Switch (Megan Hart) читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги (ч. 3)

see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-

closed office door. I'd never set out to spy in hopes of

catching someone doing something naughty. I couldn't

decide if the tension in my gut and tingling in my fingertips

were from ilicit arousal or self-loathing.

The former, I thought as the curtains in Eric's bedroom

twitched and the light came on in there, too. I was more of

a pervert than I'd ever imagined. Voyeurism had never

melted my butter before, but knowing this would get him

off, that this was a trigger for him, got my nipples hard and

built an ache between my thighs I knew I'd have to

aleviate with my own hand before the night was through.

He stood at the window for a minute or two, looking out

for so long I wondered if he could see me. With the light

inside his room and the dark out here, I didn't think so. I

didn't dare move. Shielded by shadows, I drew in slow,

even breaths and watched him stare out into the night. He

didn't look as if he saw me, or anyone, though his eyes

moved side to side, searching.

Finaly, he turned and took a few steps toward the bed.

He wore only a towel, his hair wet and slicked back.

Water gleamed in silver droplets on the tanned skin of his

back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see

them run in rivulets down his spine and into the crack of his

ass below the towel's edge, but I could imagine it. And

did.

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder with a hand at his

waist. I wondered if he'd ever thought so hard before

about who might see him from outside. Though I kept my

sheers drawn al the time, they wouldn't entirely block a

peeper from getting an eyeful, but I'd never realy believed

anyone was trying to. I was sure I'd think of it every time,

now, and wonder who might be spying on me when I

thought I was alone.

The difference was, Eric knew he wasn't alone. I thought it

would make it more difficult to get naked, knowing, even

though he had said he liked it. That he wanted it. His

shoulders hunched for a moment and then the towel was

gone. Disappeared.

God, from the back he was magnificent. Broad shoulders,

lean waist, smooth skin. His ass was tight and looked firm.

A patch of dark hair furred the smal of his back and

drifted over his buttocks to get thicker at his thighs and

legs. His arms, too, were covered in thick, dark hair. He

half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.

Hair there, too, dark and curling around his nipples, but

not overpowering him. A woman could stil find bare skin

to kiss al over him, center her tongue on those nipples and

flick them with her tongue until he cried out for mercy.

I had to grip the concrete wal to steady myself at my

unwinding thoughts. Austin, blond-haired and fair skinned,

had little hair on his chest and had taken to trimming his

pubic hair. I didn't mind grooming, but I'd gotten used to

seen a man without so much hair. Looking at Eric opened

up something half-embarrassing I could only think of as…

primal.

Eric lay on the bed, his cock in his hand. He stared at the

ceiling as he stroked, already half-hard. In the porn I'd

seen the men had always yanked so hard on their pricks it

looked painful. Eric didn't start off with a two-fisted yank.

He ran a slow hand over his bely and thighs before

gripping his cock, which he stroked just as slowly from

base to crown and down again before repeating the

journey.

I was mesmerized.

The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his

bedroom door, which placed the bed paralel to the

window. Like the rest of his apartment, his bedding was

simple, even stark. He'd already puled down the black

quilted comforter and blankets and now lay on the plain

white sheet. He hitched himself a little higher to put his

head on the pilow.

Did it make a difference, knowing he was being watched?

I thought it had to. Why else would he take such time to

show off? The bulge and flex of his biceps had me biting

my lower lip. So did the flex of his calves when he bent his

legs to push his hips upward.

I leaned forward too far, risking being seen, when his leg

blocked the view of his gorgeous cock being stroked so

slowly in that big fist, but as if he knew exactly what he

was doing, Eric pushed that leg straight and bent the other,

instead, keeping my view clear. His back arched as his

head tipped back into the pilow. I wanted to see his face,

but though I could make out the dark shadow of eyes and

the slope of his nose, distance blurred his features a bit.

With a hand stil on his erection, Eric reached with the

other beneath his pilow to pul out a bottle. My lube came

with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he

sprayed his hands and cock liberaly before tucking it back

under his pilow.

I didn't laugh because this was funny, but because this

secret glimpse into his private sex life was so adorable,

and told me a lot. He jerked off a lot and didn't bring

women home to sleep over very often—people who

shared their beds frequently didn't keep their sex supplies

under the pilow. My earlier assessment had been right.

People and cars passed on the street below, but I didn't let

that distract me from the show across the way. I heard the

squeal of tires and rumble of an occasional engine as wel

as the hum of the parking-garage elevator, but nobody

arrived or left on this level. Tucked against the concrete

pilar with the wal in front of me and the night wind

occasionaly blowing the scent of the river over me, I

immersed myself in what he was doing and wished I were

with him.

I pressed my thighs together against the ache of arousal as

I watched Eric stroking himself. Slow, then faster. I

watched his prick disappear inside his curled fingers,

watched how he added an extra stroke around the head

and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give

his bals some attention, too. I watched, and I thought of

how I could get the chance to show him what I'd learned.

I couldn't hear him, but I could see his mouth open and

watch his face contort with pleasure. His fist pumped

faster, slick with lube, and his hips rose and fel to meet

every stroke. If I were on top of him now, he'd be pushing

deep inside me and my clit would be hitting his bely with

every thrust. My cunt clenched as I watched, my clit hard

and begging for more than the press of my panties against

it. But I didn't touch myself. My fingers gripped the

concrete, the pebbly surface biting into my fingertips and

keeping me centered. Reminding me I was not in any place

where I could risk shoving a hand down my pants and

jiling off. I was risking enough standing here and watching.

My body might crave the same sort of release Eric was

giving himself, but my brain wouldn't alow me to act on it.

Later, I promised myself grimly as sweat lined my hairline

and trickled down my spine, tickling like a tongue. Just a

few more minutes and he'd be done, and I'd go home and

finish this.

I licked salt from my upper lip and imagined it as the taste

of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my

thigh muscles. God, it felt so good I did it again. And

again.

I watched him as he came, jetting his desire al over his

flat, taut bely, and I came, too, without ever having

touched myself. I coughed on the moist river breeze and

scent of exhaust as pleasure ripped through me. My pussy

spasmed, but I held stil and quiet as the door from the

stairs opened and a laughing couple came out and headed

for their car.

I couldn't duck and couldn't hide, so I pretended to be

talking on my cel phone, leaning casualy against the hood

of a car I didn't own. Orgasm stil rippled through me as I

lifted a hand to wave in response to their casual greeting,

and I thanked the gods of kink I hadn't given in to ful-out

wanking in public.

They didn't even look toward the Manor, but I did. Eric

had falen back into his pilows, his chest rising and faling

and a hand flung over his eyes. I'd already put his number

in my phone, and now I entered a rapid text message.

Very nice.

Half a minute later his head turned toward the nightstand,

and he roled to his side to flip open his phone. He read

the message and looked at the window. He got off the bed

and stood at the window for a few seconds, his hand on

the curtain.

I thought he mouthed "thank you," but then he puled the

curtain before I could be sure.

Chapter 22

It had begun.

I'd thought I'd known what it was to crave the discipline of

an anonymous master who understood just what I needed

and how to give it to me. With one short letter, one shorter

text message, I'd become Pink Floyd. Dark side of the

moon. I'd ventured into the unknown.

But was it, realy?

In al my life, what had I craved more than anything?

Control. Of my life, of my emotions. Of whatever situation

I'd found myself in. The need for it was a weight I'd known

a long time without acknowledging. It had been a huge

part of the reason my marriage had ended, and even

admitting it hadn't done much to change me.

Giving up some smal measure of that control had been a

relief. It had lifted the weight for a little while. Made it a

little easier to bear, anyway. Because in the end, what had

I learned but that I didn't want to give it up. I only wanted

to learn how to use it, that desire.

After watching Eric make himself come, I went straight to

my apartment. I sat at my table, desire an unrelenting ache

in my bely. I opened the lid of my satin box and puled out

a sheet of the fine paper. I let it slide through my fingers. I

put it to my face and smeled it, that inexplicably delightful

scent of fresh paper.

Miriam had been right about my need for this paper, how

if I bought it I'd find something important to write on it.

She'd been right, too, about the pen. The writing

instrument, I reminded myself with a smile. I wasn't a

surgeon or even an artist, but that pen was perfect for this.

Its weight shifted just right in my fingers as I put it to the

paper. The ink scroled every stroke without blots or skids

or spots left blank. Now I only had to find the perfect

words to write.

I knew I should do what my high school English teacher

had caled a "sloppy copy." None of the letters that had

passed through me first had contained scratch-outs or

misspelings. They hadn't exactly been poetry, but they had

been neat and clean. My pen hovered over the paper as I

thought of what I needed and wanted to say.

I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of

responsibility had pushed back even my arousal. I'd

actualy bitten down on my lower lip hard enough to sting

as I thought.

I put down the pen and pushed back in my chair. I got up

and poured myself a glass of orange juice that I sipped as I

leaned against my counter and stared at the paper and pen

on the table.

One thing I knew that Eric's previous unseen mistress had

never seemed to grasp. He had a sense of humor about al

this. It might also satisfy him sexualy, and he might crave

the hand of command as much as I briefly had, but in the

end, he was no leather-masked pussy boy slavering to lick

a woman's boots. He was not a cliché, and I couldn't

make this one. I wouldn't. It was already more than that,

to me, and had been from the first moment I'd taken the

words meant for him as my own.

Juice finished, I paced. The first note had been easy,

written on a whim. The second hadn't been much harder.

Now, though, now…I wanted so much for it to be perfect

I was paralyzing myself. In the end, I thought of his sense

of humor and the list he'd written. I took my pen, and I put

it to the paper.

Have tacos for dinner.

"Paige!"

I'm not the blushing sort, but heat flooded me when I

turned and saw Eric waving at me from the elevator. I

paused at the Manor's big glass front doors to hold one

open for him, and he folowed me out into the spring-

breezy morning. "Hi, Eric."

"Going for a jog?" He wore black track pants and a tight

black T-shirt that showed off his biceps.

I looked down at my sneakers and workout clothes, then

up at him with a grin. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

"I guessed wrong?" He put a hand over his heart and

staggered a step. "Don't tel me you're going to the

Embassy Bal."

"Nope. But I don't jog. I can manage a fast walk, though,

if you're up for it."

"Fast walk it is," he said agreeably.

"I don't want to hold you back." I faked adjusting the tie at my waist to give my hands something to do while I

watched his reaction.

He didn't give me much of one, just a shrug and an easy

smile that lit his dark eyes. "Nah. I used to run a lot, but it's hard on the knees. A fast walk can give you a good

workout too without being so tough on the joints. I see a

lot of injuries from people pushing too hard. I don't want

that to be me."

We crossed Front Street to the sidewalk just beyond. The

Susquehanna River was running high with the last of the

winter's melt and a few days of rain. It sweled, greenish

brown, high up the concrete steps that had been set into

the bank. Halfway across on City Island, I saw the bright

red-and-white stripes of the bathhouse awnings at the

public swimming beach. I'd dip a foot in that water.

Maybe. But there was no way I'd ever swim in it.

"Left or right?" Eric said as he stretched one long leg, then the other.

Left would take us toward downtown and eventualy, the

highway, but we could walk down along the river if we

wanted instead of up here. Right would take us past

residential neighborhoods and the line of mansions that had

once been private homes but now mostly housed offices.

Oh, and the Governor's Mansion, which for some reason

never failed to fascinate me. I guess it was because such

an important building seemed out of place right out there in

the open, where anyone could stand in front of the fence

and look in. I felt the same way about the White House the

one time I'd been to D.C.

"Right." I nodded that way and watched him stretch. I

made an effort at doing the same, but since I never

stretched before any workout, it was half-assed.

Eric eyed me with a grin but made no comment. "Ready?"

"Sure."

There had been a heyday of walking when I was around

eight or nine. We'd been living in a cluster of trailers, too

few to realy be caled a park, with my mother's then

boyfriend, Bob. My mom had been laid off from her job in

the packing department at the Hershey factory, and for the

first time I could ever remember she'd formed a group of

girlfriends who did the sorts of things moms did on

television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

trips to the mal where they walked and shopped but

hardly ever bought anything. Though my mom had never

carried an extra pound and wouldn't until after she had

Arty, they'd formed a group to walk around the

neighborhood to help get in shape. It was more an excuse

to get away from us ever-present kids as they gossiped,

but I'd often watched them from the concrete front porch

as they passed by on their rounds and wondered what

made them laugh so loud.

There was no laughing as Eric and I walked. I'd set the

initial pace, but his legs were much longer and we ended

up walking faster than I usualy did. Pride kept me from

asking him to slow, and I didn't have breath left for chatter.

We passed office buildings and finaly, Green Street,

where Harrisburg went from city to neighborhood most

drasticaly. We passed bikes and other joggers, most

heading the opposite direction. I was glad for the pace that

made talk impossible. Eric didn't seem the chatty type,

anyway. Arms swinging, he didn't walk so much as lope

along the sidewalk.

Somehow I didn't care about the sweat ringing my armpits

or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

makeup either, and no woman looks her best in

sweatpants. With any other man I'd have been cataloging

my flaws and wishing I'd at least swiped my lips with gloss,

but with Eric it simply didn't matter.

Because I knew he had made himself come at my com

mand, and it didn't matter what I looked like or wore. I

had power over him. He didn't know it, but I did.

It took a lot of the pressure off in a major way. I didn't

have to worry if he liked me or what he was thinking. I

could find out any time I wanted, just by writing him a

note. And if I decided I didn't like him, this never had to

go beyond a walk along the river.

"How far do you want to go?" His question came close on

my thoughts, startling me.

I looked at my watch, calculating the distance we'd gone

and how long it would take to get back. I was going to my

dad's supposedly to watch the boys while he and Stela

went to some charity fund-raiser, though I knew my real

task was to figure out what burr had gotten into Jeremy's

britches. Stil, it was only lunchtime. The sky had stil been

slightly overcast when we left, but now the sun had come

out. The first realy good weather of the spring. I didn't

want to waste it.

"Another half a mile." I swiped the back of my hand across my face. "And I need to stop for a drink, too."

"Fair enough."

We walked on, slowing. The sidewalk ended just ahead as

the bank fel off much harder down to the river. Across the

street were a couple of restaurants.

"Let's stop at Taco Bel," I said suddenly, unable to resist.

Eric gave me a quick glance, but though I sought a smile or

some sign he was thinking about the last note I'd left, I saw

nothing to give it away. He nodded, though, and when

there was a break in the traffic, we headed across to walk

on the other side of the street.

The pause had slowed us both, so by the time we crossed

the parking lot to the restaurant I was cooling down. The

sun, so fiercely bright, had gone behind some clouds again,

and the wind off the river whipped us. It felt good, though,

drying my sweaty face. Eric held the door open for me.

Once again, the gesture from anyone else wouldn't have

given me a second thought, but I wondered if he'd done it

to be polite or from some other, secret need.

I was going to drive myself nuts thinking of this stuff, so I

shoved it aside as best I could and concentrated on the

menu board. It had been so long since I'd been to Taco

Bel they'd added a whole list of new items. I'd practicaly

lived off fast food for years because it was cheap, but

nothing up there realy looked appealing even when I

figured in the fact I'd walked al the way here and would

walk back.

"Go ahead," Eric offered.

I ordered a large diet cola and there was a moment of

awkwardness when he insisted on paying and I tried to

stop him but ended up conceding with a laugh. It was nice,

that gesture. I hadn't expected it.

"A soda's not going to break me, Paige." Eric flipped a

twenty at the cashier, who stared at it suspiciously and did

some strange things to it with a marker.

"Thank you, anyway." I took the drink, which I hadn't

realized was going to contain enough soda to fil a

fishbowl. The sweetness and carbonation hit the back of

my throat in a bubbly, fizzy splash of utter joy.

Folowing me to a table toward the front, Eric laughed at

my sound of delight. "That's the sigh of a true addict."

I lifted the humongous cup. "Is it that obvious?"

He waited for me to sit before he did. Pleasure, not

exactly sexual, purred through me. I could definitely get

used to this. He set his tray on the table and took the seat

across from me. Our knees bumped.

"Only to a former caffeine addict." He unwrapped his taco

and spread out the paper with his fingertips. "You sure you

don't want anything to eat?"

"I'm sure." The greasy meat and cheese might look good

but I knew I'd pay for it later. My stomach couldn't handle

that sort of junk anymore. I had the notes to thank for that.

Eric contemplated the taco. "I love tacos. They're life's

perfect food."

I laughed and sipped my drink. "If you say so."

"You don't like tacos?" he asked, stil not biting into his food.

"Oh, I love Mexican food. Just not from Taco Bel."

"So why did you want to stop here?" He pushed some

stray lettuce into the taco shel.

I was caught, though he couldn't know it. "I like the extra-

huge drinks."

Eric nodded as though what I'd said made sense. I

excused myself to use the restroom. I wasn't eating

anything, but I stil wanted to wash my hands and face

after the walk. My phone vibrated from my pocket and I

puled it out to find an unexpected picture text message.

A taco.

No message, just the photo, but I knew it at once as the

one in front of Eric. I fel back to lean against the stal's

metal wal, my phone clutched to my heart. I wanted to

dance. I wanted to laugh. Then I washed my hands quickly

and patted my face with a wet paper towel. I hesitated

only a minute before typing a reply. Fast food wil rot your

guts. Next time when I give you a reward, I expect you to

treat yourself to something worthwhile.

The words felt stilted without my paper and pen and the

luxury of time. Standing in a public bathroom that reeked

of disinfectant, it was hard to conjure up an image of

myself as a wickedly commanding mistress. Yet there was

no denying the thril rippling through me when I hit the send

button.

Eric had finished his taco by the time I got back. If he

thought anything of how long it had taken me, he didn't

mention it. He baled up his wrapper and tossed al the

trash as I picked up my cup.

"We could start back," I said just as his phone erupted in a jangle.

"Excuse me," he said and waited the bare half second for

me to nod my assent. He flipped open the phone and his

eyes scanned the message. He smiled and tucked it back

into his pocket. "Ready?"

"Can we go back a little slower?" I lifted my cup.

"Sure." Eric roled his head on his neck then patted his

stomach with a grin. "If you want."

The darkening sky and sudden chil breeze kept us from

dawdling, but the conversation made the time pass just as

fast as if we'd been running. I forgot for a moment or two,

listening, that I was deceiving him and that I knew his

secrets. Eric had a great sense of humor and was smart.

God, was he smart, but not in the way that made me feel

stupid. He talked about a lot of subjects, always leaving

room for me to comment. And he listened, realy listened

to my answers. By the time we got back to the Manor the

first drops of cold spring rain were spattering, and I was

half in love with him.

"I need to go in," I said at the front door. "Thanks for the soda."

"I'm going to head down the other direction. Get another

mile or so in. It's my day off," Eric explained. "I need

something to work off some of the stress, you know?"

I could help him with that, but I couldn't exactly say so.

"Sure. See you around."

He waved and left me at the door. Upstairs in my

apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and ran the

shower, where I scrubbed away the sweat and thought

about Eric. I had the unfair advantage, no doubt about it. I

tipped my face into the spray, thinking of his smile and

laugh, and then the stroke of his fist on his cock. I knew

things I had no right to know.

I couldn't decide if I liked him better because I knew, and

I had no way to tel. I'd noticed him before I found out.

Maybe that meant it was fate. Or coincidence. Or stupid,

dumb luck. Maybe if I hadn't put two and two together I'd

have already forgotten about him. Or at least fucked him.

But I hadn't done either of those things, so I did this,

instead.

Your time is no longer your own. Every minute belongs

to me. No matter what else you're doing, I expect your

thoughts to be of how your actions would please or

displease me. To this end, I expect a full accounting of

your evening from 6:00 p.m. until midnight. Hourly,

you will text your whereabouts to me and your

activities of the past hour.

Chapter 23

"You have our numbers, right?" Stela was running late, as usual.

"Yep."

I'd arrived on time with a handful of gossip magazines I'd

picked up to get me through an evening of watching the

Cartoon Network or listening to Tyler's commentary on

his latest video game. My dad had promised me dinner but

that meant a couple of frozen pizzas already heading

toward burned in the oven.

She hopped on one foot to slide the strap of her shoe

higher on her heel while she fumbled with an earring at the

same time. The woman was incredibly coordinated. She

got both ends of her situated and put her foot down, then

looked at me. "Have you lost weight?"

I looked at myself. "I guess so. Some."

Stela did a slow circle around me, staring. "You look

good. That skirt is nice. Ann Taylor?"

Leave it to Stela to look at my ass and see a brand name.

She didn't need to know I bought it at the Salvation Army.

"Yes."

"Nice. I have a great bag that would go with those shoes,

too. Let me go grab it."

"Stela," my dad broke in. "We're going to be late."

Stela fixed him with a look that put him in his place.

"Vince, realy. It's ten minutes away. Let me just run up

and grab the bag for Paige."

My dad folowed her with a fond look as she ran up the

stairs. He always looked at her that way, as though he was

granting her every wish and it made him happy to do it. It

probably did. I sometimes wondered if he'd ever looked at

my mom that way.

"Where are the boys?" I asked him.

He waved a hand toward the den. "In there, somewhere."

"Have a good time," I told him just as Stela reappeared

with a truly monstrous purse.

She handed it to me with a beaming smile. "Here. Won't

they match just perfectly?"

I looked at my pointy-toed boots and then at the bag.

They were both black but that was where any matching I

saw ended. The bag sported several huge gold buckles,

and the straps had been braided with gold lamé. Tassels

dangled. That purse had more bling than Flava Flav's

mouth.

I thanked her anyway, but she held the purse back when I

reached for it. Stela shook her head slowly and eyed me.

She put the bag on the kitchen table.

"No. You know, that's not realy for you, after al. It's not

realy your style, is it, Paige?"

I was too surprised that she thought I had a style to

disagree even for politeness. "No. Not realy."

"Stela. Time." My dad tapped his watch.

She sighed. "Oh, wel. I thought it would look so cute with

those boots, but honestly, Paige, you've got a much…

cleaner…style. Now."

It wasn't the cleanest of compliments, but I smiled anyway.

"You'd better get going."

In a cloud of perfume and the jingle of jewelry, she finaly

alowed him to pul her away. I walked them to the front

door and closed it after them, but it took me until I

reached the kitchen again to realize something. Even a few

months ago, Stela's compliment would have had me

buzzing with resentful gratitude. Now…it wasn't that I

didn't care. It was more that it didn't matter.

My phone buzzed against my thigh and I puled it out with

a smile.

Just showered. Am eating a turkey sandwich. Have a

video to watch. I'm alone on a Saturday night.

He might be expecting an answer, but that wasn't part of

the plan, so I put my phone back in my pocket and turned

my attention to my own dinner.

"Paige!" Tyler bounced into view as I opened the oven and

puled out the pizza, cheese overbrowned. "Guess what!"

I set the pizza on the special marble trivets Stela had

ordered from Italy when they redid their kitchen. "What."

"I got al the way up to level seventeen on Windago

Diamond! C'mon, come and see!" Tyler tugged at my

hand stil covered in the hot mitt.

"Give me a minute, Ty." Together we studied the pizza.

He made a face. "Do we have to eat that?"

"I thought you loved pizza."

He leaned forward. "But it's gross."

"Yeah. Sorry, kiddo, it's what your mom left."

He sighed and leaned on the counter. "Can I have peanut

butter and jely?"

Wow. If the kid was giving up pizza in favor of PB & J

that was pretty bad. "What if I take you guys out? Want to

go to Jungle Java or someplace?"

They had pizza there, overpriced and not much better than

the one Stela had left. At least it wouldn't be burned. And

yeah, it was a little selfish of me. If the boys were running

rampant through the playground or in the arcade I could sit

and read my magazines in as much peace as the constant

noise would alow me.

"Yesss!" Tyler pumped his fist in the air. "Jeremy, c'mon, let's go! Paige is going to take us to Jungle Java!"

One young boy shouldn't have made so much noise, but he

was going to be tal like our dad, and his feet were already

bigger than mine. Tyler thundered into the den with me at

his heels. We found Jeremy sulenly thumbing the controls

of the game hooked up to the big-screen TV in the corner.

He didn't even glance up when Tyler bounded down the

two steps to the sunken room and flew onto the couch to

bounce his brother.

"Get off, retard!" Jeremy shoved Tyler hard enough to rol

him onto the floor.

"Hey!" I shouted before either of them had the chance to

get into it. "Shut up, both of you. Cut it out, or you can

stay here and eat your mom's shitty pizza."

Two pairs of wide eyes looked at me. I knew it was the

language, but it had worked at getting their attention. I

gestured at the TV.

"Turn that off and get your shoes on. Let's go."

"Jungle Java blows," Jeremy muttered as he pushed past

me.

I caught him by the elbow. He stopped, refusing to meet

my eyes. He stood almost as tal as me, but he didn't pul

away.

"They have a whole new arcade section." Normaly his

attitude would have tempted me to tel him to get over

himself. Whatever was bugging Jeremy had spiled beyond

his parents and was slopping onto me, but I thought of

what I'd been like at twelve and gave him a break.

He shrugged and wouldn't give me his face while his

brother rocketed past us blabbing a mile a minute about

what he was going to play and how his friend from school

had spent his tickets on a realy cool neon light for his

room, and…and…and…

"Can it, shorty. Get in the car." I watched them both head out the front door, Tyler stil blabbing and Jeremy

maintaining his unusual silence.

Once we got to Jungle Java, I had to physicaly restrain

Tyler from running across the parking lot. "Dude. Chil.

There are cars here."

He lunged like a racehorse trying to get out of the gate.

"Hurry up, Paige! God!"

"God," I mimicked him, but moved them both inside where I forked over twenty bucks in tokens for each of

them and ordered a large pizza and soft drinks.

"Wow, Paige. You're the best!" Tyler goggled at the

tokens in the special plastic holder that clipped to his belt.

Jeremy took his without comment, but held back until I'd

let his brother loose in the arcade. "Thanks."

Forty bucks wasn't anything for me to sneeze at, but I'd

thought to them it would be chump change. Their gratitude

surprised me. "You're welcome. Go have fun. I'l be right

here."

Jeremy nodded and stalked off toward the arcade. Jungle

Java was reputedly adding a laser-tag section to the rear,

but so far nothing had started. For a little place that had

started off serving coffee and hosting an indoor playground

for toddlers, it had realy grown. I'd taken the boys here a

couple times when they were younger. It was hard to

believe Jeremy would start middle school in the fal. It was

hard to believe a lot of things time had changed.

My phone rang and my heart leaped, but it wasn't the next

text from Eric. I'd set my phone to vibrate for texts, and it

wasn't yet time. I took the cal anyway.

"Austin."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I have caler ID, dork."

He laughed. "So that means I'm in your address book,

huh?"

I didn't want to admit it.

"Paige? Do you have me in your phone?"

"Yes, but only because you keep caling me al the time."

Around me harried mothers squawked at their kids and I

cupped a hand over the mouthpiece.

"Where are you?"

I sighed. "Jungle Java."

"You got Arty?"

"No. Jeremy and Tyler."

Austin was silent for a few seconds. "Can I come over?"

A screaming child ran by me with his mother in hot pursuit.

The clerk brought the pizza to my table and I craned my

neck to motion for my brothers to come and get their food

before it got cold. Both of them saw me but ignored me.

"Little bastards."

"Huh?"

I'd heard what he said, but pretended I hadn't. "Austin, I

have to go."

"You haven't returned any of my messages." Austin didn't

sound pissed off, but I went immediately on the defensive.

Some tunes just don't change, you know?

"Sorry. I didn't know I was beholden to you."

"Paige, you're not. I'm just saying…I thought maybe we

were past some shit. Christ. Why do you have to beat me

up?"

"You caled me," I pointed out. "What do you want?"

"What do I always want when I cal you?"

"I'm busy," I said flatly.

He didn't take offense at that, either. "I can be there in,

like, ten minutes."

"In ten minutes the pizza wil be al gone and the boys wil

have burned through their tokens."

"Seven minutes."

"Austin…" I sighed and gestured again, standing to make

sure Jeremy and Tyler couldn't ignore me again. "Why?"

"See you."

He hung up before I could say anything else, but then my

phone gave its tel-tale buzz and I puled it from my pocket

to read the next update.

Halfway through The Life of Brian. Thinking of ice cream.

Again, I didn't reply.

Just the fact he was obeying me had my mind whirling with

al sorts of possibilities. Distracted, I was too busy handing

out soggy pizza and supervising refiling drinks to think

about Austin. It wouldn't be the first time my high school

boyfriend turned ex-husband had promised to meet me

someplace and didn't show. So when I saw a familiar

wheat-gold head moving toward me through the crowd, al

I could do was sit back in my seat with half a slice of pizza

oozing grease al over my fingers.

"Austin!" Jeremy's face lit for a few seconds before he

remembered he was supposed to be furious with the

world. He slumped down and raised a limp hand. "Hey,

man."

"Hey." Austin gave Jeremy the same languid greeting but

slid into the booth next to Tyler. "Shove over, kid. Give

me a slice of that pizza."

Tyler had been in the middle of a long description about

the games he'd already played and the tickets he'd earned.

With fresh ears to bombard, he turned to Austin as though

he'd last seen him yesterday instead of more than three

years ago. I shook my head and laughed as I finished my

slice. Tyler had been just a bit older than Arty when Austin

and I split up, and even while we were together, my dad's

boys hadn't spent much time with us. Yet both of them had

gravitated toward him the same way Arty did. Austin, an

only child, had been a good big brother.

I rarely spent time regretting our divorce, but watching

Austin with the boys guilt flashed over me. There were

other women to replace me, but his relationship with my

younger half siblings had been taken from him, too. His

glance caught me looking, but I didn't look away.

When the boys went back to the arcade, Austin convinced

me to put away my magazines and join him in playing

Skee-Bal. He was better than me, racking up the points

while tickets flooded from the slot. I didn't get as many

points, but I had fun trying. When I tossed my last wooden

bal and managed to get it in the ten-point hole, I turned

with a whoop to find him staring at me.

"What?" I said, self-conscious about pizza-sauce stains on my face.

"What's going on with you?"

My phone buzzed and I took it out. "Nothing," I said as I

flipped it open to read the message.

Done with the movie. Ate ice cream. Considering reading

but not sure what. Thinking of getting into bed. So far,

very dul night. Sorry.

I pushed my phone deep into my pocket and bent to tear

off my tickets. "It's getting late. I need to get the boys

home. Let's go cash these in."

Austin stopped me with a hand on my elbow. "Paige."

Around us the noise level never fel below earsplitting, but

I heard him clearly. I raised an eyebrow and looked at his

hand. He took it away.

"Can we talk?"

I searched the crowd for the boys. "It's late, Austin. I

should have the boys back before my dad and Stela get

home. I didn't leave a note or anything and they'l be

worried."

"I could come with you."

I'd been half turned from him, but now I gave him my ful

attention. "To my dad's house? Are you nuts?"

For a man who'd been underinvolved in my life, my dad

had been furious with Austin when he'd learned we were

splitting. A lot of that was because of me. I hadn't told my

dad the whole story. Hadn't told anyone, realy, just let

them make their own assumptions. My mom was the only

one who'd seen through my silence and guessed the truth.

Not that I felt judged by it. She'd never mentioned it. I just

knew she knew.

"Your old man stil got it in for me?"

"He's not a fan. Jeremy! Tyler! Let's go!"

Tyler ran toward me with his tickets trailing behind him

from his hand. Jeremy folowed with his fisted tight. Before

they could say a word I tore my string of tickets in half and

handed each a section.

"Go get your prizes and shake your moneymakers. I have

to get you home before your mom and dad."

"Here. Take these, too." Austin gave them each half of his tickets, too.

They knew a good thing when they had it and ran off

before I could change my mind. I turned to Austin. "You

didn't have to do that."

"What am I going to do with a bunch of junky prizes?" He

shrugged. "They're kids."

"It was nice." I sounded grudging, and he shot me a grin.

"I can be nice." I roled my eyes. "Goodbye, Austin."

"I can't come with?"

"To my dad's house, no." I held up a hand. "And no, not later, either."

His glance fel to my pocket. "You have a boyfriend now,

or what?"

Nothing happened to the noise around us, but silence stil

fel over me. I opened my mouth to reply. Nothing came

out. I tried to think of what to say, but my mind stayed

blank.

"You can tel me if you do." Austin's eyes didn't make me

believe his words.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Austin. Jesus. Is it any of your

business?"

I'd always been able to turn around his accusations, but he

wasn't having it this time. His blue-eyed gaze pinned me in

place as easily as his hands on my wrists had done more

than once. He shrugged.

"Or is it just another fuck buddy?" He paused, slim golden brows furrowing.

"No," I said coldly. "And watch your mouth. There are kids around."

Austin's gaze traveled up and down my body before

settling on my face. I couldn't tel from his expression what

he thought. I didn't have to guess, though, because he told

me.

"You've changed, Paige. A lot."

"People change."

He leveled me with a steady look. "Yeah. They do."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Chapter 24

"Austin!"

Heads turned. He stopped. He waited until I caught up to

him, which was more than I'd expected. Maybe more than

I deserved.

"Why do you care?"

It wasn't the question I meant to ask, but I wasn't realy

sure what I'd meant to ask. I clamped my mouth shut on

other words, softer ones. I bit my tongue until I tasted

blood.

"Why don't you?"

"I care," I said in a low voice, conscious we were

surrounded by a hundred pairs of eyes.

"Paige! Can I go play—"

I cut Tyler off by jamming my hand into my pocket and

puling out a palmful of coins. "Go. You and Jeremy go.

Don't leave this building."

"Wow." Tyler took the coins from my hand and looked

from me to Austin. "Thanks, Paige!"

"You're good to them," Austin said when Tyler had gone.

"That's me. Sister of the year." I led the way out the glass front doors to the concrete outside. I wished for a coat,

though my chil came from deep inside and not even an

Eskimo parka would have helped.

We stared at each other until I looked away.

"What do you want from me?"

There wasn't anything wrong with Austin's question, but it

made my stomach twist and turn. "I don't want anything

from you. That's the point. Isn't it?"

"Jesus, Paige!" The doors opened and a mother holding

two kids by the hand pushed her way through. Austin

stepped aside to let her pass and we waited until she'd

halfway crossed the parking lot before he spoke again.

"Why not? Why the fuck not?"

"I don't know!" Again, not what I thought I meant to say

but once the words came out I had no others.

He stepped closer to me. Taler. Broader. I couldn't

decide if I was intimidated or turned on.

"What wil it take to convince you I'm different?"

"What wil it take to convince you I'm not?"

We weren't shouting, but my throat hurt as much as if I'd

screamed. Austin's face worked. He stepped closer stil.

"What do you want? Do you want me to jump through

hoops? Is that it? Is that what you want?" He studied my

face and must have seen something in it, because al at

once his shoulders slumped. "What kind of man does

that?"

Helplessly, I thought of Eric and the mingled heat of

shame, fury and desire mingled with despair. "Some men

would."

Austin tossed his hands in the air and made a noise that

had a depth of meaning, even without words. This time,

when he walked away, I watched him go and I didn't cal

him back.

The car ride back to my dad's was quieter, thank God, as

Tyler wound down. We made it home to a message on the

answering machine teling us they'd be home later than

expected. I sent Tyler upstairs to brush his teeth and get

into bed, but I held Jeremy back. It was proof of how

much Tyler was worn out that he barely argued.

"Sit." I pointed at one of the bar stools pushed up against the kitchen island. "Want a soda?"

"I'm not supposed to."

I'd already puled out two from the fridge and pushed one

toward him. "Yeah, yeah, save the innocent act for your

mother."

We both cracked the tops of our cans. From upstairs

came the rush of water and some thudding footsteps, then

some singing. I laughed. Jeremy roled his eyes.

"So," I said after I took a long swig. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing."

I understood sulen. "Dad says you've been giving him and

Stela a hard time. And that you even got into trouble at

school. What's up, dude?"

"Did Dad tel you to interrogate me?" Jeremy sneered and

didn't even open his soda.

"Ooh. Mr. Vocabulary."

He scowled and hunched over the island. "Why can't he

just leave me alone?"

"Because he's your dad."

Jeremy had the same color eyes as my dad. As me. Blue

edged with gray. Now they'd gone dark with his anger.

"He's your dad, too!"

Of al the things he could have said, I wasn't expecting

something like that. "Yeah. So?"

He shrugged violently and hunched forward again. I leaned

on the island across from him and waited. Jeremy had

used to be a lot like Tyler, mouth going a mile a minute. I

could wait him out.

"Don't you ever…hate him?"

He'd voiced his question so low I almost missed it, but I

didn't lean closer to hear better. I pushed back, instead,

stunned at the vehemence in his tone. "Hate Dad?"

Jeremy lifted watery eyes to me. "Yeah. Don't you?"

I had absolutely no idea what any of this was about, but I

kept my voice gentle. "Why, Jeremy? Do you?"

He ducked his head again. Twelve was tough. Not a kid

anymore, not a teen. I'd given my mom her first gray hairs

when I was twelve.

"He always tels us family is so important." He spat the last word and I heard the snurfle of snot.

I grabbed a couple tissues from the box on the counter

behind me and passed them over. Jeremy grabbed them

and tucked them against his face, stil bent into the circle of

his arms. I drank some soda while I thought of what to

say.

"Family is important," was al I could come up with.

Jeremy looked at me again, though his tears had to be

embarrassing. "He was married before my mom."

"Yeah. I know. To Gretchen and Steven's mom. But that

was before you were born, guy."

"But not," Jeremy said in a voice laced thick with disgust,

"before you were born."

He'd only just now figured it al out. Wel, I'd known it

younger than twelve and it hadn't made it any easier for me

to know my father had been married to another woman

when he had me. I was three before my dad realy started

making an effort to see me, his first marriage already over.

He was dating Stela by then. I never realy knew him with

anyone else.

"My mom…" Jeremy shuddered and swiped at angry

tears. "She's the reason he got divorced from Gretchen

and Steve's mom. Isn't she?"

"I don't know, Jeremy. I never asked. It's not my business.

And, realy, not yours." I didn't want to come off hard on

him. I understood. But I also knew it wouldn't change

anything for him to be angry over it.

"If family is so important, why did he do that?"

I sighed, at a loss. "I don't know."

Jeremy scrubbed at his face, the tears gone. His bright

eyes were shaped like Stela's though they were my dad's

color, and he looked like her when he frowned that way.

"He cheated on his first wife and had another baby, and

then he did it again!

That's not putting family first. That's not treating them like

they're important!"

Of al my dad's kids I'd thought Gretchen or Steven might

have had the most to bitch about. After al, their lives had

been turned upside down and torn apart by their dad's

infidelity. Mine hadn't been al strawberries and cream, but

it had been al I'd ever known. Jeremy and Tyler had lived

the lives of princes from birth.

"What are you worried about?" I asked him quietly. "That he'l do it again?"

He didn't have to answer with words. I reached across the

island and took my half brother's hand. In my pocket, my

phone buzzed, but I didn't reach for it.

"Your dad loves you. And he loves your mom. Crazy

like."

Jeremy let me hold his hand but didn't squeeze my fingers

in return. "Did he love your mom, Paige?"

I let go of his hand. "I don't know. That's between them."

"And it doesn't make you mad?"

I shrugged. "It used to, I guess. But what can I do about

it? I'm a grown-up now, kiddo. I have to do my own thing.

At least I know my dad, you know? Some kids never do."

He nodded finaly and wiped at his face again with the

grimy, shredded tissue. "It makes me so mad, though."

"It's okay to be mad. Maybe you should talk to him about

it, though, instead of being bad in school."

Jeremy looked stricken. "He'd tel Mom that I know!"

I didn't point out that it wasn't just our dad who'd done

wrong. Stela had known what she was doing, or at least

I'd always assumed so since she wasn't a woman who

ever did anything by accident. I just patted his hands and

washed my own before I finished my soda.

The sound of the garage door opening had us both on our

feet. Jeremy hopped up the stairs without a word from me,

while I dumped his can in the sink and stashed the can in

the recycling bin. By the time my dad and Stela got in the

house, silence reigned from upstairs and I was flipping

through a back issue of some home-and-garden magazine.

"How did it go?" Stela bustled into the kitchen and stuck

an aluminum swan in the fridge. "You got our message?

The fund-raiser had only the tiniest hors d'oeuvres and we

were starving, and since you were here, wel, we just

decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner out."

"No problem. I took them to Jungle Java."

Stela raised a brow. "That junky place?"

My dad had come in behind her and let out a long, loud

belch. "What junky place?"

Stela roled her eyes. "Paige took the boys to Jungle

Java."

"Yeah?" He looked at the clock and yawned. "That place is stil around?"

I got the not-so-subtle hint. "Yeah. They're upstairs, but

I'm not sure if they're asleep."

Stela sighed. "Did they bring home a bunch of junk?"

I grinned unapologeticaly. "Absolutely."

She gave me a second glance, then a smal smile. "I'm

going up to say good-night. Are you leaving, Paige?"

"Yeah." I glanced at my dad, who was rooting around in

the fridge for something.

"Vince! We just ate!"

"I need a drink," he said and came out holding a bottle of designer water.

"Fine. Good night, Paige. Thanks for watching the boys."

"No problem."

My dad and I turned to watch her head up the steps. I

thought he'd ask me about Jeremy since that was the

whole reason I'd come over in the first place, but he didn't.

He drank his water with a sigh and tossed the empty bottle

in the trash. Then he puled out his walet and handed me a

fifty-dolar bil.

"For watching the kids," he said.

The paper, crisp and sharp edged, rubbed my fingers.

"Dad, I don't need this."

"Jungle Java isn't cheap."

"I wanted to take them."

"Take the money, Paige," my dad said amiably enough.

"I'm sure you can use it."

I straightened my shoulders and folded the bil in half, then

shoved it in my pocket. "You don't have to pay me for

watching the boys. I'm doing al right."

My dad laughed. "I'm sure you are. I'm not paying you for

anything, I'm just being your dad, okay?"

"Wel, then. Thanks." Gratitude stuck in my throat but I

forced it out.

My dad had periodicaly tossed me some money over the

years. Never enough. Never when I needed it. It would

have been better if he'd done right by my mom and given

her child support so I could've had the stylish jeans in

middle school or the warmer winter coat. I'd have

appreciated that more than the occasional twenty or even

fifty dolars, or the sudden flurry of birthday gifts three

weeks late and al in the wrong sizes.

"Do you want to go to lunch with me next week?" He

yawned again, and I started toward the front door.

"Sure, Dad. Cal me."

"I wil," he told me at the door and gave me a hug and a

kiss on the cheek. "Drive safe."

It was so fatherly it felt foreign. Driving home, my phone

vibrated against my leg again, but I didn't pul it out until I

got to the parking garage. Two messages waited for me.

In bed. Not tired. What should I cal you?

And the second, Stil not sleeping.

I hadn't forgotten how I'd looked forward to every note.

I'd imagined the sender, my secret commander, crafting

each word with the intent of forcing me one more step

along a path so curved I couldn't see the end. I'd never

thought about how difficult it would be to come up with

detailed lists every time, or how it felt to hold someone so

firmly in my command.

There were limits. There had to be. I'm sure I'd have found

them had the notes kept coming, pushing me harder, or if

they'd ordered me to do something so foreign to me I

couldn't manage it. I didn't think I'd have committed a

crime or done something against my personal code, like

have bareback sex with a stranger, or taken drugs.

I didn't know Eric's limits, or how far I wanted to push

him, but the thought sifted heat al through me. I thought for

another few moments, then got out of my car. It wasn't

terribly late, not for a Saturday, but the parking garage

was quiet. Across the street I could see a few lights on in

apartments, though many windows were dark. Most of the

Manor residents would be out and about until much later.

By the time I got to the front doors, I was already tapping

out a message. Grinning, I tucked my phone, set to silent,

back in my pocket. It was a risk that might not play out the

way I'd planned, but it was a good risk.

If you're not sleeping, you should put your time to good

use. Go to the lobby. Greet the first person you see. If it's

a man, you wil engage him in whatever conversation you

want. But if it's a woman, you wil find a way to serve her.

Not to please her, and not to please yourself. To please

me.

It was a lot of typing, but the fact it took longer meant he

had to wait longer for it. I was already in the lobby, which

was stil empty. Al I had to do was wait.

I caught sight of my face in the mirror above the fireplace

nobody ever lit. Blond hair slicked back in a high ponytail,

blue eyes smudged with gray liner. The sun had brought

out some freckles and my lips stil could've used some

gloss, but overal, it wasn't a bad picture.

I turned my face from side to side, envisioning heavier

makeup and a leather suit replacing my workout clothes. A

whip in my hand. Spike-heeled boots. None of that

appealed to me any more than being on my knees with my

hands tied had ever turned me on. I swiped a hand over

my hair to take care of the wisps faling over my face. I

didn't look like a dominatrix. Was that what I was?

It was too soon to be insulted Eric hadn't even asked for

my phone number. We'd had two pseudodates but no

indication he had any sort of sexual attraction to me. So

far, al I knew was that he got off on being ordered around

by someone he didn't know, and that I liked him very

much.

And that I could make him like me.

Chapter 25

"Paige. Hey."

I'd tried to time my "entrance" just right, grateful nobody else was coming in or out of the building so they couldn't

see me lurking by the front door trying to catch a glimpse

of the elevators. I'd managed to linger long enough I was

the only person in the lobby just as Eric came out of the

elevator. He looked around and lit up when he saw me.

Relief, maybe. Gratitude.

I wanted it to be desire.

"Eric. Hi." I'm no actress, so I didn't bother pretending I wasn't happy to see him. "What's up?"

"Oh, just…" He didn't quite stammer, but he did trail off

with a shrug and a smile. "I have the night off. Couldn't

sleep."

I looked at the big clock on the wal opposite the fireplace.

"It's only eleven-thirty. It's stil early."

"Yeah. Wel, I have to work early, so I was trying to be

good."

I'd never been afraid to go after what I wanted, and I'd

decided I wanted him. "Were you?"

I watched his throat convulse as he swalowed, and I

drank in the sudden gleam from his gaze. I knew what he'd

been told to do, but now I was watching it happen and my

body reacted. My nipples went tight and I sighed silently at

the friction of my panties against me.

"I was trying," he said.

Flirting is a dance, even when you're standing stil.

"But not succeeding?"

His smal smile caled my attention to his perfectly ful

lower lip. "I guess not."

"Bad boy." I didn't coo or purr the words. I didn't have to.

Eric's dark eyes flashed. "I guess I am."

The difference in how he looked at me was subtle, but I'd

been watching for it. I knew what he was supposed to do

and wondered how he meant to do it. But just then I also

wished I hadn't pushed him toward it. Me.

"Wel, it's late," I said to tease. "I'd better go upstairs. I'm starving."

Eric dogged my steps toward the elevator. "What are you

hungry for?"

I let his question turn me. "Ice-cream sundaes."

"I have ice cream. And hot fudge. And I even have those

disgusting cherries."

I smiled at the good luck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Eric nodded slowly, his glance going over my

shoulder when the elevator doors opened. "Want to come

up to my place? I'l make you one."

I back-stepped toward the elevator and he folowed as

though I puled him on a string. Or a leash. "Now, why

would I do that?"

"Because ice cream's more fun when eaten in pairs?"

I laughed at his answer. "Al right. Al I have is diet fudge

bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."

He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the

button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held

ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood

next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body

heat and the soft sound of his breath.

We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor

and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother

with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the

chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door

and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go

through first.

"Such a gentleman," I said.

He paused after he shut the door. "I try."

Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who

made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,

both of us looking.

"Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.

"In the kitchen."

He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a

queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons

of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,

then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in

the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-

cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-

handled spoons.

"I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his

preparations, searching for the words that would keep me

on top, but found none.

He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?

Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"

"A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice

cream. "Extra hot fudge."

"Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.

He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and

oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come

to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice

cream before he even lifted his spoon.

"Good?" he asked.

I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste

buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a

mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder

than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to

his mouth.

I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."

He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the

spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick

away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his

hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do

to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.

Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I

didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up

at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to

his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile

when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,

just barely.

He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."

This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my

feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,

though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the

thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in

my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in

my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.

When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in

another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd

changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose

and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,

but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my

thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been

strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it

move on my shins as he exhaled.

He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up

my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees

and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem

of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his

eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and

over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to

the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

loud in the silence.

When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half

turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands

clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for

him and my head tipped back just a little.

He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the

brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked

down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers

into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric

nuzzled higher onto my thigh.

He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel

my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his

hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next

breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.

I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they

cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed

the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach

my pussy at that pace.

The only sounds had been our breathing and the squeak of

the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

heard the low but unmistakable sound of Eric's groan. I felt

it, too, in a puff of hotter air and the wetness of his kiss

higher stil but not high enough.

I looked down at his hunched shoulders and the big hands

pushing up my skirt. At his dark hair, the fringes tickling

my thighs. At the sweep of his lashes and slope of his

forehead, al I could glimpse of his face.

What the fuck was I doing?

One hand found its way to his hair and I lost my fingers in

it, relishing the springy coarseness for only a moment

before I tightened my grasp and puled his head up. His

eyes opened, blurred with lust. His lips, moist, parted as

he focused on my face.

I could not do this. Not like this. Not because I didn't love

him, or because he wasn't my boyfriend, not even because

we hadn't even had an official date. I'd done more with

men I'd never even seen again. And not because I didn't

want his face between my thighs, making me come on his

tongue, because I wanted it so much desire left me light-

headed.

"No," I said in a grinding voice, because this wasn't fair.

Not to him, and not to me.

Eric pushed away from me at once and I released my grip

on his hair. He didn't get to his feet but rocked back on his

heels, his expression stricken. "I'm sorry. Paige. I don't

know what made me think that was okay. I'm sorry."

With shaking hands, I pushed my skirt to cover my knees.

I swalowed against the lump in my throat and tried to

breathe slow and easy so I wouldn't embarrass myself by

fainting or something stupid. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Paige, I'm so sorry." Eric's voice broke on my name and

he cleared his throat but didn't say anything else.

Would he have gone to his knees for me had he not been

doing as I'd ordered?

The chair screeched on the tiles as I pushed to my feet.

None of my muscles wanted to cooperate. They wanted

me back in that chair, my legs spread wide with Eric's face

between them. I shook my head at myself, but Eric

misunderstood.

"Please…I'm realy not a jerk." He stood but didn't reach

for me. "I shouldn't have done it. But I was…" I found my

voice. "You were what?"

"I was taken by you." His curiously old-fashioned phrasing sounded just right. "I like you, and I thought…I was

stupid. I'm sorry."

I could have said it was okay, but it wasn't, and not for the

reasons he'd have assumed. "I'm going to go now."

He nodded and went at once through the living room to

the front door, which he didn't open. By the time I got to

him I was able to breathe, though my muscles stil felt

loose. Eric stepped aside, giving me plenty of room. We

didn't look at each other.

"Thank you for the ice cream," I said formaly. Stiffly.

"You're welcome."

He held the door open for me, but I didn't look at him as I

went out.

I left no note, no list the next morning. Courtesy of the

schedule he'd sent me, I knew Eric would be off to work

before I roused myself from bed, but that was just an

excuse. I was awake and could have run down to make

sure he had something to keep him smiling al day.

I hadn't slept much, just tossed and turned, so when the

phone rang I picked it up on the first ring. "Hmm?"

"Paige?"

"Arthur." I sighed. "What did I tel you about caling me so early?"

"But I'm hungry," he whispered. "And Mama won't wake

up."

I yawned. "You know what you can have. You don't need

to wake her up."

"When are you coming over again?"

I hadn't realy thought about it. "I don't know, buddy.

How's school?"

"My teacher says I shouldn't talk so much in class."

"Your teacher is probably right."

A shuffling squawk came through the phone, then a voice.

"Who is this?"

"Mom. It's me."

"Oh. Paige. Hi, honey." Her relief seemed way out of

proportion to Arty's early morning dialing. "What's

wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Arty caled me."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing that I know of. He cals me a lot on Sunday

mornings."

"He does?" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'l remind him he's not to use the phone without permission. He's been…wel,

he's been caling Leo."

I yawned again, blinking. "So?"

"Leo doesn't live here anymore," my mom said flatly.

"But he was like a dad to Arthur." I got on one elbow to

look at the clock. Gad-awful early. Silence told me I'd

said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's true."

"Arthur is not Leo's son," she said after another half

minute. "I haven't said Leo couldn't see him, but he can't

go caling whenever he wants to. He's not my boyfriend.

And he's not Arty's dad."

My mom had had a lot of boyfriends. She hadn't bothered

to tel me al the reasons why she'd broken up with each of

them, though I had been subjected to the ranting and

raving on occasion when one had realy pissed her off.

When I got older, she'd shared more, though I'd never

asked her to. Now I waited for some revelation about

Leo, some reason that had turned her against him, but she

didn't give me one.

"Arty! Get out of the snack drawer! Have some cereal!"

She sounded tired and cranky.

I knew how that felt. "I'm going back to sleep, okay?"

"When are you coming down?"

I told her what I'd told Arty, adding, "I've got stuff going

on."

"We'd like to see you. Me and Arty. You could come for

the weekend, Paige. We could make fudge."

"Mom…"

"Don't say no. Just think about it, okay? We miss you. I

miss you."

There wasn't anything to say that wouldn't hurt her feelings,

so I sighed. "Okay. I'l check my calendar."

"I have to go. Arty just spiled the milk."

"You know what they say," I tried to joke. "Don't cry over it."

"I'm not crying," my mother said in a stone-edged voice I

never heard from her.

Then she hung up.

Chapter 26

The flowers came the next day, a bouquet of thirteen red

roses tied with a thick satin ribbon and adorned with

baby's breath. They were delivered early, too, the card in

my mailbox announcing I had a package at the front desk

tucked in amongst the bils the way not too long ago the

notes had appeared. It set my heart to racing the way

those notes always had, but the flowers sunk my guts to

my shoes.

"Someone has a special friend," Alice said when she

handed me the bouquet with a knowing grin. She leaned

closer. "I knew it wouldn't take you long, hon."

I paused with the flowers in my hand, not daring to hold

them too tight unless there were thorns. "For what?"

"To get one," Alice said. "A man."

Being unable to speak is different than not having words. I

hate not knowing what to say. I goggled at her like an idiot

and puled the flowers closer to my chest. The look on my

face set her back a step, her ready smile fading.

"Pretty flowers." It was the woman from the mailboxes

stopping to pick up her own package. "From your

boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," I said shortly for her benefit and Alice's. "I don't know who these are from."

If they shared a look it was behind my back, because I

turned away to pul the card from between the stems. It

was a printed card, not handwritten. Three words.

I'm sorry. Eric.

Austin had given me flowers once or twice, sad and

scraggly bouquets picked up from the grocery store. He'd

picked me flowers, too, from his mother's garden and put

them in a beer mug for me to find on our kitchen table

when I got home from school. These were my first roses.

I didn't have time to put them in my apartment before I

headed off to work, so I took them with me. I didn't have

to worry about getting them into water right away because

each stem was capped in a smal plastic tube, but I

arranged them where I could see them from my chair.

One minute I smiled to look at them. The next, I frowned.

Eric shouldn't be apologizing to me, but it was sweet he

had. And he'd done it without prompting.

"Paige, I—" Paul stopped in his doorway. "Pretty flowers."

"Thanks." A mouse click saved my document, and I

looked up at him. He had a paper in his hand. A list, for

which I held out my hand.

He didn't hand it over. Paul held it in both his hands and

rubbed the paper back and forth in his fingers. He looked

again at my flowers.

"Is there something you need, Paul?"

Paul cleared his throat and folded the list in half, then half

again. "Vivian has asked for a meeting with us today to

talk about the possibilities of your promotion. We're

getting lunch ordered in. At eleven."

He said it like I had a choice, as though he weren't my

boss. He folded the paper again and tucked it into the

pocket of his gray suit pants. Today he wore a pale pink

shirt with a maroon tie and looked very puled together.

"I'm not sure I realy want to talk about a promotion with

Vivian."

Paul nodded and gave me a smal smile. "It can't hurt to

listen to what she has to say, Paige."

He was right, so I nodded and turned my attention back to

the computer. Paul waited a couple seconds, then left me.

I stared for a while at my computer but couldn't make

much sense of the words on the screen.

At ten-fifty, Vivian click-clacked into the office on her

expensive high heels. She carried an immense mug, the

sort you buy at the convenience store and use for refils on

fountain drinks. It looked out of place against her high-

profile suit and jewelry, but she clutched it like she'd kil

anyone who tried to take it.

"Paige." She nodded. After a second she remembered to

smile, too.

"Vivian." I didn't get up from my desk, though I did take

my hands from the keyboard. "Paul said you wanted to

meet at eleven. He's in his office. I'l be in when I'm

finished with this last file."

My smile stretched the corners of my mouth, but I didn't

feel it in my eyes. Vivian took a long, gurgling swig from

her mug and went into Paul's office without more than a

swift rap of her knuckles on the door frame to announce

her arrival. My victory was smal but mighty. She couldn't

complain I wasn't being prompt, but I'd made it clear I

wasn't going to be rushed, either.

I'm not a fan of scary movies, especialy the kind where

the girl knows there's something awful in the basement or

attic but goes in anyway, armed with only her ear-piercing

screams and a wooden spoon or something. Facing Paul's

office felt that stupid to me. I knew what they wanted to

talk about, and I knew I didn't want to discuss it.

I liked working for Paul, even if I was "only" an executive assistant. It wasn't, frankly, al I intended to be. Not

forever. But for now. Moving into another position,

working for another person didn't appeal to me even

though I knew it should, but I didn't want to work for

Vivian Darcy. I didn't like her, and I didn't think she liked

me, which made her sudden interest al the more

disturbing.

Despite al that, at 11:00 a.m. exactly I pushed away from

my desk and knocked on Paul's door. They were laughing,

their heads bent together, when I knocked, and they both

looked up. Paul put distance between them at once,

pushing back in his roling chair. Vivian didn't move. Her

mug rested with familiarity on the edge of Paul's desk.

I hadn't brought him coffee but he stil sipped from a venti

Starbucks cup, so I figured he was al right. I took the

chair in front of the desk but kept it back far enough that

my knees didn't come close to the wood. I crossed my

legs, watching her, not him, and she gave me a level stare

in return.

"So. Paige." Vivian's smile didn't warm me any more than

it ever had, though I thought she'd put more effort into it.

She tucked a short blond curl behind her ear with French-

tipped fingers and didn't say anything else.

I smiled, too.

Paul cleared his throat after a few seconds and leaned his

elbows on the desk. "Paige, Vivian's been working with

the marketing department to create some entry-level

positions. The idea is to get expansion going on, starting

from the ground up. They're looking to hire in-house,

people they feel wil be an asset to the department."

"And you feel I'd be an asset to your department?" I

watched her face carefuly as she answered.

Her gaze flicked so briefly toward Paul and back to me I

was supposed to miss it. She might not even have known

she looked at him first, that's how fast it was. But I didn't

miss it.

"Oh, yes," Vivian said. "Absolutely. Paul's spoken so winningly of you."

Seriously, what the fuck? Aside from the fact I was pretty

sure she hadn't used it correctly, who ever says

"winningly"? Except, of course, a woman who's trying to

find something flattering to say to a woman she doesn't

realy like.

And then I understood it.

Paul and Vivian were fucking. They were very good about

hiding it, more discreet than a lot of interoffice couples I'd

come across. But there it was, the truth slapped down on

the desk between al of us like a gauntlet. They were

lovers and her dislike for me had nothing to do with

anything as simple as my clothes or education. It was al

about my blond hair and blue eyes and the size of my tits

and ass. She thought I had her on the run.

"I haven't seen the jobs posted on the board," I said

without bursting into sudden laughter.

Vivian looked at her gigantic mug but resisted drinking

from it. "They're not going up for open applications until

after we've interviewed the people we have already

prescreened. We'd realy like you to consider an

interview."

I didn't know much about how human resources works, or

the hoops anyone's required to jump through in the name

of being politicaly correct, but that didn't sound quite right

to me. At any rate, I nodded as though it made perfect

sense. Paul smiled and looked back and forth between us.

I couldn't look at him. Not because I'd figured out Vivian

thought he and I might be having a fling but because I was

convinced they had. And it wasn't any swinging of my

moral compass toward judgment, either, but more about

the fact I didn't want to believe he had such bad taste.

"Can I ask you why you prescreened me? Aside from

Paul's recommendation." I knew my smile for him had to

be a sliver in her skin, but I didn't care. "I don't have any

background in marketing. I have a business-school degree

from Harrisburg Area Community Colege."

"There's a certain amount of on-the-job training we're

expecting to provide."

I'd spent enough time around people who couldn't stand

silence to understand how powerful it can be. I nodded

instead of speaking, even to murmur what could be

construed as consent. Vivian looked at Paul, but he and I

had already established our lack of need for speech to

communicate.

She cleared her throat to draw his attention and then

drank, at last, from her mug. "Paul has spoken so highly of

you, Paige, and your background can only help you. This

is a great opportunity."

"Could you explain why?"

Her lips parted, and she drank again instead of answering

me right away. When she put the mug down on Paul's

desk the sloshing from inside had lessened considerably.

She looked at him again with her brow furrowed. Clearly,

the fact I wasn't jumping up and down for joy to leave

behind my dreary life as a secretary for the bright, shiny

world of junior whatever-thefuck confused her.

"You'd be salaried, not hourly," she said. "And of course, there'd be more responsibility."

I kept my eyes on Paul. "I have plenty of responsibility."

We al laughed, though she didn't sound amused. She

drank again and her mug rattled with the unmistakable

sound of emptiness. She put the cup down with a final-

sounding thud.

"This would be different," she said flatly.

The men I knew were more often insensitive rather than

purposefuly cruel, obtuse rather than inattentive. Paul was

more in tune than most and, smile fading, he turned to her.

I wondered if he'd only just now figured out her real

reasons for wanting me out of his office.

The silence went on long enough to make it officialy

awkward. Then Vivian stood. "Excuse me a minute."

I was surprised she'd lasted as long as she had. My

kidneys would have been floating. Neither of us said

anything as she went into Paul's bathroom and closed the

door firmly behind her.

He turned to stare at me. "Paige."

"Let me just get something straight, Paul. This isn't even an

interview for the new position. I'm interviewing for an

interview for a job I've been preselected for, right?" I leaned forward and caught his gaze with mine.

Paul hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

Back straight, chin lifted, I sat back in my chair and

recrossed my legs. From the bathroom I heard the sound

of running water. I kept my expression neutral, though I

had no doubt he could tel my mood even through the

steady monotone of my voice.

"Then I deserve to know exactly why I've been selected

and why I should consider it," I told him. "You can't

expect me just to jump up and down for joy because

someone's offering to take me away from al this."

Paul opened his mouth but before he could speak, I

added, "I happen to like the job I have, Paul. Very much."

"I'm glad," he said quietly, and before he could say more, Vivian came out of the bathroom.

I took petty pleasure in seeing that she'd splashed water

on her skirt and silk shirt. She'd run a damp hand through

her haircut, too, to settle it into place, and I could see the

edges of her makeup had run a little bit along her cheeks.

She didn't know I didn't want the man who wasn't even

hers, but the fact she was worried he might want me

settled the power between us, and I was on top. We both

knew it.

"If you could describe the job to me, that might be helpful,"

I told her. "And we could set up a time for an interview."

The conversation had turned upside down and Vivian

didn't like it, but it would have been difficult for her to

react without looking like a bitch, or worse, stupid. We

gave each other a matched pair of fake smiles with Paul

the prize between us. I stood and looked down on them

both.

"I'l get back to work, Paul."

He nodded. I left. Behind me I heard her soft exhale and

the murmur of their discussion, but I couldn't tel if she was

castigating me or if he was defending me. I didn't realy

care, either way.

Vivian Darcy didn't intimidate me anymore.

Chapter 27

My heart skipped al kinds of beats when I saw the note in

my mailbox, but I didn't have to read the signature to

know it wasn't from Eric's original anonymous mistress. I

didn't have to know who she was to know she'd never

have sent a note on anything less than the finest, and this

was a piece of blue-lined, loose-leaf paper, the sort you

can buy three packs for a buck during the back-to-school

sales. I gave it a surreptitious sniff anyway, and caught a

hint of cologne under the scent of cheap ink.

Eric had a doctor's stereotypical scrawl. I hope you like

the flowers. His signature was mostly unrecognizable but

for the E at the front. I folded the note and tucked it into

my bag, then headed up to my apartment where I unfolded

it and laid it on the kitchen table so it could stare at me

while I made my dinner.

I had a few options. I could ignore the note, and the

flowers, which I'd brought home and finaly put in water. I

could send him a text or leave him a note commanding him

to pursue me…or ignore me. As I made my simple meal of

pasta with olive oil and garlic and a tossed salad, I kept

sight of the note and the flowers, and by the time I'd eaten

and cleared away the dishes, there seemed only one real

choice of action.

I knocked on his door ten minutes later. I'd brushed my

hair and slid gloss along my lips, had changed from my

work clothes into a pair of jeans and a cute T-shirt with a

fitted sweatshirt. I'd brushed my teeth, too, just in case.

When he opened the door I didn't want the first thing he

noticed to be a wave of garlic breath.

"Paige!" He sounded pleased and only a little

apprehensive. "Hi."

"I came to thank you for the flowers," I said without

making a move toward the door.

I hadn't yet decided where I wanted this to go, but I was

sure I knew how I wanted it to happen. I didn't want this

to be forced by an unseen hand. I didn't want to wonder if

I was competing against myself.

"You're welcome. I hope you liked them."

"They were beautiful. Nobody's ever given me roses

before," I said, and Eric looked surprised.

"You're kidding."

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Wel, that's just not right." He laughed a little and stepped aside, subtly, without making it seem as though he was

inviting me in.

I'd learned the benefits of silence, but I also knew when it

was time to speak. "Can I come in?"

I saw his hesitation, as subtle as the not-invitation had

been, but then he stepped farther aside with a smile.

"Sure."

He brought me a glass of iced tea and we sat on his couch

facing each other from either side. I could've stretched out

my arm and stil not been able to touch him. He'd brought

a glass of tea for himself, but he set it on the coffee table

and didn't drink it while I sipped without quite tasting.

"About the other night," I said. "I just wanted to tel you, Eric…you don't have to apologize."

"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a

"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

"No. It was fine. I was surprised, that's al." I sipped tea and then put my glass down, too. It settled onto the table

with a clink.

"Paige," Eric said softly. "I was surprised, too."

I believed him, though it meant I was no longer on solid

ground. I studied my hands, clasped loosely in my lap,

before I looked at him. Tension bloomed between us and I

wanted to lean toward it, and him, but I held myself stil so

as not to give myself away.

"Would you let me take you to dinner?" Eric did lean, just a little.

I had hooked up, hung out, made out and had a few

unmemorable one-night stands. I'd been married and

divorced and both purposefuly and unintentionaly

celibate. But, like the roses, being asked out on a date was

a first.

My phone, which I'd shoved into my pocket, buzzed. I

didn't miss the way Eric's eyes lit up or how he reached

automaticaly for the iPhone on the table behind him, or the

faint look of disappointment when he realized it wasn't a

message for him.

I'd have let it go but Eric looked expectant, so I puled it

out and flipped it open.

Where you @?

The sigh came out before I could stop it. I deleted the

message. Eric didn't ask, but I offered, anyway.

"From my ex," I explained. "He likes to keep in touch."

"Do you like him keeping in touch?"

I'd have asked the same question if it had been him getting

the cal, but I'm not sure I'd have been as good at keeping

any hint of jealousy out of my voice.

"I've known him since high school. It's sort of a habit."

"Ah." Eric sat back a little.

When my phone rang a moment later, I ignored it in my

palm and didn't answer it. I looked at him, instead. "I'd

love to go to dinner with you, Eric."

It should have been enough, the promise of that date, but it

wasn't. Along with the other myriad lists commanding he

relate to me just about everything in his life, I left him a pair

of my panties, worn, tucked into an envelope and a note

detailing exactly what he was supposed to do with them.

And I wanted pictures. They were waiting in my in-box

when I got home from work that night. A series of shots

taken in close-up of his prick, his fist, the soft cotton of my

panties clutched tight around the shaft.

I was halfway in love.

I could've found a thousand pictures just like them on any

Internet porn site, true, but al my breath disappeared

when I opened them. He'd done this for me. Because of

me.

Powerful stuff.

Dinner was, if you'l pardon the pun, anticlimactic after

that. He took me to a nice new Mexican restaurant where

we drank margaritas and listened to a very good mariachi

band while we shared first-date stories as though he'd

never been on his knees in front of me.

He kissed me in the elevator when it reached his floor.

One smal, sweet kiss, lips closed. A hand on my waist. A

gentle squeeze. When the door started to close, he

laughed and hopped off through. He watched me as it

shut, until the last thing I saw was his smile through the

crack.

When I got home, my phone rang. It wasn't the expected

text from Eric relating the details of the date, though I had

left him a list of topics I wanted essays on. It was the other

man in my life, the one I couldn't throw away and didn't

want to keep.

"I'm downstairs. I just wanted to tel you, I'm coming up."

"Oh, no, you're not." I cradled the phone against my

shoulder and looked in the mirror. I'd been unbuttoning my

shirt but now I stopped. "I'l meet you at the Mocha in

fifteen minutes."

"No way!"

"Way," I said firmly.

Silence as neither of us gave in. Wel, silence as I waited

for him to refuse so I could hang up. Austin sighed, finaly.

"Fine. I'l meet you there."

I didn't change my clothes. I wanted him to see me al

dressed up and wonder why. Yes, it was bitchy. Yes, it

was unnecessary. But I was hardly going to toss on a pair

of grungy sweatpants and a pair of sneakers to greet him.

It didn't matter that Austin had already seen me at my

worst.

You might imagine the audience for caffeine would

diminish after nine at night, but not in the Mocha. People

hunched over their refilable mugs, mainlining high-

powered flavored coffees and clutching at specialty drinks

as they chatted in smal groups and played board games.

Soft music, something indie and folksy that would make

my ears bleed if I paid too much attention to it, drifted out

of the speakers.

I spotted Austin right away. His faded denim stood out

from the rest of the skinny jeans and flat-ironed-hair boys,

and he didn't wear a speck of guyliner. His hair had grown

long enough now to pul back in a ponytail at the nape of

his neck. He was carrying two big cups.

When he saw me, his face lit up, so much the way it used

to that my heart hurt. I swalowed hard against the rush of

memories threatening to topple me right then and there. He

handed me a mug and gestured toward a love seat set

toward the back of the shop.

"Sit?"

He asked, didn't tel, so I nodded. "Sure."

I had time to compare first-date awkwardnesses as he

folowed me. My dinner with Eric had been thick with

tension, but with Austin at my back al I could think of was

how uncomfortable it felt to not know what to say. I sat

and warmed my hands on the cup, which was almost too

hot for comfort.

"You look pretty."

"Thanks."

We both sipped. Austin put his mug on the table and dug

in his pocket for something he held out to me. "Here."

I didn't take it at first. "What is it?"

He held it out again. "Just something they were giving out

at the bank when I signed up for a new checking account.

Made me think of you."

"Is it money?" I took it, not money but a smal clear plastic bottle.

Hand sanitizer, the bottle imprinted with the bank logo.

Just a smal bottle, only enough for one or two uses. I

clutched it in my palm and didn't know what to say.

"I thought you'd laugh," Austin said when I didn't make a

sound. "Shit, Paige. I'm sorry. I just thought—"

"I know what you thought. Why you thought it." I tucked it into my bag.

"It's just…you know. Your thing."

He did know me. I hadn't believed he did. Maybe I hadn't

wanted to believe.

"Thank you."

More awkward silence.

When he finaly spoke, it was in a man's voice and not the

familiar voice of the boy I'd falen in love with. It helped, a

little. Made him more of a stranger than he was, so I could

keep him just far enough away not to leap into his arms.

"Paige," Austin said. "I just wanted to tel you that I'm realy sorry."

I didn't know I was going to touch him until it was too late

to pul back my hand. His hair was soft beneath my

fingers, and I let them drift over it and down to tug the

ponytail he'd never have worn in high school. "Shit

happens."

He laughed and looked down. "Yeah. Wel, with us, a lot

of shit happened, huh?"

I took my hand away and shrugged. "We were young."

"Young, dumb…"

"And ful of come," we finished together, quoting one of

our favorite movies.

It felt good to laugh with him. It had been a realy long time

since we'd sat like this. Beside me, his thigh was big and

warm. The love seat dipped from his weight, forcing me to

sit closer whether I wanted to or not. I thought I might

want to.

"I just wanted to tel you that." Austin shifted to face me.

A smart-ass, snotty reply rose to my lips, but didn't come

out. "You don't have to apologize. We've been divorced

for years."

When he reached for my hand, I shouldn't have been

surprised. It was the perfect moment, after al. Soft music,

expensive hot drinks, the scent of cheap body spray

wafting from the gaggle of out-too-late teens in the corner

and the rise and fal of their laughter al wove a John

Hughes–film mood. It was the perfect time to have my ex-

husband kiss my knuckles, look deep into my eyes and

say, with utmost seriousness,

"So, I didn't jerk off the other night. Just like you said."

I yanked my hand from his. "Austin!"

"What?" He looked genuinely confused. "You said not to."

"I know what I said." My heart became a bird, my ribs the

cage it beat against.

He sat back, frowning, and crossed his arms over a chest I

couldn't help noticing was broad and muscled under his T-

shirt. "And?"

I frowned, too. "I thought you were trying to be nice."

"I am being nice! I bought you coffee!"

"You asked me here to get me into bed!" I'd turned heads

with my raised voice. I stood and glared down at him.

"That was the only reason?"

Austin looked guilty. Then he shot me a cunt-seeking

missile of a grin. "That's not the only reason."

I jerked my chin at him and flipped my hair. Yeah, very

high school, but we had a history. "Fuck you."

"I'm hoping."

I didn't want to smile or laugh, so I bit down on my

tongue. Hard. "It's late. I have to work tomorrow. Good

night, Austin."

I was gone before he could register the fact I meant it.

What Austin didn't know was that it wasn't that I didn't

want to take him to bed and screw the living daylights out

of him. I wanted that very much. But there was a part of

me, smal though it was, that knew this couldn't be good

for either one of us.

We had history, and a past, and al of that meant he knew

how to push my buttons just right. It didn't mean we

should keep pushing those buttons. Like Def Leppard

said, it was time to stop treating each other like an act of

war.

I made it al the way to the sidewalk before he was out

after me. Austin grabbed my elbow and I turned to face

him, my mouth already open to say something cutting. He

stopped it with his tongue. He walked me up against the

bricks, hard on my back. Him hard on my front.

I pushed him away. "I'm not that easy."

He puled me closer and kissed me softer. "You could be.

I know you could be."

"Austin…" His name eased out of me on a sigh. "This isn't a good idea. Can't we just be friends?"

"What? Are you shitting me?" His hands gripped my waist,

but he wasn't pressing me against the wal anymore.

I sagged against him, my head in the place it fit just right on

his chest. "No. I'm not."

His grip tightened on me, then released. I mourned the loss

of his body when he stepped away from me, even though I

knew it was for the best. Fucking like tigers had its place,

no doubt, but I didn't think I could keep surviving the

scars.

Austin smoothed my hair off my forehead and hovered his

mouth over mine without kissing me. "Fine."

"Yes?" I refused to let myself feel miffed. It was what I

wanted, after al. To stop the constant game of catch and

release we'd begun so many years ago.

"If that's what you want. If it's al you want."

I stepped out of his embrace. "I think it's better for both of

us, Austin. If we…you know. Move on."

"If that it's what you want," he repeated. "I'l do whatever it takes."

I blinked slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged and looked around at the night before

looking back at me. "It means I'l do whatever it takes.

Whatever you need. What you want. I'm your guy."

"Austin," I said warningly, but he held up a hand.

"It's stupid not to have you in my life, Paige. We've known

each other too long and too wel to just throw that al

away. I told you that when you left me."

"That was a long time ago."

"It hasn't changed." He shook his head and shot me a

smile. "So. Friends? Fine."

"Whatever it takes?" I said warily. "Uh-huh."

He leaned to kiss me again, and this time I let him. He hit

my cheek with his lips, his kiss chaste and demure. He

didn't even grab my ass.

"I'm going home," I said.

"I'l walk you."

I pointed down the block. "You don't have to. I can see

the door to my building from here."

"I'l walk with you anyway."

He did. We didn't speak. He didn't try to kiss me again, or

come upstairs. He didn't shake my hand, either.

"I'l cal you," Austin said, and I had no doubt he would.

Chapter 28

Not everything is meant to last forever, no matter how

much you want it to. I'd married young. Too young. And I

was grateful we'd both figured out our mistake while we

were stil young, before we had kids, before we'd tied

ourselves together for a life and had none left after we fel

apart.

I'd married him for the right reasons. I'd divorced him for

the right reasons, too. Hadn't I?

I'm watching him, and he doesn't know it. I wish he could

feel the burn of my gaze from across the bar, that

somehow my eyes alone could make him turn, but Austin's

too busy paying attention to the game and his friends and

even that brown-haired whore shaking her tits every time

he glances at her. I can't necessarily blame him for looking.

They're like two beach bals shoved into a tiny tank top.

But I don't like to watch him looking.

It's another late night for him when he should be worried

about getting up early in the morning, and another late night

for me studying for tests I know I'l pass but don't know if

passing wil matter in the end. School's been going on a

long time, longer than I imagined it would when I decided

to go. Money's tight and even community colege costs a

lot when you have to pay rent and buy food and pay off a

car, too.

I only stopped here because I knew if I went home and he

wasn't waiting for me I'd be furious. We'd fight and then

we'd fuck, and I'm getting tired of that. I'm tired of him

teling me what to do and making me feel like shit for doing

anything else. I'm beginning to think this whole marriage

thing was a bad idea, but after only two years I don't want

to give up. I don't want everyone to laugh behind their

hands and point and whisper. Mostly I don't want to give

him up just so Miss Big Tits and Bad Extensions can get

her claws into him.

At home I shower and toss my clothes into the hamper,

and I'm making myself a sandwich when Austin comes in.

He doesn't act drunk, but when he kisses me I taste beer.

I turn my face to give him my cheek.

"What, you don't want to kiss me? Fine."

I hate it when he sulks.

He steals half my sandwich and tries to tell me about

his day, and all I want to do is go to sleep so I can get

up early and be at the shop to make the next day's

deliveries. We need the money I'll earn. I have another

tuition payment due.

I'm not listening to him, but I'm watching his mouth

move. His lips glisten with oil from the sandwich. His

tongue swipes across them. It's late, I'm tired and

annoyed, but later when he comes to bed I think of the

swipe of his tongue on his mouth and I roll over to

face him.

It's easier to fuck him in the dark, when I can pretend

he's got a different face and so do I. When we can be

different people in a different place. I can forget I'm

supposed to be in love with him and just fuck him like

he's a stranger and I don't have to ever see him again

in the morning.

Austin did cal me, but he seemed to have meant what he

said about agreeing to just be friends. I hadn't forgotten

what it was like to hang on the phone with him for hours, in

the dark, revealing every second of the day just to have a

reason to keep talking. Our current conversations were

shorter than that, but they reminded me of back then.

Things on the Eric front were more complicated. I'd seen

him a few times since our dinner date. Another dinner, out

to the movies, walks along the river. Things like that.

Conflicting schedules had made it impossible to see him al

the time. Besides, I wasn't "that" girl. The one who took

one date and turned it into a marriage proposal.

We were moving slowly, slowly. Glaciers. And that was

fine with me. I'd seen interest flicker in his eyes, watched

him watching my mouth when I spoke. Felt his fingers

tighten in mine as we walked.

I knew he was waiting for me to make the first move, or to

be told to make one, himself. I wasn't quite ready to do

either. As Paige, I was enjoying the whole taking-it-slow

thing.

As his anonymous mistress, on the other hand, I had

complete control of his life.

Each day I sat at my kitchen table with that Chinese box

open in front of me, my pen stroking that thick, creamy

paper with the touch of a lover. I didn't come from the

writing. Not quite. But each note I wrote put me into a

state of heightened awareness of every piece of me. My

fingers, closing around the pen. My palms, caressing the

paper. The inside of my wrist, my elbow, forearm pressing

the table as I wrote. My thighs, touching beneath my skirt.

I didn't come from writing the notes, but it was almost as

good as if I had.

I told him what to wear. What to pack for lunch. He had,

at last, given up smoking. I ordered him to buy me lingerie,

and I gave him the size but alowed him to choose. I had

him send it to the post-office box I rented from a branch

close to my office. I expected something in black.

Crotchless, maybe, or at least with fishnets. The soft, baby

blue satin and lace pleased me.

I let him stroke himself to orgasm for that gift.

It was time for something more now. I wasn't sure how I

knew this, just that I did the way I knew each day when I

went in to work how to gauge Paul's mood and keep him

focused on work so he didn't hassle me about the job with

Vivian.

What frightens you?

I tapped the pen against the paper, then my lips.

I want to know what makes your palms sweat but gets

you hard at the same time. What frightens you because

you want it so badly?

It wasn't a question I'd have been able to answer without a

lot of thought, but that was the point. To make him think. I

sealed the note in a matching plain envelope and ran it

down to the mailboxes. Eric was working another twelve-

hour shift and I knew he wouldn't get home until after I'd

gone to bed, but I didn't want to get up early to deliver it,

either.

I went online to pay bils and make some changes to my

Connex account. I hadn't been on it in weeks and had a

page of friend requests to approve and friends' list entries

to scrol through. Nothing terribly interesting, since the

people I knew from home were stil doing what they'd

been doing when I left.

Even so, I got sucked into watching a series of "ghost-

sighting" videos and "true alien abductions," and so I was awake when my phone hummed and a new text message

awake when my phone hummed and a new text message

came through.

I'm afraid of being owned.

Not of being "pwnd" which was something else altogether.

I sat back, the computer forgotten, my heart thundering in

my ears and my mouth tasting something like honey al at

once. It was the sweetness of anticipation. Expectation.

He was afraid of being owned.

So that's exactly what I gave him.

I found it in one of the kiosks in the center of the mal. It

sold hair barrettes of tooled leather, belts, along with

necklaces of cord and beads. And there, hanging

unobtrusively on a rack with a slew of others that didn't

even turn my head, was the bracelet.

Flat black leather about an inch wide, fastened with a

snap. It was the sort worn by teenage emo or skater boys

and could be tooled with any number of phrases or

designs.

"Help you?" The boy in skinny jeans and high-tops leaned

around the kiosk to catch my eye.

I lifted the bracelet. "I'd like this."

He looked at me through the fringe of his long bangs.

Bangs on boys. There was a fashion statement I was

helplessly squishy over. "Want something on it? A name or

something?"

He flipped open a rack of designs to show me my choices.

I looked through rows of stylized hearts, flowers and fonts.

I touched a simple, elegant alphabet.

"I was thinking…the word slave."

That perked his interest. "For you?"

I laughed. "Oh, no."

"Sweet." He gave the word two sylables.

"You think?" My fingers stroked the stiff leather. It would circle his wrist like a cuff.

I tested it on my own and noted how the edge cut a little

into my skin when I shifted. Not enough to hurt, but I

knew it was there. I handed it to Emoboy, who took it

over to the machine that stamped the letters. Idly, I flipped

through the rack of designs while he fiddled with buttons

and adjusted the bracelet inside the grips holding it stil.

Then I saw it. "Wait."

He looked up, one finger on the button that would start the

machine. "Huh?"

I gestured for him to come over, and he did, and I pointed

at the picture on the menu. "I want this, instead."

He grinned, then nodded. "No problem."

It took him a minute to adjust the settings and another for

the machine to stamp the leather. When it was done, he

handed it to me with the black leather scarred into the

design I'd chosen. A rose, the stem and thorns made of

barbed wire.

Simple. Elegant. And far more subtle than the word slave,

which didn't feel right, anyway.

"Here you go." He handed me a bag with the bracelet

inside. "Enjoy it."

Enjoy wasn't exactly the word I'd have chosen, but I took

the bag with a smile. Our hands touched, and he grinned.

He knew nothing about me, but he thought he did. And I

discovered I didn't care.

I don't think there's a woman alive who doesn't understand

how the right clothes can entirely change a situation. Under

my simple summer skirt and casual T-shirt I wore the bra

and panties Eric had bought for and sent to his mistress.

The lace and satin clung to my skin and reminded me with

every step how it felt to be desirable.

Of course, none of that showed on the surface. I met him

in the lobby as had become our habit on these semi-dates,

and he greeted me with a smile and a half hug. He wore a

long-sleeved Henley shirt, but when the sleeve rode up I

saw the flat leather strap of his bracelet. The one I'd sent

him. The one that marked him as mine.

"Ready to go?" Eric held the door open for me and we

both went out into the warm spring evening air.

"Starving," I said. "I had my windows open and could

smel the funnel cakes al the way upstairs."

He patted his stomach. "We'l stop there first."

Al along the riverfront, stands had been set up for the first

summer festival. Some sold handmade arts and crafts,

others boasted displays from local companies. Some had

games, the prizes cheap things like water bottles

emblazoned with the names of banks and restaurants. As

summer festivals went, it was one of the less glorious, but

al that realy mattered to me was the food.

Stal after stal of greasy, delicious fair food. Corn dogs,

ice cream, French fries and vinegar to go with them. My

stomach let out a loud, obnoxious rumble as we crossed

Front Street to get to the sidewalk on the other side and

headed to the left to walk about a quarter mile to reach the

rows of booths. Music from one of the local radio stations

blared from a huge boom box set up on a trailer. Morning-

show personalities handed out T-shirts, mugs and key

chains as we passed.

"Do you want something?" Eric asked as I stepped aside

to let a mother pushing a double stroler pass on her quest

for free junk. "T-shirt?"

"No, thanks. I don't listen to that station. And besides, it

doesn't matter if it's free if I'l never use it."

"Mind if I grab one? You can never have too many T-

shirts."

"Go ahead." I looked at the crowd surrounding the boom

box and estimated how long it would take him to get his

shirt, then down the rows to the line for funnel cakes. "I'l

get in line for the funnel cakes."

We parted and I pushed my way through the crowd. The

prizes might be cheap and the food overpriced, but

nobody seemed to care. Kids carried baloons in ice-

cream-covered fists and couples walked hand in hand. I

got in line behind a couple with matching tattoos on their

wrists, a pair of joined hearts. As I watched them whisper

and giggle, their fingers linked, their eyes for nobody else,

envy roled slowly over in my gut.

Against my skin, lace and satin once again reminded me

how it felt to be wanted. Craved. Obeyed. None of it did

me any good standing here in the setting, early spring sun,

with a ten-dolar bil clutched in my fist and nobody there

to hold my hand.

I looked back through the crowd for Eric but caught only

a glimpse of what might have been the top of his dark,

curly hair. The crowd around the boom box had grown

and the DJ standing on a smal platform with a microphone

in his hand was now announcing some sort of contest. The

line in front of me was moving faster than I'd expected and

I placed my order and walked away with a paper plate of

hot fried dough covered in powdered sugar before the DJ

was even done drawing a winner.

At first look they were just another couple, she in tottery

heels better suited to a pinup-model calendar than a strol

along the river, and him in faded, baggy jeans and a T-shirt

that showed off the muscles in his arms. The reddish

sunlight turned his blond hair auburn, and I blamed that as

the reason that I didn't recognize him at first, but the real

reason was that with another woman on his arm, Austin

had become a stranger.

She, on the other hand, recognized me right away and let

out a squeal that could have cracked a mirror. "Paige!"

Kira. With Austin. My Austin? My teeth clenched,

grinding, in instant reaction, and I couldn't force a smile.

Our eyes met, his and mine, and while I don't know what

mine revealed, his showed me he didn't like what he saw.

His expression changed, and I recognized him again.

"Hi." I kept my voice even when I looked at her.

She slid her hand down his bare arm, her fingertips

lingering on the inside of his wrist before diving down to

capture his fingers. Austin didn't pul away, but he didn't

tighten his grip, either. I noticed, and so did she, but Kira

was good at getting what she wanted. She curled her

fingers into his, instead.

"Are you here alone?" Acid didn't drip from her tone. She

sounded genuinely curious.

And who knows, maybe she was. We'd already

established high school was over and our rivalry should

have folowed suit. I'd fucked Jack once upon a time, and

now she was fucking Austin. Tit for tat, literaly. I

should've let it go.

"No. I'm here with a friend." The way I said friend made it clear that's not what I meant.

Oh, I knew the tic of Austin's jaw, the slow narrowing of

his eyes. Kira might be fucking him, but she didn't know

him. Not the way I did.

She leaned into his arm, and I couldn't get a handle on if

she was being affectionate or cunty, if she was always that

way or if she was trying to work my nerves. I guessed the

latter.

"A boyfriend?" She pushed too hard.

Austin took his hand away to reach for my plate. He

grabbed off a hunk of now-cool funnel cake and ate it.

Powdered sugar coated his lips and he licked each finger

slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Help yourself," I told him. I held the plate out to her.

"Want some?"

Kira wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but there wasn't

realy any way she could've missed Austin's look. She

shook her head. "No. I can't eat that stuff. I'd have to

exercise for a week."

"Paige, you been exercising for a week?" Austin shoved

his hands in his pockets, down deep, and the jeans sunk

lower on his hips to show a strip of tanned bely beneath

his T-shirt.

"No. I'l take my chances." I tore off a piece for myself and bit into the heavy sweetness, then licked sugar from my

fingers, too.

It wasn't nice, what we were doing to her, but it wasn't my

fault she wasn't very good at it. It wasn't my fault he stil

wanted me even after al this time. I looked again for Eric

and spotted him being handed a T-shirt. In a minute he'd

be heading this way. I didn't want to introduce Eric to

Austin.

"Austin and I were going to watch the barge concert. Do

you…do you want to come along?"

I gave her a real look then, my once-upon-a-time best

friend. She didn't try to reach for Austin again, and the

corners of her mouth and eyes drooped. I remembered

how once we'd practiced putting on eyeliner in her

mother's bathroom, and how Kira had been the one to

teach me how to use a tampon when my mother had been

inexplicably too embarrassed. She'd punched a guy in the

nuts for hassling me and lent me her favorite lipstick

without a second thought. She wanted Austin, and I knew

I should let her have him since I didn't want him anymore.

So, I did.

Chapter 29

"Another time." I spotted Eric closer now, his T-shirt dangling from a front pocket. "I'l catch you guys later."

I left without a backward glance and hurried through the

crowd to get to Eric before he got to me. "Hey."

"Hey." He looked at my half-eaten funnel cake. "Is it good?"

"You can have some." I'd lost my appetite for it.

With a shrug, Eric took a piece and chewed it. "These

always smel better than they taste."

I risked a glance over my shoulder, expecting to see a sea

of strangers. I saw Austin, his face tight, and Kira, staring

up at him. "Yeah. Listen, do you mind if I bug out? I've got

a kiler headache al of a sudden."

Eric's brow furrowed, and he reached to rub the back of

my neck. The gesture, automatic but casual, ought to have

made me feel better, but I wanted to cringe away from his

touch. He gave my neck a gentle squeeze and let go.

"Sure, no problem. I'l walk back with you if you want."

"I don't want to ruin this for you." I didn't look behind us again, just started moving back toward the Manor. I

dumped the funnel cake in the first garbage can I passed.

"Nah. These things are the same as that funnel cake. I'l

walk you back."

I was already walking, but I shot him a glance. "Are you

sure?"

"Paige, realy. Not a problem. Oops, watch it." Eric

reached to steer me away from a puddle of something I

hoped was spiled fruit smoothie and not something

grosser.

His fingers gripped my arm just hard enough to keep me

from stumbling, and my heart thumped harder at the

pressure. Lace and satin pressed my skin beneath my

clothes. He held on a little longer than necessary but let go

sooner than I wanted him to.

In the lobby he checked for mail even though he'd stopped

to peek in the box on the way out. I knew how he felt

when he found nothing but the Tenant Association

newsletter, but he turned to me with a grin anyway.

"Looks like they're planning another barbecue. If it's

anything like last year's the beer wil be warm and the food

cold."

"I wasn't here last year," I reminded as he crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash.

"But you'l be here this year, right?" he asked as we both

headed for the elevator. "How's your head, by the way?"

"Oh…I'l be fine. I'm just tired." The lie slipped easily

enough off my tongue, and though Eric gave me a curious

look he didn't press me about it.

When the doors opened on his floor he hesitated before

stepping off, and I wondered if he'd meant to kiss me or

shake my hand. "I'l cal you, okay?"

I nodded and smiled and watched the doors close behind

him before I let the smile slide from my face. My jaw

ached from clenching it. When I got into my apartment I

ran a cold shower and let the icy needles pound my skin

until envy swirled down the drain around my toes.

I blamed the tears on the sting on my scalp as I yanked a

comb through my hair, but when I looked in the mirror I

couldn't avoid my frown. So I turned from the mirror and

puled on a lightweight summer nightgown over my bare,

damp and chily skin.

Jealousy and the funnel cake rested heavy in my stomach,

so I boiled water for tea. The headache I'd made up

became real, though I nipped it quickly with ibuprofen. I

grabbed up the novel I was reading and had just settled on

my sofa when the knock came at the front door.

Expecting Eric, I didn't bother looking through the

peephole. So when I saw Austin framed in the doorway,

al I could do at first was stare. Then I took a step back to

let him in.

His mouth was on mine before either of us said a word.

My book fel to the floor in a flutter of pages, and I kicked

it to the side as Austin stepped me back toward the couch.

I put my hands up between us and pushed him away

before he could get me there.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I swiped the back of

my hand across my lips, smearing the taste of him.

Austin licked his mouth and swalowed, his gaze flicking

around the room. "Is he here?"

"You're lucky he's not. You can't just come in here and

attack me like that."

Austin scraped a hand over the top of his hair, then

cupped the back of his neck briefly, his head bent. He

closed his eyes, brow furrowed. I stepped back when he

opened them.

"He's not here," I said. "But you should go."

He shook his head.

"Austin," I whispered. "You need to go."

Again, he shook his head. Only an arm's span held us

apart, but it might as wel have been a mile. My nightgown

swirled around my knees as I turned. I was very aware of

the pul of cotton on my skin. The lingerie Eric had sent me

had reminded me of how it felt to be desirable, but under

Austin's eyes I didn't need something outside me to know

how it felt for him to want me.

"Paige. Please." His voice snagged, rough and broke.

"Let's stop pretending—"

"I'm not pretending anything." I crossed my arms but kept

my back toward him.

Slow, roling cramps clutched at my bely. When we were

married, Austin had put me to bed with a heating pad

when my cramps were bad. He'd rubbed my back, too,

and gone at night to get me ice cream, no matter how late.

"He's not your boyfriend. Is he? That guy?"

"Is Kira your girlfriend?" I turned on him then.

"Hel, no."

"Are you fucking her?" I advanced a step to poke his

chest, and Austin retreated a step.

"No!"

I laid my hand flat on his chest over the steady thumping of

his heart. I had to tip my head to look at his face. " Did you fuck her?"

He shook his head, just once. I pinched his nipple only half

as hard as I wanted to. He didn't wince, though his tongue

crept out along his lower lip, leaving it glistening. The bead

of flesh pebbled between my fingers, and I roled the pad

of my thumb over his shirt, so soft with the nipple so tight

and hard beneath.

"Did you fuck her?" I repeated softly.

"I didn't fuck her, Paige. I swear it."

He groaned when I pinched his nipple again. When I slid

my hand under his shirt to find his bare skin Austin didn't

stop me. I hadn't expected him to.

My breath hitched at the feeling of his skin under my palm.

I curved my fingers to let my nails bite into him for a

second, then dropped it to his belt buckle. I tugged it hard

enough to move his hips, then let him go.

I stepped back. "He's not my boyfriend. But that doesn't

mean you can just keep coming over here and expecting

me to let you in my bed."

He puled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the

floor. I'd traced those ribs with my teeth and lips and

tongue. I knew the holow of that bely and the taste of his

skin. I knew the heat of him.

He put his hand to his belt and undid the buckle. Then the

button. When he notched the zipper down one tooth at a

time, I bit my lower lip. When he shoved the denim over

his hips and down the thighs I'd spent hours nibbling, my

headache disappeared.

He stepped out of his jeans and pushed his socks off, too,

along with his briefs, and stood naked in front of me.

Austin was proud of his body and had a right to be. He

wasn't fuly hard, and I remembered the times I'd taken

him in my mouth to get him erect.

"Fucking won't change things," I warned him. Austin

shrugged and moved toward me, but I held up a hand to

stop him. "No."

He frowned and made as though to speak, but again I

stopped him. My voice surprised me, husky and low and

utterly, without-a-doubt, in charge.

"Go to my bedroom, Austin."

He took a hesitant step, then another, while I stayed stil.

He watched me bend to lift his jeans, the long denim legs

dangling while I yanked the belt from the loops. Austin's

eyes grew wide when I wrapped the leather around one

palm.

"Paige, what the hel?"

"Go to my bedroom," I repeated and puled the leather

tight between my two fists. "Get on my bed, on your

knees, facing the headboard. Put your hand on it and wait

for me."

I'd known this man for half my life. I'd seen him take hits

on the footbal field and stand up for me in a bar brawl. I'd

seen him cuss out men on the construction site who

weren't puling their weight, and I'd listened to him share

rowdy, dirty jokes with his friends. He'd balked at cooking

and laundry because those were "girls' work" and we'd

had screaming fits about separate checking accounts when

we were married because "women whose husbands took

care of them right didn't need their own money." I knew he

would never let me tel him what to do.

I didn't know him as wel as I thought I did.

Chapter 30

Austin, without another word, turned and went to my

bedroom. I heard the creak of the headboard when he

grabbed it and of the mattress as he shifted his weight.

Then, silence but for the sound of my heart beating fast in

my ears and my breath trying to get unstuck from my

throat.

I hadn't wasted money on frily decorative pilows for my

bed, and I'd covered it with the worn quilt my grandma

had made for me when I was born. The headboard of

slatted wood had seen me through childhood and high

school, and I'd taken it from my mom's house to the

apartment I'd lived in after leaving Austin. We'd fucked in

my bed but had never shared it. My hands had gripped the

wood where his now clenched, but his never had.

He turned his head when I came in, then looked back at

the wal. His head bent, shoulders hunching, and I admired

the play of muscles in his back and thighs. His feet dipped

furrows in my bedspread as he pushed down with his toes.

I had to lean in the doorway to keep from going to my

knees at the sight. My fingers gripped the wood as the

cool metal of his belt buckle bit into my palm hard enough

to hurt. The sting of it pushed my blood faster through my

veins. The leather dangled, brushing my calf.

When I slapped it lightly against my palm, Austin tensed

but didn't take his hands away. He didn't look at me. The

muscles in his back and ass went tight, then released, and I

drew in a slow, silent breath.

Austin stayed in the place I had told him to stay. This man

could put me up against the wal with one hand. He could

break me, but he wasn't doing what I told him to do

because he wasn't able to say no. He wasn't afraid of me.

He trusted me.

That trust almost broke me more than his hands ever had.

It turned me upside down and inside out; it filed me up so

I couldn't imagine ever having been empty. I stood in the

doorway watching him give himself to me for whatever I

wanted, and the leather slid through my suddenly slick fists

with a sound like a whisper.

My feet moved even though I couldn't feel the floor. When

my knees hit the bed and I got up on it, the mattress

shifted. Austin gripped the headboard tighter, his head

turning. I saw the flutter and shadow of the long lashes I'd

always envied on his cheek.

"Paige…"

"Shh." I moved closer to kneel behind him, between his

ankles.

The cotton of my gown brushed his skin and I watched,

fascinated, as gooseflesh broke out on his back. Again he

bent his head. I could see his hands, the knuckles white. I

couldn't see his cock until I moved a bit to the side, and

then I bit my groan into silence so he wouldn't hear and

know how much the sight of him erect aroused me.

I had always been the one urging him to pin my wrists. Pul

my hair. I had taken him down paths he folowed eagerly

but only because I led him there. Now I folded his belt in

half to make a loop of it, and I ran the flat side of it down

his spine and over his ass.

I folowed it with the flat of my hand and reached between

his legs to weigh his bals before I ran my finger along his

perineum, up the crack of his ass and onto his back again.

Austin shivered at the touch, but didn't move. He didn't

speak.

Looking at the leather against his skin, I drew in a smal sip

of air. My world spun so much I had to clutch his

shoulder. My nails dug into his skin, and Austin made a

smal noise.

I didn't want to hurt him. Not realy. I didn't want to beat

him, or raise welts on his flesh. I wanted to colar and leash

him. I wanted to own him.

I tapped his ass with the strap, not hard enough to cal it a

slap. "Spread your legs wider."

His knees slid on my sheets and the headboard creaked.

Austin leaned forward until his forehead rested against my

pale green–painted wal. Those big shoulders hunched.

Those big hands gripped. The muscles in his ass flexed.

My hand found the familiar length and girth of his prick. I

stroked him gently a few times before withdrawing. I drew

a finger along his bals and ass crack again. I put a hand on

the back of his thigh to feel the tension there. I put a knee

on either side of his calf and pressed myself along his

back.

I couldn't reach his ear, but I kissed the smooth expanse

between his shoulders. I bit him softly where his wings

would be if he were an angel and smiled at the sound he

made. I pushed my cotton-covered crotch against his bare

ass. He made another noise when I gripped the hem and

puled it to my hips so my bare crotch touched his skin.

I always shaved my bikini line, but I hadn't short-trimmed

my pubic hair in a while. Now the fluffy curls brushed him

as I moved my hips from side to side. It must have tickled,

because Austin shivered again.

I shivered, too. With my cheek pressed between his

shoulder blades and my cunt aligned with his ass, I

reached around to stroke him. Without lube my palm

skipped along the silken skin of his prick, up and down.

Austin pushed forward into it anyway.

"Do you like that?"

"What do you think, Paige?" His voice, harsh and low,

sent another shiver through me.

"I want to hear you say it." My heart was trying to leap out of my chest, and al I could manage was a whisper, but he

heard me.

"I like it when you touch me. Yeah."

"Like this?" I twisted my palm over the head of his cock

the way I knew he liked it.

"Yeah, like that…" he groaned.

I dropped the belt. It was a prop and I didn't need it.

Wasn't going to use it. If I couldn't leash and colar him

with my words, then I didn't deserve to have him. It hit the

floor with a thunk of metal. Austin didn't even look at it.

I molded myself to his back and closed my eyes. His skin

smeled like nothing else in the world but Austin. No

cologne or soap could take the place of it. I breathed him

in, and in the darkness behind my eyelids, I lost myself in

remembering the way it had always been.

It was a little different now. He jerked when my now-free

hand slid between his legs to cup his bals, and when my

thumb pressed his anus in gentle counterpoint to each

stroke of his cock. His body tensed and he muttered a

smal exclamation, but it didn't sound like it was of protest,

and I kept on what I was doing.

Stroke, stroke and press, press in time to the slow, subtle

bump of my cunt against his ass. I imagined filing him the

way he'd filed me so many times. Austin shuddered, his

groan sounding desperate. His cock sweled impossibly in

my fist. The tender, secret muscles of his ass tightened

under the pad of my thumb, and his bals contracted.

Subtle signs of his impending climax I'd never noticed

before.

"Do you want to come?" I asked him, certain of the

answer and surprised by his reply.

"No…not yet. Please." The word slipped out on a sighing

moan and he took a hand away from the headboard to put

over mine and stop my stroking. "I want to f—I want to

make love to you."

I kissed and nibbled his back for a second before I puled

away and spread myself out on the bed. "Use your mouth

on me first."

Austin looked over his shoulder, the side of his mouth I

could see tipped up. "Yes, ma'am."

He was teasing me a little, but I liked the sound of it

anyway. "Less talking, more licking."

Austin turned, stil kneeling, his prick in one fist. He let go

of it to hold his weight as he moved between my legs, but

he didn't dive straight into my pussy the way I expected

him to. He brushed kisses over both my knees, first, then

up my ticklish inner thighs. His nose nuzzled my cunt

before his mouth did, but when his tongue found the tight

bud of my clit, I wasn't quite ready for the shock of

sensation.

My fists clutched the quilt as my back arched. "Oh, God."

Austin murmured against my cunt. His lips and tongue and

teeth formed words I couldn't understand. He teased my

clitoris with smal, sweet licks and opened me with his

fingers to stroke me inside, too.

Everything about it was perfect. I didn't have to tel him

what I wanted or what I liked. He already knew.

In moments my orgasm built, ready to spil, but I didn't beg

him to hold off. I lifted myself against his mouth, urging him

to move faster. The world faded away until nothing

remained but the tension coiling in my bely, the pleasure of

his mouth and hands on me, the soft sigh of his breath as

he whispered my name.

I went over. Slip-slide-fal and up again, desire blocked

out everything else. The world crashed, and Austin was

with me al the way when it did. His mouth eased off while

his hands cradled me until the leap and jerk of my muscles

stiled.

But if I knew Austin, he knew me, too. With less than a

minute for me to come down, he moved up my body to

take my mouth. His fingertips found my clit again and

circled. He took me to the edge within seconds. His cock

nudged me a moment after that.

I'm on the pil but I'm not stupid, not even for Austin. Not

like that, at least. "Condom."

He reached a long arm to yank open my nightstand, even

though I hadn't said that's where I kept them. He puled

out the long string of them—the same ones I'd bought a

year ago when I was thinking about having lots of random

sex with strangers. I never had gotten around to it. I'd only

ever used them with him.

It was tricky, him putting on the condom without leaving

my clit, so I helped him out by using my own hand in his

place. He roled on the rubber and moved between my

legs. Breathless, I put a foot on his chest to keep him from

sliding inside me.

"No," I said.

My fingers were wet when I took them away from

between my thighs. That was what he'd done to me. For

me. I held out my hand and he took it to help me off my

back. I pushed him gently until he sat and I gripped his

cock to hold it stil as I slid onto his lap.

Chest to chest, groin to groin and then, mouth to mouth.

My arms went around his neck and held the back of his

head. We kissed, hard but slow. Our tongues fought. He

tried to move, but without my cooperation could only rock

upward a tiny bit. Even when his hands gripped my hips,

my legs wrapped around his waist and I held my body stiff

and stil except for the kiss.

He let out a shuddering sigh. "Paige…"

I rocked my hips and squeezed him with my internal

muscles, but said nothing. I looked into his eyes. Austin

blinked and swalowed.

"Fuck," he said. "Just…"

"I like it when you say please," I told him.

He blinked again. I watched his throat work as he

swalowed. My fingers twisted in the hair at the nape of his

neck. I watched him give in to me.

"Please," Austin said, and I came just from the sound of his acquiescence.

His arms tightened around me as I shook with it. His

mouth found mine again. This time when he started to

move, I gave him what he wanted. I moved with him, not

against him.

His hands slid down beneath my ass to lift me higher on his

cock, and I countered with a downward thrust and a rol

of my hips that twisted me on him. I lost my grip in his hair

and had to settle for clutching at his back. My nails dug

furrows he'd notice later, but just then he only moaned into

my mouth.

I couldn't come again, but it didn't matter. Austin could,

and did with a grunt. His fingers bruised my ass and I

didn't care. Our bodies smacked and slapped, and my bed

shook. I bit his shoulder and he shouted and thrust so

deep inside me it hurt. I didn't care about that, either.

Blinking, tasting sweat, I opened my eyes and looked into

his. I felt the jump and play of muscles in his thighs and

bely and arms. Austin shivered a little, but I didn't think it

was from the cold.

I unwrapped my arms from his neck and tried to do the

same with my legs, but he clutched me close. "Don't go

yet."

The fucking was done. We used to spoon sometimes after

sex, in the bed we'd shared. In the dark. That was when

we talked the most, after the fucking was done.

I didn't want to talk to Austin now. With my body sated,

my mind wanted to block out the feelings he always

brought up in me. I pushed at his chest, and he let me go.

I went to the bathroom before he could say anything else. I

turned on the shower and got in without waiting for it to

heat. Austin didn't come into the bathroom until steam had

veiled it. I heard him use the toilet, then run water in the

sink. I heard him fil my glass and set it down a moment

later. I waited for him to open the curtain and come in, but

though I was prepared to tel him to get out, Austin left the

bathroom.

He was dressed and sitting at the smal desk in my corner

by the time I came out, wrapped in a towel. He was too

big for my chair and that desk, another old piece I'd

inherited from my grandma. He was too big for me.

He looked up when I came in, and I saw he wasn't just

sitting there. He held my cel phone in one hand, the screen

flipped open. I hadn't heard it ring.

"What are you doing?"

Austin slowly closed my phone and set it on the desk. He

stood. He was too big for my room, too.

I wished I'd taken the time to pul on my robe. A towel

didn't seem adequate protection against the way he was

looking at me. I grabbed for my nightgown, but it had

tangled in itself when I threw it on the floor, and I couldn't

easily slide it over my head.

"You got a message," Austin said. "While you were in the shower."

"Since when are you alowed to listen to my messages?" I

yanked the cotton into place and tugged it over my head.

With it covering my face, I closed my eyes, wishing when I

opened them I'd discover this was al an inconvenient

dream.

"A text message," he said.

I yanked the nightgown down on my shoulders and glared.

"Since when are you alowed to read my messages?"

I stalked to the desk and grabbed up my phone but didn't

look to see who'd caled. I cradled it to my chest, though,

the metal chil through the cotton. Austin didn't move.

"Wel?" I demanded. "What the hel, Austin? Who the hel do you think you are?"

"Apparently, I'm nobody," he said.

I'd braced myself for anger, or accusations. A message

from Kira or my mom wouldn't have bothered him. It had

to have been from Eric, though I hadn't told him to send

me anything.

"I have to ask you, Paige. Is that what you want?" He

gestured at the phone, but since I didn't know what the

message had been, I couldn't answer.

I refused to look now. "You'd better leave."

Austin shook his head. "Answer me first. I think I deserve

an answer."

"I don't owe you—anything." My voice tore on the last

word and I shut my mouth tight to keep from breaking

totaly.

"Is that what you want?" he asked again, lower now.

To my horror, I saw he wasn't angry. Austin was close to

tears. I'd never seen him cry, not even when the dog he'd

had since toddlerhood had died. I'd watched him bury that

dog without a tear. But now…now, he was almost

weeping.

I had done this to him.

I didn't need to beat his ass with a belt to hurt him.

I felt like the worst kind of bitch.

"Is it what you like? Is it what you need?" He looked

helplessly at the headboard, where his hands had left no

marks. I looked, too. We didn't need scratches in the

wood to remember how he'd clutched it.

"I…think…I don't want to talk about this," I gasped out

around tears of my own.

Austin had seen me cry plenty of times. If my tears moved

him, he didn't show it. "Talk about it to me. I want to

know."

He paused, moved forward. Reached for me, though I

backed away.

"Please," he said.

I shook my head and covered my face with my hands, so I

didn't see him getting on his knees in front of me. I only felt

the thud as he hit the floor and the warmth of his hands as

he grabbed my hips. I couldn't look, not even when he

pressed his face to my pussy and whispered my name, his

breath hot through the cotton. I didn't want to feel the wet

of tears against my skin. I wouldn't look, not even when he

inched the fabric of my nightgown into his fists and kissed

my bely, then my thighs.

"Tel me," Austin said. "Is this where you want me?"

A strangled sound launched itself from my throat. I tried to

take a step back, but his hands held me in place. He

kissed me again, slow and lingering. Heat and wet against

my cunt. Heat and wet against my thigh as he turned his

face to press against me there.

"Because I'l do it, if it makes you happy, Paige. I'l get on

my knees for you any time you want it. I'l let you do what

you want. If you tel me what you want me to do, I'l do it.

Whatever it takes, remember? Just…tel me. Please."

"I want you to shut up and go," I said as best I could

without breath. It had stuck in my throat, too, my world

spinning dizzily as I tried to draw in more air. "Just go,

Austin!"

"If that's what you want." He stood and his hands slid up

my body to pul me closer to him.

My nightgown fel back down, but it was no protection

against him. His belt buckle pressed my bely. The denim

of his jeans scratched my bare legs. I had my hands

between us, pushing at his chest, and he snared them both

in his. Too late, I realized I would have to look at him

now.

"I love you," Austin said. "Don't you know that?"

I opened my mouth and he kissed me until I turned my

face.

"You don't want to know it," he said.

"We've been through this before," I whispered. "It doesn't work with us."

"I want it to work. Things are different now. Aren't they?

I'm different." He paused and tugged me half an inch

closer. "You're different. You know you are."

But I hadn't wanted him to know.

"We weren't al bad together," he said.

I looked at him again. "We weren't al good together,

either."

"I want to be with you. Not just to fuck you once in a

while. Again, serious. You and me. I'm wiling to try."

I almost said yes. But then I said no. "Leave."

"Whatever it takes," Austin said, and kissed me until I

couldn't breathe.

I didn't walk him to the door. I waited until I heard it close

behind him before I looked at the message on my phone.

It was from Eric, as I'd thought.

If I were with you right now, I'd be on my knees for you.

Your slave. I'd worship you. I wish I could be with you

right now.

It's easy to look back and blame a lot of things on

circumstance, and I could blame what had just happened

with Austin for my response to Eric. But I'l own what I

did. I answered him.

I think it's time we meet in person.

Then I wiped my face and refused to cry anymore.

Chapter 31

"Paige, I need you to come and stay with Arty next week

while I go away for a few days." My mom, for once, didn't

start with any sort of preamble.

I didn't stop to think about why she was asking, just that

she was. "Stay at the house?"

"Yes." She sounded tired and cranky. "I need you to be here to get him on the bus in the morning. He has that

after-school program until you can get home from work."

"What time does he get on the bus?" Already I was

calculating excuses, thinking only of the torture of having to

stay in my mother's house for any length of time.

"Eight. Plenty of time for you to get to work. And it's only

five days, Paige. Sunday through Thursday. I should be…

I'l be home on Friday."

Her assumption that I'd put my life on hold to do this

rankled. I was already in a bad mood from my fight, if you

could cal it that, and I did, with Austin. My mind was on

other things, like meeting Eric and teling him the truth

about me and his unknown her and what would happen.

"Where are you going?" I asked. "It's not like I can just drop everything, Mom."

"I'm going away for a few days. To a spa," she said

defensively. "Some me time."

I gritted my jaw and turned off the heat under my pan of

reheated spaghetti. I wasn't hungry for it, anyway. "You

couldn't have let me know sooner?"

"They had a last-minute opening. Don't argue with me

about this, Paige."

Her tone, the one she'd used often on me as a child, set

my teeth on edge even more. I dumped the pasta onto a

plate and slammed it onto my table, but I didn't sit to eat it.

"What if I can't?"

My mom's voice cracked. "You have to. I don't have

anyone else to take him, and he loves you. You're his

sister. I need you to do this for me."

The tremor in her voice slammed a door on my anger. "Is

this about Leo?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you lived with him for five years, Mom, and you

guys just broke up. You have to be upset."

"I am upset. Very upset." She paused. "Yes, it's about Leo. He…he's taking me away. To try to work things out.

It's last-minute because he just got the time off and this

place had an opening. So we're going. I know it's late

notice, Paige, but I don't have anyone else to ask."

I stil wasn't happy, but I was the last person to stop

anyone from trying to repair a relationship. Helping out my

mom might, in some way, redeem my lack of effort with

Austin. Or not. In any case, I sighed and puled out my

calendar from my purse. "What days, again?"

She told me. "You could come for the weekend, you

know. Friday night. We could spend a few days together

before I go."

"Don't push it," I told her. "I've got stuff going on, Mom. I can't just pop over and hang out and get home in ten

minutes."

"You think I don't know that?"

Shit, now she was crying. What was wrong with me, that I

made people around me so upset? "Mom. C'mon."

"I miss you, Paige! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I don't have a big,

fancy house like your dad does," she said more meanly

than I'd ever heard her in my life. "I'm sorry we don't meet

your standards. But it's what we have, and you didn't turn

out so fucking bad, did you?"

I might have shouted back at her, except I was tired of

fighting. With Austin, with her. With myself. So I said

nothing and after a few moments of tense silence, my mom

cleared her throat.

"I need to leave the house by 8:00 a.m. on Sunday. Be

here before then, please."

I held back a groan and reconsidered staying over the

night before. Which would be worse, a Saturday night in

my mom's house in Lebanon, or having to get up at ass-

crack o'thirty in the morning? "Fine. I'l be there."

"Thank you," she said stiffly, and not like my mom at al.

"Arty wil be thriled."

That was the saving grace to it al. That my little brother

would be happy to see me. I didn't miss living in Lebanon,

and I didn't miss living with my mom, but I did miss being

close enough to see them more often. I'd spent a lot of

time taking care of Arty when he was a baby and a

toddler. He was as much my child as he was my brother.

"See you then." I didn't quite manage to sound happy.

"I love you, honey," my mom said, and like the bitch-brat I was, I hung up without answering.

Austin didn't cal me, and I sure as hel didn't cal him. Eric

didn't cal me, either, a fact that pleased me less. I knew

why—I'd nudged myself out of the top spot in his pecking

order. It would have been funny if it wasn't also sort of

sad.

It did prove one thing, that whatever we had, or almost

had, it wasn't exactly what he was looking for. The

question I couldn't stop asking myself, though, was could I

give him what it appeared he wanted, ful-time? And

would he want it from me when he found out it was me?

Most of al, did I want to become in real life the woman I'd

created in those letters?

I took my pen. I took the paper, the soft, fragrant, special

paper. I only had a couple sheets left. Maybe I wouldn't

need more.

My mom said she'd be back Thursday, a week from

today. I had Eric's schedule for the month. He worked that

night, as wel as the folowing Friday and Saturday.

Sunday, then. A little more than a week. That would give

me plenty of time to prepare.

You will reserve a room at the Harrisburg Hilton for

Sunday night. When you check in, you'll leave

instructions for the second key to be left for me, under

the name Rose Thorn. You will be in the room and

ready for me no later than three-thirty. You will bring

with you a bottle of your favorite lube, a box of

condoms and a copy of your medical records

guaranteeing your clean bill of health. Once inside the

room, you will shower and shave and smooth your skin

with lotion. I want you clean and smelling of lavender

and mint. You will wait for me wearing only the

bracelet I gave you. Kneel by the bed. When I come in,

you may address me at once and show your

appreciation of my presence by kneeling at my feet.

It didn't sound quite right. My words lacked a certain

rhythm and delicacy, but they were al I had. Eric liked

flirting with public displays of his submission, and he'd have

to give up some of that to the clerk to whom he gave my

name. But he'd be outing me, too, and I wasn't sure how I

felt about walking up to a perfect stranger and caling

myself Mistress anything. Stil, I guessed it was time to try

to find out if I could play this role for real.

"You gonna try for that new position?" Brenda had snuck

up on me, not difficult to do since I was lost in swirling,

deep-purple thoughts of fucking and sucking. I didn't think

that was the new position she meant.

"I don't think so." When in doubt, stal. It took me a minute to figure out what she did mean, but then when she cast a

pointed look at the buletin board on the wal behind me, I

turned. I scanned the papers tacked there and nodded.

"Oh. The marketing position? No. I already said I wasn't

interested."

This gave her pause. "They just put this up about ten

minutes ago, Paige."

Okay, so Brenda hadn't been one of their preapproved

applicants. I pretended to look more closely. "Oh, that

new position. No. I don't think so. I'm happy where I am."

She made one of those noises people make when they

don't believe you but don't want to come right out and say

so. "I think I might go for it. The salary is a lot better, for one thing. I bet the benefits are good, too."

"It's a lot of responsibility, Brenda." Together we left the buletin board to head down the hal toward our respective

offices, but paused in the halway crossroads. Maybe if I

was lucky Brenda would stop to summon a demon and I

could avoid further awkward conversation.

This early there wasn't much traffic, not even toward the

copy room or the break room, which always had

customers. She shrugged and shifted her purse over her

shoulder.

"I think I could handle it. Don't you?" Her eyes narrowed.

"They're looking for a few people, I heard. Not just one."

I laughed to put her at ease. "I'm realy not interested in it."

Some smal tension I wouldn't have noticed had it not been

so obvious when it eased lifted her shoulders. "I'm going to

do it. My sweetie says I should, anyway. He says he

wouldn't mind retiring a few years early."

That seemed like the last reason for her to take a new job,

but I kept my mouth shut. "Good luck."

"Thanks." She nodded and headed off, pausing for a

moment more. "Lunch, today?"

"I can't. I'l have to work through so I can leave early." I didn't explain further, though I could see her curiosity.

Paul, of course, was in the office when I got in. I dropped

my sweater and purse on the rack and powered up my

computer, then moved to the coffeepot to get that started.

The scent of coffee usualy brought him out from the cave

if he hadn't already caffeinated on the way to work, but

since I needed to talk to him anyway I fixed his cup and

rapped on his door.

"Paul? I need to—" I stopped just inside the door, at first convinced he wasn't in there, after al.

convinced he wasn't in there, after al.

He'd puled the blinds down al the way instead of just half.

The overhead lights, as usual, weren't on, but the table

lamp wasn't on, either. The only light came from the blue-

white shine off the computer monitor. I blinked, my eyes

adjusting, and the gleam of Paul's eyes made me realize he

was, indeed, sitting at his desk. He wore his suit coat, his

tie tight to his throat, his shirt startling and white in the

room's dimness. He reached at once to turn on the table

lamp when I entered, but not even his smile could convince

me nothing was wrong.

I didn't spil the coffee, but I did set it down so hard on the

corner of his desk that I sloshed it over the rim. I went

around the corner of the desk and knelt in front of him as

he turned in the swivel chair to stare at me. I reached for

his hands before I knew it, and he took them, his fingers

strong and warm and heavy in mine.

"What's wrong, Paul?"

"I can't make these figures work," he said calmly. Solemn.

His fingers tightened briefly, a twitch.

I squeezed back, gently. "Do you need me to take a look

at them?"

"No," he said. "I just need to sit here for a few more minutes to get them straight. Okay?"

Whatever this was, it wasn't normal, but it didn't feel

wrong. He trembled briefly, the twitch of his fingers

echoing in his entire body before he stiled. I saw the effort

in his eyes, what it took to stop himself from shaking.

I had known since the first week I worked for him that

Paul needed more attention than any other boss I'd ever

had. I'd been warned, but for the wrong reasons, and we'd

gotten along more than fine. Great. We'd made an

understanding. I didn't know what was wrong with him

right now, but it didn't realy matter. I had to take care of

him.

"Do you want me to cal your wife?"

He blinked and sighed. His shoulders hunched. "Paige, I'm

just so very, very…overwhelmed."

I looked past him to the computer, where a few windows

spread out across the screen. I stood and reached past

him to click them al closed, one by one, until al that

remained was the plain blue walpaper and tiny icons of his

desktop. Paul didn't move until I moved back to lean

against the desk. Then he swiveled his chair away from

me.

In profile, he looked older than he had before. He was a

man who wore his age in the lines of his face and his

frown, and in his heavy sigh.

"I just need a few minutes," he said quietly.

"How long has this been going on?"

He looked at me then and managed a smile. "A long time.

My whole life."

"Do you take meds for it?" I kept my voice soft, and if the intrusive question offended him he didn't show it.

"Yes."

"Aren't they working?"

Paul sighed, but smiled a little broader. "Not today, I

guess."

"Can I help you?" I asked without reaching for him again,

though I wanted to run a hand over his hair and cup his

cheek. Something smal and soft to comfort him. The way

my mom used to touch me when I was upset.

"You've helped me so much, you don't even know." Paul

took a deep, long breath and squared his shoulders. "Just

having you here has been such a…pleasure, Paige."

I smiled at his hesitation. "Uh-huh."

He rumpled his hair, and some of his tension eased with

that simple act. He took another slow breath and let it out.

He looked at me with naked eyes. "I find, sometimes,

knowing that you're there with my coffee is enough to

keep me on the right track. You never balked, Paige. Not

at anything I asked you. You never made me feel like a

tyrant for needing things a certain way."

"Of course not."

He half lifted a brow. "Others did."

"I know they did."

We shared some silence.

"You realy know me, Paige," Paul said finaly. "I'l be sorry when you leave."

This time I did reach for him, if only to give his tie a gentle

tug. "I'm not going anywhere."

The cough interrupted us, and we both looked toward the

door. I didn't drop his tie, not at first. Not when I saw it

was Vivian, her blond hair freshly styled and her brows as

high as her heels. I let Paul's tie slide from my fingers as

slowly as I stood.

"I brought those files to go over, Paul." She didn't come

into the room.

"I thought you were going to cal me first," he said.

She and I both looked at him. I couldn't see her face, but I

knew my mouth had dropped a little. Paul, as a rule,

wasn't mean. Not even close. And he'd pretty much just

spanked her, and not in the good way. I wanted to laugh,

but settled for a smile he returned.

"I can come back in fifteen minutes," she said cooly.

"Would that suit?"

"How about twenty? Paige and I were in the middle of a

meeting."

She left without saying anything, and his shoulders tensed

again, but he took another long, slow breath. When she'd

gone he ran a hand over his hair again and let it cover his

eyes for a minute. When he looked at me, though, his smile

seemed genuine and the horrific blank look in his gaze had

faded.

"She's going to think we're fucking," I said in a low voice.

It was perhaps an inappropriate thing to say, but we'd

moved beyond the pretense of formality.

He nodded. "She might."

"Is this going to be a problem for you?"

Paul didn't even look at the photos of his wife and family,

though his mouth tightened. I wondered if I'd been wrong

about him and Vivian. "It might be a problem for her. But

not me, no."

He paused. "It could make a difference when she's your

boss, though."

"I already told you, I'm not applying for that job."

I went to the bathroom to get a wet paper towel to take

care of the coffee dripping on the desk. When I came

back, Paul had moved the mug, contents half gone. He'd

puled out a pad of paper and his pen rested on it, though

he wasn't writing. I wiped the spots and tossed the paper

in the trash, then leaned over his shoulder to look at the list

as yet unwritten.

"Start with your e-mail," I said. He wrote it down. "Then sort through the mail in your in-box. Take care of what

needs done with those things."

He wrote that down, too, and the rest of the instructions I

gave him.

"Send me home early," I added, and he looked up, the

scratching of pen ceasing. "I have to be able to pick up my

little brother from the after-school-care program every day

this week. I'l need to leave by three, al right? I'l go

without a lunch break and come in earlier if I have to."

Paul slowly wrote down, Paige leaving early, and looked

up at me again. "No, you don't have to. Just make sure

your work's done." Another pause. "As if I need to tel

you."

I leaned closer, just a bit, to say in a low voice, "Write it

down in a list for me. It wil make you feel better."

I left the office with Paul's chuckle ringing in my ears.

Chapter 32

"Can we have macaroni and cheese for dinner? Please?"

Arty clung to my hand like the monkey I'd always caled

him, then lifted his feet off the ground, so I staggered from

his sudden weight.

"Cut it out." I shook him off and set down my overnight

bag.

The living room smeled like my mom's perfume and

something else. Old Chinese food, maybe. I'd have to do a

search. My mom had been known to set down a container

or plate next to the couch while she watched TV and

forget about it. Arty tossed his shoes, coat and book bag

onto the floor by the front door in an amazing one-two-

three slingshot move I wouldn't have believed possible had

I not seen it in front of me. He was already off and running

toward the kitchen when I caled him back.

"Pick that stuff up!" I pointed.

"I need a snack!"

I happened to know they fed him at his after-school

program, because my mom had told me how great it was

not to worry about him being hungry when she picked him

up. "Have a piece of fruit."

Arty stopped in midleap, so fast he skidded on the worn

carpet in the kitchen doorway. "Fruit?"

"Mom doesn't make you eat fruit?"

He made a face like I'd asked him to eat dung. "But I

wanted a Doodle."

I had no fucking clue what a Doodle was, but it didn't

sound pleasant. "Fruit. Or some crackers. I'l make dinner

in about twenty minutes, just let me get settled in."

Arty grumped and groaned and stomped, but came back

out in a minute with a box of cheese crackers. He hurtled

himself into a beanbag placed close enough to the TV he

could have read Braile on the screen, and turned on

cartoons loud enough to make me wince. He wasn't happy

to scoot back or turn it down, but he did. I tried to ignore

the crumbs spewing from his mouth with each guffaw.

I took my bag up the narrow stairs and down the dark,

close hal to the room at the back of the house. My mom

had taken the front room, overlooking the street, with a

panel of four large windows. Arty's smaler room was

between hers and the bathroom. The room at the end

should've been a nice den, a sewing room, a playroom, but

for some reason nobody in the house used it.

There was a bed, at least, a creaking twin bed that

matched one of the dressers I'd inherited from my

grandma. The sheets were clean, and the bedspread, and

my mom had laid out clean towels for me, too. I set my

bag on the rickety, spindle-legged chair I'd never have

dared sit on, and I colapsed onto the bed. The ceiling had

cracks in it, and water damage. One high, narrow window

had a blind but no curtain. That would be pleasant in the

morning.

"Paiiiiige! I'm hungry!"

The wail drifted up the stairs and I heaved myself out of

the bed to holer, "I'l be right down!"

When I yanked the door opposite the foot of the bed,

though, al I did was chip a nail on the knob. The door

stayed stubbornly shut. Not the closet, then. It must have

been the door to the attic. I tried the one next to the

dresser, revealing a set of wire hangers I used to quickly

hang my work clothes for the next couple days. Then it

was downstairs to the kitchen, which looked as if it had

been cleaned in preparation for my arrival.

Which meant my mom had wiped down the counters and

cleared out the sink, but the floor was a little sticky in front

of the fridge and crumbs coated the table. When I was

younger, it had never occurred to me that other people

stored leftover food in the fridge or the freezer. When we

got pizza it often stayed out on the counter until it was

gone. Sometimes she put it, stil in the box, in the oven until

we remembered to take it out and throw it away. My mom

cooked but haphazardly, so spaghetti sauce had always

made Rorschach blots on the stovetop and stiff noodles

stuck to the ceiling where she'd tossed them to see if the

pasta was done.

When I was in elementary school, I'd come down with

food poisoning. To be fair, it wasn't my mom's fault. I'd

spent the day with my dad at his country-club pool, where

they fed me extravagantly on fries and hot dogs instead of

making me eat the peanut butter and jely sandwich my

mom had packed for me. I brought it home and ate the

sandwich later that night for dinner. An hour after that, the

world began to spin. An eternal half hour after that, I

started to puke.

I had a morbid fear of food gone bad after that. I wouldn't

eat anything I suspected, even vaguely, of having turned.

When I opened my mom's fridge and saw the containers

and jars, al potentialy swimming with bacteria, my

stomach clenched tight in protest.

"Let's go out to eat, okay?"

I didn't have to say it twice. My arms filed with squirming

little boy as Arty tried to squeeze the breath out of me and

mostly succeeded. I put the kibosh on McDonald's, but

conceded to Wendy's, where he thought he tricked me

into letting him get a Frosty, when realy I just wanted an

excuse to get one for myself.

Inside the restaurant, Arty launched himself across the

room. "Leo!" Arty seemed incapable of using a voice at

anything less than a shout, but Leo didn't seem to care. He

patiently let Arty leap al over him, then looked at me over

the top of Arty's head.

"Hey, Paige."

I stuttered for a second. "What…hey. What are you doing

here?"

He lifted his bag of food. "Getting dinner."

Arty had settled back down to the toy he'd found in his

kids' meal bag. Leo was hesitating, but I gestured at the

table, and he sat. "It's good to see you, Leo."

"You, too. What's been going on?"

Of al my mom's boyfriends over the years, Leo was the

one I liked the best. He'd never tried to be my dad, and he

hadn't forced friendship on me, either. Maybe it was

because I was already grown up and moved out of my

mom's house when they started dating.

I glanced at Arty, lost in his own world of ketchup-firing

French-fry cannons. "I thought you and my mom were

going away together."

Leo's eyes never left mine, though his mouth set into a hard

line centered in his bushy, biker beard. "Obviously, we

didn't."

"So where did she go?"

He shrugged and looked away. "That's between you and

your mom, Paige."

Another guy? It had to be. Why else would Leo look so…

lost? And on a man his size, with that beard, the tattoos

and the denim biker vest, lost wasn't a look I'd ever

expected to see.

"I gotta run," Leo said and leaned across the table to ruffle Arty's hair. "Take care of the kiddo."

"Of course." I watched him head out and turned back to

Arty. "Where did Mama say she was going?"

"To a spar," he said.

"A spa?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. A spa. She's going to get a

message."

I sighed. "A massage?"

He grinned, showing the gap between his teeth where he'd

lost one. "Yeah."

"Alone?"

"I guess so." Arty shrugged.

It wasn't like I could realy expect him to know more, but

why had she lied to me?

I woke, disoriented, when a smal hand tugged my arm.

Expecting Arty, I sat up and fumbled for the light next to

my bed, but there wasn't one. I blinked until my eyes

focused, but my brother wasn't hovering over me. The

touch I'd felt had come from nothing.

I sat straight up, the blankets I'd tucked so carefuly

around me fighting against me now. At the foot of my bed

stood two smal children, both about Arty's age, clutching

each other's hands. Pale, white children I didn't need a

lamp to see because they both gleamed in the darkness.

Pale children with empty black holes where their eyes

should've been and blood dripping from their ragged

fingertips. Behind them, the attic door gaped wide.

I waited for the blood to start pouring out of the door like

it did in The Shining, but al that happened was they

stared. And stared. The pounding of my heart became a

roar and I did the only thing I had the courage to do. I

closed my eyes, then clapped my hands over them, too.

Nothing happened until I heard a smal voice whisper,

"Take care of us."

Then I screamed, and screamed and screamed…until I sat

straight up in bed to the sound of my phone ringing. The

attic door was stil closed. No ghostly children were

begging me to adopt them. The room wasn't even that

dark, lit as it was by the light from an outside streetlamp

through the window.

I stumbled out of bed and dug in my purse for my cel. My

heart had started pounding again, but for a different

reason. I got al kinds of texts and cals in strange hours,

but this one felt wrong, and I didn't recognize the number.

"Ms. DeMarco?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"This is Dr. Philips at the Hershey Med Center. I'm sorry

to cal you so late, but your mother's surgery has had some

complications—"

I had to blink twice to make sure I wasn't stil dreaming

and even then I wasn't convinced. "I'm sorry, hold on a

second. Her surgery?"

"The breast-reconstruction surgery had some complica

tions," he explained patiently, probably used to waking

people up to give them bad news. "She's running a high

fever and has been hemorrhaging."

My mother had gone and got herself a boob job. I gritted

my teeth. "You're her plastic surgeon?"

"Yes. I've been working closely with her oncologist, Dr.

Frank, since your mother was diagnosed."

I was stil stupid. "Wait a minute. Her oncologist? I thought

she was having her breasts done."

"Your mother had a double mastectomy," the doctor said.

"With a planned reconstruction. But as I said, there are

complications."

I sagged against the headboard. "What kind of

complications?"

"Can you come to the hospital?" he said. "I think you should."

Chapter 33

Leo probably hadn't even gone to bed yet when I caled

him to come sit with Arty and get him on the bus in the

morning. He was there in fifteen minutes. I should've been

relieved to see him, but I was angry, too.

"You knew?"

He nodded. "She told me a couple months ago. When she

told me to leave."

"Months? She knew for months and…she didn't tel me?"

Leo shrugged. "She didn't want to worry you, Paige. Hey,

don't look at me like that. You know your mother. And

she broke up with me because of it."

He didn't have to tel me that was worse than being kept in

the dark. "I'm sorry she did that. Why would she?"

Another shrug. "She said she didn't want to be a burden."

"Did you try to convince her otherwise?" The question was

a little mean, but Leo took it in stride.

"I love that woman, and I love that boy up there." He

pointed. "Hel. I even took a shine to you. I was hoping

she'd reconsider once she had the operation and she saw I

didn't care about the size of her tits."

There wasn't much point in belaboring the discussion, so I

left him at the house. The drive to Hershey was shorter

than the trek from Lebanon to Harrisburg, but it was along

a two-lane, rural highway and I had the bad luck to be

stuck behind someone adhering strictly to the speed limit.

By the time I got to the med center, my stomach had

twisted itself into knots and I'd sweated big rings under my

arms. I parked in the lot and headed into the lobby, where

I managed to decipher the signs to find my mom's floor. I

took the elevator with a pair of chatty nurses and a worn-

looking older man with a basebal cap puled low on his

head.

It was just past 11:00 p.m., not the darkest hour of the

night or anything, but even so the floor was dim and quiet.

The nurses talked softly at the desk. I'd never been to the

ICU before. I wasn't happy to be here, now.

"Alicia DeMarco?" I rested my hands flat on the counter to keep myself from biting my nails. "Her doctor caled and

keep myself from biting my nails. "Her doctor caled and

said she was being moved here?"

The nurse consulted a chart. I thought there'd be trouble

with visiting hours, but she just smiled and told me the

room number and pointed the way helpfuly. My knotted

stomach twisted tighter. If my mom was realy fine I

thought they'd have made me wait until morning, which

would've annoyed me since I'd made the trip, but would've

meant she was going to be okay.

I didn't have that reassurance now.

She looked smal in the bed. Pale without her many layers

of makeup. Her hair not teased or even combed, just

puled back from her face in a high ponytail. She was

sleeping. Machines beeped and something squeaked by in

the hal outside as I just stared.

Her breath rattled and I jumped at the sound. When I

crossed to the bed, I couldn't be sure I'd wake her. I

didn't know if she could be woken.

Her eyes fluttered open when I sat in the chair next to the

bed. "Paige."

"Hi, Mom." I scooted closer. Under the covers her chest

rose higher than looked right. I couldn't avoid looking.

"Checking out my new rack?" My mom's voice cracked

and she drew in a slow, pained breath.

"Why didn't you tel me?"

I waited for a long few minutes for her to answer. Her

eyes closed. I thought she'd falen back to sleep, but then

she licked her lips and coughed.

"Hurts like a bastard," she said.

I didn't ask her again. There'd be time for questions and

accusations, and I had no doubt there'd be plenty of both.

My mom opened her eyes. Then she closed them again,

only to reopen them a second later. She smiled. "Paige."

I moved to the chair next to her bed and took her hand.

"Mom. What the hel's going on?"

"Language," my mother cautioned, and looked at the

plastic pitcher on the nightstand. "Can you pour me some

water? I'm dying."

Alarmed, I stopped halfway to grabbing the pitcher.

"Mom!"

"Shh," she said.

"Mom. You're not dying."

"I'm dying of thirst. Give me a drink, for God's sake." She frowned. "Am I going to have to ring for a nurse?"

"No." I poured and held it up for her to sip, but she waved me away with an irritated sigh.

"I can do it."

I watched her sip delicately at the water, and I watched as

she spiled it al down her chin to wet the neck of her

hospital gown. When I took the cup away, I handed her a

tissue from the holder next to the pitcher. She blotted her

mouth and held the tissue to her nostrils, one then the

other, before crumpling it in her fist.

"I know you think I should have told you what was going

on," she said.

"No shit."

"Paige." My mom gave me one of her looks, but it left me

unaffected. She sighed again. "I didn't want to worry you."

"How long have you known? Mom, my God." I wasn't

thirsty, but I poured myself a cup of water anyway to give

my hands something to do. Then I remembered I was in a

hospital, the air afloat with who knew what sorts of

noxious germs, and I put the cup down.

My mother watched me from dark-shadowed eyes.

Without her makeup on she looked so much younger.

Prettier, even, despite the circles and lines of fatigue

etched at the corners of her eyes. She'd never have gone

out in public like that, but I liked seeing her without so

much paint covering her face.

"For a few months. I found a lump one day and went to

have it checked out. They did a biopsy. It was cancer,

so…" She gestured with her fingertips at the room.

"But why didn't you tel me?" I didn't mean to whisper, and the way I clutched at her hand surprised me. I bent

forward to press my forehead to her hand in mine, and that

surprised me, too. "I'd have helped you!"

"I didn't want you to worry," she repeated. "And you are helping me. You're taking care of Arty. Where is Arty?"

I felt hot, feverish, my mom's hand cool on my skin the

way it had been for countless childhood ilnesses. Only,

she was the sick one this time, not me. "He's at home with

Leo."

"Oh."

At my mom's smal voice, I looked up. "You told him."

She nodded after a pause. "I had to. He wanted to know

why I didn't want to be with him anymore. He wouldn't

believe me when I said it was someone new."

"You didn't. Oh, Mom." I shook my head. "How could

you do that to him?"

She yanked her hand from mine with an unexpected

strength. "Don't you judge me, Miss Smarty. You're not

exactly the best judge of how to make a relationship work,

are you?"

My jaw dropped, but I closed it with a click. "What's that

got to do with anything? Leo loves you. You love him."

She shrugged. "I wasn't going to wait and see if he stil

loved me when I was sick and losing my hair. When I was

—" She snapped her mouth closed into a tight, fierce line,

her lips sewn shut against whatever it was she refused to

say.

"But you could've told me." I sat back in the chair, a

milion miles between us. "Unless you think I would've

stopped loving you, too."

A single tear spiled out of each of her eyes and slid in twin

silver tracks over her cheeks. "I didn't want you to worry,

baby, that's al. This was something I thought I could

manage on my own."

Her eyelids fluttered closed again. "Paige, I'm tired now.

Let me sleep."

I wasn't close to being finished, but even I couldn't push

her right now. I stood and patted the bedcovers. "I'm

going to see if I can talk to a doctor or something. I'l

come back tomorrow, okay?"

Her words stopped me in the doorway, a chil skittering

along my spine.

"Take care of him."

I shuddered at the vision of eyeless children with torn and

bloody fingertips. I turned, but of course it was only my

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