by Stacy Gail
“You’re the most talented woman I’ve ever met, or will ever meet,” he said, the edges of his voice so rough it was almost unrecognizable. “But as bad as your school life was, we’re not here to talk about clothes and bullies, are we?”
“In a way, that’s how it started. The… the rapes, I mean. That’s how they started.” There. She said it. Now if she could just get through the rest without throwing up, she’d be all set. “My father didn’t like a dress I’d made to wear for school, or so he said. He caught me coming out of my room one morning, and he wouldn’t let me out of the house. He said the dress I’d made showed too much arm.”
“Too much arm?” he repeated, clearly flabbergasted. “What the actual fuck, too much arm? What the hell does that even mean?”
“It was an excuse. Blaming the victim for showing too much whatever—arm, leg, neck, cleavage—is standard practice for a predator. It puts the blame squarely on the woman, and it implies that she was somehow just asking to be savaged. But I promise you, it’s… just… an… excuse. I could have been wearing a burqa, with a frigging death shroud on top of that, and he still would’ve attacked me. That’s who he was. He was a rapist, a child abuser, and when I told my mother what he’d done to me, he became a murderer.”
“Winsome.” He held her close for another moment or so before he backed up just far enough to look down at her, his arms still locked around her like he was determined to never let go. “I wish to God I’d known you were over there living in hell, no more than a mile from where I was living in another kind of hell.”
She didn’t know whether to smile or wince at his accurate description. “Why? You were just a kid yourself. What could you have done?”
“I don’t know. But I would’ve done something, I can guarantee you that.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t know,” she whispered, as she tried to picture what that would have been like. “I think you would have killed him.”
“No great loss. Getting rid of that fucker would’ve done the world a goddamn favor. Green Rock Ranch is bigger than Rhode Island, with plenty of canyons, arroyos, and caves for a person to just fucking disappear into. Who would’ve missed him?”
Yep. Definitely a good thing he hadn’t known about it. “Luckily, none of that matters now, because my father’s dead, and it’s all in the past. I don’t allow myself to dwell on it, because I refuse to let it consume me. The only thing that matters is the present and future. That’s all I allow in my world.”
“Yeah?” His arms gave her a brief squeeze. “I’d love to believe that, baby girl.”
“Believe it.” She raised her chin and wondered why it was suddenly so hard to look him in the eye. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’re telling me what you want to believe, and I get that. But here’s the thing. I keep seeing fear in your eyes when I hold you. I’m seeing it now.”
Damn it. “No—”
“You know what that fear tells me? It tells me that while you think you’re over and done with the past, it’s not done with you.”
A crazy-making flash of frustration shot through her, and she arched back against the arms holding her. “You seriously think I’m afraid? Think about it—you’re holding me this close, just the two of us, miles from any other human being on the planet, and you think I look afraid?”
“You look pissed off, which is cool with me.” He had the audacity to grin before dropping a quick kiss of her lips and letting her go, causing her to stare at him, aghast. Didn’t he know how contaminated she was? Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said? “I can work with pissed off. How are you at making salads?” Acting like nothing monumental had just happened, and she wasn’t standing there with every nerve exposed and every secret revealed, he headed into the open-plan kitchen with its gleaming natural wood and matte stainless-steel appliances. “That’s all I want to go along with my steak. You good with that?”
She stared at him. Was that really all he had to say? “Are you serious?”
“What?”
“You expect me to eat now? Like, hey, no biggie, I just casually mentioned rape and murder like it was nothing, so let’s eat?”
“Dinner’s why I invited you over, so dinner is what you’re going to get.”
Screw that. He wasn’t doing this right. He wasn’t even close to acting the way he should be acting. “I’m not hungry.”
“As for what I expect, I expect you’ll eventually get hungry while you make sure the line of communication you just opened with me stays open. That took a helluva lot of courage, and I admire that.”
“I don’t want your admiration.”
“What do you want?” He opened the fridge and pulled out steaks he’d clearly already prepared before shooting her a glance. “What are your expectations on how things should go from here?”
“I… don’t know.” The only thing she did know for sure was that she couldn’t imagine ever being hungry again. All she wanted now was to be alone while he took his time figuring out how ugly she was on the inside. “This wasn’t a good idea. I think I want to go back to the main house.”
“No.”
Her pulse paused. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no, you don’t want to go back to the main house.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. Or more to the point, you don’t actually want to go to any one specific place. What you want to do is run away from me.”
She stared at him while that edgy frustration ticked up another notch. “What the hell are you talking about? I know that I want to leave. Now.”
“No, you want to run. And I know why.” Calmly, he dipped back into the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of field greens and a tomato as big as his fist, and set them on a chopping block at the end of the counter. “Do you?”
“I’m not going to play guessing games with you.”
“You want to run because you just revealed all the poisonous shit you’ve been carrying around inside you for fucking years, shit you’ve been too afraid to share with anyone,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, looking so devilishly calm and handsome she wanted to scream. “But you finally did it, baby girl. You found the strength, you were brave, and you shared all that shit with me. But now that you have, you can’t figure out how to deal. So you want to run away and hide.”
“I don’t.” That sounded so cowardly, running away. But God, she had to go. Just go and never look back, because any minute now he’d figure out that she was nothing but ugly trash that wasn’t worthy of being in his life. Better to leave now rather than have him leave first. “Drive me back, or I’ll walk.”
“No can do, Winsome.” He began washing the tomato while keeping his eyes on her. “You’re the one who let the truth out, so you’re the one who needs to learn how to cope with the fact that you chose to share it with me. No takesies-backsies.”
She gaped at him. Had she thought he looked handsome? He was an epic ass, and an epic ass couldn’t possibly be handsome. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious that you don’t get to take back the trust you gave me just because you’re freaking out. Though I’m not sure why you’re freaking out,” he added, studying her. “Maybe you think now that I know your truth, that poison’s going to become a part of me? Is that it?”
She wasn’t thinking anything, period. She couldn’t. The need to just go drowned out everything else. “Des—”
“Or maybe you think I’m going to lose my shit over how you were brutalized by a monster, and now you’re thinking… what, exactly? What is it you think I’m going to do now that I know everything?”
“I don’t know. Something other than wash fucking produce,” she shot back, flinging a furious hand at him. “You pushed me to tell you everything, to open up a vein and bleed out right here in front of you, so I did. Now you’re just going to act like I’m not dying? Like I’m not damaged for life?”<
br />
“I pushed you to tell me everything so I’d know what I’m dealing with once I get you into my bed. And make no mistake, Winsome, that’s exactly where you’re headed. Whether it’s tonight, or a year from now, your fine ass is destined to be in my bed. What’s more, I’ll bet every damn thing I own that part of you cannot fucking wait for that.” Without warning, he abandoned the kitchen to close in on her in that relentless, stalking gait, and caught her up against him. “As for you dying right here, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re the most unstoppable beast I know, and I grew up surrounded Kill, Ry and Fin. Making yourself vulnerable to me isn’t going to slow your roll one bit. And as for you being damaged for life…”
“Yeah?” She sucked in a harsh breath while a dagger pierced her all the way to her soul. “Go on, say it. So what if I am?”
“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. That piss-stain father of yours could never cripple someone like you—not on a permanent basis. It might have felt like that was the case at the time, and I swear to Christ I get that. But I don’t think you realize just how far you’ve come from that point. I don’t think you see who you are now.”
She stared at him while his words trickled in through the rage that wasn’t really rage at all. It was more like panic that he’d be disgusted by her. He wasn’t disgusted, though. And he clearly didn’t hate her like she’d hated herself for so long. What a miracle he was. “How far I’ve come? Who I am? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m too afraid to even go Dallas or San Antonio with my portfolio to see if I have what it takes to make a name for myself in fashion design. I’ve done nothing with my life.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Look around you, woman. Look at who you are.”
“I’m… me.” She shook her head, frustrated. “Just me.”
“There’s no just anything about you, Winsome. You’re extraordinary.”
Now she knew he had to be kidding. “No, I’m not.”
“You create beauty out of nothing. The rest of the world moves from one day to the next without even thinking about how they could make it more beautiful. But not you. You imagine how you can bring beauty into the world, and when you make those imaginings a reality, people love you for it. That’s what I saw when I walked into Cleone’s shop and everyone was gathered around you,” he added with a faint grin. “To my eyes, they were worshipping the woman who brought beauty into their lives. So don’t you dare tell me you’re fucking damaged. Believe me, I know what damaged is, and you’re not that.”
The stinging in her eyes was back, and she blinked hard to make it go away. “You’re so weird. I share all the ugliness I’ve carried around inside me, and all you do is talk about beauty. It’s like you didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I heard how you survived. That makes you the most beautiful woman these eyes have ever seen.” Gently he brushed the hair off her brow. “You want to pick a fight with me? Go ahead. Kick and scream and tell me to go to hell. That’s your fighting spirit, and I fucking love it. You think you’re dying just because you shared the most wounded part of your soul with me? Hell, woman, all you did was show me that you’re the least fragile person on this earth. You’re fucking Super Woman.”
If she was Super Woman, why did he make her want to cry? “Part of me still wants to run from this house and never see you again.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get to punish me like that because you chose to open up to me.”
“I didn’t choose, you pushed—”
“You chose me. I’m damn proud of that fact, so don’t even think about trying to take it back now. It’s mine, and I’m not giving it back.”
She sighed. “You are really something.”
“Glad you think so,” came the cocky reply, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or slug him. “And instead of focusing on the part of you that wants to bounce out of here, I think it’s far more important to focus on the part of you that’s staying right where you are. And right where you are is in my arms, baby girl,” he added, his voice deepening. “I’ve noticed that, even if you haven’t.”
“Sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.” It had to be said, because he wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t running. More than that, her hands on his chest no longer pushed him away, and she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. “Do you really want me in your bed, Des?”
“I would fucking kill to have you there right now,” he said without missing a beat, clearly not a fan of beating around the bush. “But it doesn’t matter what I want. You’ve got to want to be in my bed before that’s ever going to happen.”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,” she said slowly, but meaning every word. After everything she’d put him through the last few minutes, he deserved the truth. “The only one. Because you’re the only man who’s ever made me think I could be more than what I am.”
“What do you think you are?”
“Alone.” It was out of her mouth before the thought had fully formed. “Until you, I thought I was—and always would be—alone.”
“Never.” His mouth found hers for a gentle touch that had the promise of heat behind it. “We would’ve had this conversation way earlier if you’d ever chosen to follow me home like you’d wanted to.”
“I would have if you’d just said hello.”
“Hello, Winsome.” He smiled into her eyes. “There. Does that make up for it?”
Something vital inside her melted like candlewax. “Maybe a little.”
“Yeah? How ‘bout this?” He shifted a hand down to her thigh, and just like earlier he wrapped her leg around his and leaned into the juncture of her thighs, watching her all the while. Looking for fear, she realized. But the only thing she felt with his body next to hers was a delirium-inducing rush of lust. “Hello, my Winsome.”
“Hello, my Desmond.” Dizzy joy spun in her chest, so wild she couldn’t name it or begin to understand it, but all at once she felt lighter than air. He knew everything there was to know about her, and he didn’t care. God, what a treasure. “I’ve always wanted this, deep down. I’ve wanted you to be…”
Slowly he rubbed his body against hers, and the friction of it nearly made her swoon. “What?”
“I’ve always wanted you to be my first. My real first.” Of all the truths she’d shared tonight, that was by far the most terrifying. Maybe he didn’t want her after all…
For only a moment he closed his eyes, and she had no idea what to make of that. Then, when he opened them again, they burned over her like he’d die if he didn’t commit everything about her to memory.
“You sure you’re not hungry right now?”
Her heart somersaulted as hope rocketed. “I’m sure.”
“Good.” With that, he took her hand and led her toward the stairs.
Chapter Twelve
Winnie’s heart thudded against her sternum as Des led her up the open-riser stairs. She’d expected to be greeted with maybe a hall with rooms hidden behind closed doors, so her eyes widened in surprise when they entered a massive loft area that was clearly Des’s personal space.
At least half the cavernous loft was taken up by a disorganized mishmash of work and mancave-necessities. An impressive entertainment system set against the far wall appeared to have all the bells and whistles—a large, curved smart TV, streaming and gaming consoles, along with another screen, a Pro Display monitor that she would have killed for. The furniture surrounding it was similar to the furnishings from downstairs—big, overstuffed, and built for ultimate comfort.
Clearly, Des insisted on only the finest of everything.
No surprise there.
There was also a workstation of sorts, a glass and wooden wraparound desk with three monitors, wireless keyboard and printer, and several topographical maps and what appeared to be satellite photos pinned to a corkboard behind the desk. A framed black and white photo of a Black Angus bull hung next to the corkboard
, but there were no personal framed photographs of actual people. Not even of his brothers, and it made her shake her head.
“You’re like me. No pictures of family anywhere to be found,” she added when he looked to her questioningly. “I’m sure you noticed I have sketches and photos of my designs tacked up all over my apartment, but that’s work. There’s nothing…”
“Personal?”
“Loved.” She smiled wryly. “Which is okay, I guess. I’m not interested in love, and I can see you’re not, either. We display what’s important to us. Like your work.” Her eyes fell on the portrait-sized black and white photo of the butte she’d seen earlier hanging over a massive four poster bed.
Like that, the bed was suddenly all she could see.
Not surprising, really. That was a seriously huge bed.
“I’m not going to ask you every five seconds if you’re okay.” The sound of his voice made her jump. When she glanced at him, she realized he’d come to a stop—probably because she’d come to a stop in order to stare at a bed that was probably bigger than the footprint of her apartment. “Nothing kills a mood faster than a worry-troll, so I’m not going there. What I am going to do is rely on you to sing out if you need to tap the brakes, because you’re going to be as honest with me as possible. Say you understand me, Winsome.”
She understood that he was asking her if she was okay, and that Brody-rough attentiveness made her relax as if by magic. “Yeah, I understand.” Then she thought about it. “Wait, let’s be clear. How honest?”
He took a moment to mull it over. “Like telling me if the sight of my cock is going to make you scream.”
She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “Not unless it’s weird.”