to her, because everyone had a dad. “I mean he’s still around?” Somehow she’d assumed the man was gone, dead or just wandered off the way many fathers of dysfunctional families had a way of doing.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a dad. Although Ray’s never quite grown up. And he gets to drinkin’, he doesn’t mind layin’ it out for whoever will listen.”

  He took a breath, and she watched him pull his control back in place. “My point is, I had no excuse for the way I acted to you, but I had a reason. I’d had it with him, fuckin’ done with remembering her and all their shit, then you walked in, laughin’ with Mase, dressed that way, and somethin’ just snapped in my brain. I was pissed. Jealous. Didn’t want you showin’ those other horndogs what you showed only me.”

  “Oh. So this—” Carlie couldn’t bring herself to say the woman’s name. “She’s not—”

  He shook his head. “Sash? She wasn’t any happier with me than you were. Told me I used her to hurt you. She was right. I was a fuckin’ coward, didn’t want to deal with what I was feelin’, so I used a friend, hid behind her. That’s low.” He called her Sash, a nickname, short for Sasha or something. He knew her pretty well, then.

  He reached out and put his hand over Carlie’s. His hand was warm and strong. “Apologized to her. Gonna keep doin’ it to you until you believe me. I’m sorry, baby.”

  Carlie nodded. “Okay. Thank you for explaining. Now—I have to go.” And she did. She was tired of feeling raw, as if her skin were on inside out and the scrapes of hurt just kept coming. The stuff with his family, she would think about later. It was awful, and she was going to hurt for him, but she just couldn’t do that right now.

  “Want you to come out to my house.”

  For a minute, the words didn’t penetrate. Then she stared down at him, not understanding.

  He put his hands on the table, pushed himself upright, encased in calm once again. “Think about it,” he said. “You can let me know.”

  Then he walked her out to her car, where Carlie turned on him. She backed away a few steps, because he was too close. He didn’t like that, she could tell by the tightness of his mouth at the corners.

  “I’ll let you know this right now,” she said. “My dating life sucks. I keep picking loser after loser. That’s part of why I ended up at the club. Not the entire reason, because I wanted to try kink. But right now, Jake? It feels like I just picked another loser—romantically, anyway. So yeah, I’ll be thinking about it, but…don’t expect me to just lie down for you and be your little sub who lets you stomp all over my feelings, treat me however you want. Because I-I’m worth more than that.”

  Then she turned away, managing to beep her car door open. He said nothing, just reached around her to open her door before she could, closed it after her and watched while she started it up and backed out. He was still standing there, watching as she drove away. Thankfully, she didn’t hit anyone on the way out of the parking lot, as her mind was whirling along with her emotions.

  He owned his own home? And he wanted her to see it? What the heck was up with that?

  Her mind headed gratefully off on this tangent. Jake was a homeowner. Somehow she had pictured him living in an apartment, or maybe a condo like Dack’s. One that was minimally decorated with a chair, big-screen television with all possible attachments, etc. Guy stuff. But not a house.

  Then at the first stoplight, her phone chimed that she’d received a text. From Jake. She pulled it out and read.

  You’re right. You deserve the best.

  Oh…her breath whooshed out, her eyes closed for a second as the sweetness of the simple words curled deep inside h
er and found a place, near her heart. Eased the hurt just a little.

  Then her phone signaled a call.

  Her mother’s ringtone. Carlie tipped her head back and stared at the upholstery over her head. Then she tipped it back down and put her foot on the gas, rolling forward with the traffic.

  No. Just no. She’d decide when to speak with her mom. On top of everything else going on in her life, she was done letting Paula swoop in and upset her.

  Carlie’s problems just kept on coming.

  Monday, she was reminded that EbiTeck had another dinner dance coming up that weekend. Since Gerry had not, unfortunately, decided to take a new job in Beijing, even after being reprimanded and placed on probation by Martin, he would be there along with everyone else. And although he now avoided her scrupulously, and though her colleagues meant no harm—with the exception of Monica, and possibly Gerry’s cronies—she didn’t want eyes ping-ponging between them all evening, waiting for trouble to erupt.

  This meant she needed a date, someone else for everyone to speculate about and who could provide a bulwark for her, because the women weren’t likely to rehash the debacle with a stranger beside her. After giving the matter much thought, she called Trace and asked him tentatively if he would mind escorting her, if he wasn’t already busy at the club or otherwise. She was pretty sure he didn’t sit home evenings.

  After a moment’s pause, in which she was humiliatingly aware he was realizing there’d been no reconciliation between her and Jake, he accepted. He even managed to sound pleased.

  “Thanks,” Carlie said. “I really appreciate it, Trace.”

  “Babe,” he said, reproach in his voice now. “No hardship on my part. I get to go out with a gorgeous woman. Think you could wear something skimpy?”

  She surprised herself by laughing. “No, it’s a business function for me. But you could.” They were both silent, Carlie with alarm as she remembered him in nothing but slacks and a pink bow tie. “Um, on second thought…”