Branded Sanctuary (36 page)

The shock and hurt on his face was so instantaneous, she had some small comfort in knowing she was off base on that, at least. “Chloe, everything I‟ve said to you, felt about you, is real. I told you that I didn‟t want to lie to you, and I told you why.”

“Because you were afraid it would scare me off.” She rubbed her forehead. “I remember. I just…I never imagined this. God, that‟s why she‟s so protective of you.

You‟re hers.”

“As much as you are. That‟s the way Marguerite is about everyone she…” He stopped, but she finished it, bitterly.

“She loves.”

“But it‟s not like that between us.”

“Of course not. But it‟s not some Sir Percival routine, lady from afar. She branded you, Brendan. She‟s been at the club
with
you, not just with you.” The flicker in his gaze told her she was right, and the knife drove in a little more. “So she‟s probably done all sorts of weird, perverted—”

“It‟s not perverted,” he snapped, real anger sweeping his expression.

It wasn‟t a word she normally would have chosen, either, but Tim seemed to have rubbed off on her, and those words that had been trundling through her head with every stressful moment came forth now.
Dirty. Filthy. Perverted.

However, it was his anger that froze her in her tracks, not the abrupt flashback possessions of her mind that were no longer a big surprise to her. “When you got pissed off at Tim a few moments ago, it was the first time I‟d seen you get ticked off about something. And it was because of what he said about her.”

“It was because of what he said to you, in front of you.”

“And now,” she continued, as if he hadn‟t spoken, “this is the first time you‟ve ever raised your voice to me. Again, because of her. The first time you have a fucking real opinion on anything, and it‟s about her.”

“It‟s not like that. Chloe, I‟ve told you—”

“I should have seen it. Even that night at the auction, you looked at her first. I was so overwhelmed, because you latched onto me like some guy dying of thirst in the desert, but you looked at her
first.
”

“Chloe, you don‟t—”

“Understand?” She shrugged, though the hated tears were threatening. Why had she ever gone down this road? Like she needed a relationship barely begun to fall apart, on top of all the other shit she‟d been handling in her head, her heart? “No, I don‟t. It‟s not my world, is it? It won‟t ever be, because it‟s not who I am. So how can any of this be anything more than an Alice-trip-to-fucking-Wonderland? You wear her brand, Brendan. I know what that means, if I don‟t know anything else. I want to go. I‟m going.”

She turned on her heel, wouldn‟t look at his face, not wanting to register any of his emotions, because she was having a hard enough time holding onto her own. For that nice, short time in the park, she‟d felt like she was getting a grip of things. She should have known it was a farce.

“I‟ll take you.”

“No. I have friends near here. I‟ll walk, crash there. Get one to pick me up—”

“Chloe.” His hand closed on her arm. Surprisingly, when she tried to shrug him off, he didn‟t budge. It brought her gaze unwillingly back to his face. His expression was tense, his mouth a straight line, eyes unhappy but determined.

“You‟re upset, and I about pulled you out from beneath a truck. Even if you were completely calm, I‟m not going to leave you on a city block to go find yourself a place to stay, miles from home. Come back to my place.” Before she could object, he held up his other hand. “I‟ll find someplace else to stay. You‟re more comfortable there right now.

There‟s no reason you shouldn‟t take advantage of it.”

“Correction.
Was
more comfortable there.” She felt meanly vindicated when he flinched, but what did he expect? She was supposed to lie in his bed, smell his scent, think of what they‟d done there, and then think of Marguerite…

“Fine, you can drive me. But not to your place. We can pick up my stuff there, but I want to go home. We all know I‟m safe there, I‟m just being paranoid.”

“Chloe.”

“I‟m tired of talking right now,” she snapped. “Either take me home, or get out of my way so I can call a cab.”

* * * * *

If there was a Guinness Book of World Records for the Most Awkward, Miserable Car Ride in History, Chloe knew this would be right there at the top of the list. Brendan tried to talk to her a couple times, but she simply looked out the window, her arms crossed over her chest, knees drawn up. She‟d refused to put on her seatbelt. With a sigh, Brendan had reached across her. He probably hadn‟t noticed how she closed her eyes, tightening into a smaller ball to steel herself against the brush of his body as he pulled the seatbelt over her, guiding it with firm patience to the right position before he snapped it in place.

After that, there was the brief stop at his place. She went in to retrieve her bag. He stood at the door, waiting on her. Because she didn‟t want him to come into the bedroom, she hurried, stuffing her few items in, and then sped back past him, across the threshold.

“Chloe—”

She shook her head, beat him to the car by several moments while he locked his door, came after her. The drive out to her place wasn‟t short, and she kept her attention turned to her open window, her face in the rushing wind. He may have said something a couple times, but she didn‟t listen. One part of her wanted him to shout at her, grab her arm, shake her, do something to show it mattered to him, but the other part of her clung to the cocoon of silence, sure that any attempt to strip it away would be more than she could take.

She didn‟t think about the darkness that would soon cloak her home, or the remoteness of her place. Hell, if necessary, she‟d sit on the back porch all night, hidden in a small corner where no ax murderer would think to look for her. He could look for her in all the usual places. Bed, kitchen, even bathroom. But she‟d be outside, part of the night itself. Empty, not feeling, not thinking, completely transparent. Evil could look right through her, because there was nothing left to take, at least for tonight.

She wasn‟t a drama queen. She knew this would pass, because all pain did. But this was one too many right now. If Brendan started to make her feel alive again, like it could be okay, she‟d grab onto that illusion until she lost herself forever.

When the Jeep crunched down her driveway, she saw St. Frances sitting on the porch, his eyes glowing in the deepening twilight. She‟d had a neighbor checking in on him, giving him food and water, so he looked well fed, only mildly interested in her return. Which she knew would change as soon as he had a person to curl up against in the bed, to give him extra tidbits. Companionship.

Brendan put the Jeep in park. “I‟m going to come in and check the house for you.

Then I‟ll go.”

“I‟ll wait out here,” she said tonelessly. She felt him looking at her for a minute, then he got out, came around. He faked her out, halting his forward progress abruptly and turning back to the open window. Before she could draw back, he‟d put his hand out, curled it around her neck, tilted her chin up with his thumb.

“Chloe, don‟t do this. Please talk to me. I‟ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I don‟t want to know anything.” She pulled away, shook her head. “I can‟t handle knowing, Brendan.”

“So tell me what you‟re thinking, then. Give me something I can work with, Chloe.

Let me help make it better. I can‟t leave you, knowing you‟re feeling like this.” He leaned against the window, so close that if the door hadn‟t been in the way, their bodies would have brushed. She was cold. She missed his warmth, remembering how they‟d arrived at the coffee shop earlier, his arm over her shoulders, hers around his lean waist. Her finger hooked on his belt, hips bumping with that casual intimacy of two people who might already be sleeping together, or just indicating the inevitability of their doing so.

She stared at his hand, gripping the frame. If she didn‟t give him something, she knew she couldn‟t end this, couldn‟t escape. And fortunately or unfortunately, something was bubbling up inside her at his words. “I did it in a church once, when I was sixteen,” she said at last. “Had sex in a park after sundown. Stripped off all my clothes to go skinny dipping. I thought those things made me adventurous. Tolerant. So when Marguerite told me more about her lifestyle…”

She curled a lip. “God, I hate that word. It‟s like a choice between Cape Cod or Victorian architecture, living on a six-figure income versus a five-figure one. It‟s a stupid word.”

“Yes, it is,” he said cautiously. She glanced at him. He was a good listener. He was.

And he hadn‟t lied to her. Though it didn‟t make it hurt less, it was something. He was worried how she felt. It mattered to him. She mattered to him. Which made it all so confusing, and painful.

“I guess I‟m realizing that there‟s a difference between being willingly adventurous and trying to figure out things beyond your normal understanding of the way the world is. No point of reference, right?” She suppressed a frustrated sigh. “Then there‟s realizing I‟m not above jealousy. It feels…it‟s a terrible feeling. I don‟t like it.” He closed a hand over hers, hard. “I didn‟t want to hurt you, Chloe. And I don‟t know how to tell you not to be jealous, but it‟s different with Mistr—Marguerite.” She swallowed a jagged lump. “That‟s what you prefer to call her, isn‟t it?

Mistress.”

He nodded, uncomfortably. “I know you don‟t want to hear it, but I need to tell you. I could say I‟ve never had sex with Marguerite. That the only thing she‟s ever allowed me to give her directly is a kiss. But the things we did at The Zone were sexual, so I guess that doesn‟t mean much. I did intend to tell you, if we reached this point together. It‟s just…” He sighed. “You‟re right. You may never fully understand the way this works, Chloe, but as far as I can tell, most people never fully understand those they care about. What‟s more important is that they love each other, and want to love each other to the very best of their ability.”

She stared down, past her painted toenails. She‟d left her shoes off and the canvas sneakers were in the floorboards, her feet braced on the edge of the seat as her legs remained bent against her, a modified fetal ball, instinctive shielding. But he was playing with her fingers, tiny strokes of the knuckles. She couldn‟t seem to pull her hand back.

“I can tell you that there‟s a difference between what I‟ve shared with Marguerite and what I hope to share with you, but I know that would sound like a boatload of crap, like a million other guys have said to justify past relationships. So I will say this.” She heard him draw a breath. “Marguerite is my Mistress. I love her, I‟ve served her in the past, and I‟ll always honor her. I‟ll never deny how important she is to me.” As numb as she‟d thought she‟d gotten, each word cut, but then he came to the end of it. “I‟m not in love with her, though. I never have been. And I expect it‟s obvious that she‟s not in love with me.”

Chloe raised her chin to look at him. Those eyes, so many shifting shades of gray, green and brown, were holding hers, though his face was strained with the effort, and she registered the tension in his shoulders. He wanted to soothe, to comfort, to physically demonstrate his devotion to her. She couldn‟t deny her body trembled with a desire for that, but it also had a vengeful need to slice into him.

Instead, she fought for some sense of stability inside, while the afternoon birds chirped and St. Frances came down to lie on the gravel and begin a thorough bath.

“You always call Tyler „sir‟. That‟s part of it too, isn‟t it?” Brendan nodded. “She belongs to him. It‟s a reminder that I respect that bond and will never dishonor it.”

She pressed her lips together. Reaching back to get her tote, she pulled it forward.

“I need to get out now.”

He opened the door for her, and she slid out. He stood in that opening, but she held the pack defensively between them. “Brendan…I think you‟re a really good person.

And maybe…I don‟t know if I can do this or not. I just need to think about it, work it out. Okay? So you need to go now.”

“I‟ll call—”

“No.” She shook her head, spoke before she lost her nerve. “Don‟t call me and don‟t come back. I‟ll work this out. If I think…I can handle it, I‟ll call you. Okay?” The look that came into his eyes made her wonder if her heart had cracked, because pain shot through her chest, so sharp she had to stay very still a moment. She saw resignation. He wouldn‟t fight her, would accept what she wanted. He‟d said that from the beginning, hadn‟t he? That he was all about doing whatever she wanted. Maybe that was why women went for those pushy, more dominant guys. Because women could be so confused about what they wanted, sometimes it was nice to have a guy who forced the issue and made the decision for her.

But honestly, she wasn‟t sure if that approach was what she wanted right now either. Dominant, submissive or none of the above, several hours ago she‟d had no doubt she wanted this man more than anything. That hadn‟t changed. She just didn‟t know if she could handle the past—or hell, the present—that came with him.

“All right.” Before he let her by, though, he leaned in. She stiffened, thinking and perhaps hoping he was going to kiss her mouth, but he relieved and disappointed her by kissing her forehead, cupping the back of her skull as he did it. When his hand tightened there, digging into her curls, it brought tears to her eyes. She could feel how hard he was holding back his emotions. Why was he doing so? Why wouldn‟t he snarl and snap? Demand and rage?