“Leah, goddamn it, look at me.”
Without hesitation she did.
“We need to talk about this,” he went on.
She shook her head and asked, “Why? I promise to be good, do as you say. Anything you want, I’ll do I. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
No, it wasn’t what he f**king wanted.
He wanted her trust, her acceptance of his power, his dominance, not to wield it against her, but to use it to keep her safe, protected, nurtured, thriving.
“You don’t understand,” he told her.
“Do you want me to understand?” she asked.
“Yes, I f**king do.”
Her eyes locked on his, hers were still lifeless. “Then of course I’ll listen. Whatever you want, Lucien.”
Blinding rage wrenched through him. At that moment, he didn’t know if he was furious at Leah or himself. This mingled with the bizarre, twisting pain and it took every effort not tear the room apart.
He watched her waiting expectantly and pulled in breath through his nose.
He knew he didn’t have the control to deal with this tonight. He needed to seek calm and deal with this rationally not when he wanted to throw the lounge through the window.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
She nodded and asked, “Do you mind if I go back to sleep?”
He drew another breath into his nostrils, attempting to keep a tight rein on his temper, which, fortunately worked.
“You don’t have to ask me to sleep.”
She nodded again, whispered, “Okay,” then rolled to her side, tucking her hands under her cheek again and closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Lucien,” she told her pillow.
His hold on his temper slipped and he growled. Her eyes snapped open and her head started to twist to look at him but he buried his face in her neck as his arms wrapped tight around her.
“You undo me, pet,” he muttered there, seeking solace in her warm, soft body, anything that might subdue that twisting pain.
He felt her grow still before she relaxed then, softly, she admitted, “I don’t know if I can redo you.”
Her words were so absurd, in spite of his anger, his smiled into her neck.
She kept talking. “But I think to redo you, I’d have to figure out how to redo me and that ship has finally sailed.”
His smile died and her head tilted forward, not to refuse him access to her neck but settling into sleep.
“It’s for the best,” she whispered as he lifted his head to watch her tired face. “I was always driving everyone crazy with my personality defects. Aunt Kate’s going to be thrilled.”
Her words made the burning pain intensify considerably.
“Leah, stop talking,” Lucien ordered.
“Okay,” she said then her eyes flew open and to the side and she said, “That’s speaking. Sorry. No, I mean… sorry!” Then she pressed her lips together and turned her face into the pillow.
Lucien didn’t know whether to laugh or to shout.
What he did know was that Kitty was a very bad idea.
He settled behind her, pulling her deeper into his body, something she didn’t resist, and pressing his face into her thick, soft hair.
He had thought Leah had been broken before and he’d been wrong. He took in a deep breath deciding that he’d see what tomorrow might bring.
When he knew she was asleep, he carefully pulled away so as not to wake her and took a shower.
Chapter Twelve
The Understanding
I woke up and pretty much saw nothing but the wide expanse of Lucien’s smooth, defined chest. This was because my cheek was resting against his pectoral. How I slept cuddled up to him like that, I’d never know. I wasn’t a cuddling type of girl.
Memories of the night before and yesterday flooded my brain but, regardless of the pain or maybe because of it, automatically I shifted closer to his hard warmth.
Yesterday, after taking a very long, very cold shower and then just barely stopping myself from breaking everything breakable I could find, I’d found myself in a huge rambling house with nothing to do. I’d finished the only book I’d brought with me. There was no company. No phone. No car keys. No books. No internet. No cleaning to do. No dirty laundry. No ironing.
Nothing.
I realized too late I should have asked Edwina to buy a few magazines. I only had the television and my thoughts and I didn’t want to spend time with either of them.
I avoided the television as I’d found, over the years (with vast amounts of experience) that there was rarely anything on. Plus I usually ate like a pothead with the munchies when I sat in front of the TV, so I made the decision to take a walk.
This was a very stupid idea mainly because I forgot my stinking iPod. There was nothing to do but think when you walked without your iPod.
Too lazy to go back, I forged on and, as they do, things occurred to me as I walked.
For instance, the fact that Katrina had marked Lucien. It wasn’t something that registered on me at the time seeing as I was freaking out but, looking back, the scratches were ugly and savage. His skin had been broken. Katrina not only had not held back, she had the power and speed to get a bit of hers back.
And she hadn’t responded in any way shocked at their fight. It had been like it happened all the time.
Even Lucien’s baiting, “Try,” sounded, in retrospect, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d ever said it but as if he’d said it lots.
And lots.
And Katrina hadn’t hesitated to attack.
Katrina had attacked Lucien, not the other way around.
She had also attacked me, something which Lucien not only protected me from (easily) but also it infuriated him (greatly).
Then there was their conversation, Katrina saying I was “life” to Lucien.
I still didn’t know what that meant.
What I did know was that something important was going on. Something I didn’t understand, told myself I didn’t want to understand but something that was happening regardless.
It was Katrina who left and Lucien didn’t go after her. As far as I knew, he didn’t give her a second thought before he’d turned to me.
This all made me distinctly uncomfortable or more uncomfortable than normal.
Mainly because I was afraid Lucien was right. I’d jumped to conclusions.
I had a lot of bad qualities but I’d never been judgmental. I hated people who were judgmental. They were the worst.
But I feared I had been with Lucien.
Regardless of Katrina’s words, it was clear that Lucien wasn’t sending her “severance papers” (it wasn’t hard to figure out what severance meant) because of me but because of something that had been going on far longer.