Emerald (Steele Investigations) (11 page)

“Don’t be long,” he replies, voice
still husky but I think I detect a hint of a smile in his tone. 

I slide off the bed and make my to
the bathroom, do my business and make my back to his bed. 

Safe.

I’m your safe place.  You’re
safe here.

He’s right.  I feel the cloud of
silk tighten around my body and I know what I feel every time it engulfs me –
safe, protected. 

“That was hard for you to say.”
Travis states as I climb back onto his bed.  He’s lying on a mound of pillows,
one hand tucked under supporting his head, the other resting across his bare
stomach, his abdominal muscles on display.  The white bed sheet haphazardly
placed across his hips just below the start of a very defined V shape which I
imagine leads a path directly down to another muscle of his. He looks
delicious. 
Mouthwateringly
delicious.  Hair tousled, eyes hooded with
sleep.  Yum.

 I nod my head the affirmative,
but don’t offer any verbal response.

“Why?  Everyone goes to the
toilet, babe.”

I sigh.  “Logically I know that. 
But growing up the way I grew up … well, my father drummed it into me from an
early age that private things should be kept private, that I should
always
keep secrets and stay guarded.  My therapist,” I pause and take a breath, “she
told me that it’s quiet common for abusers to groom their victims, and
encourage them or manipulate them into keeping secrets so they don’t get
caught.  He did that to the nth degree.  I guess some habits are hard to
break.  But, one step at a time,” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Come ‘ere,” his voice is gruff
but there’s a tense underline. 

I snuggle into his side, reveling
in his warmth and the safety he provides me.

“You don’t have to worry about
this anymore, Jemma,” he states emphatically.

I feel the warm cloud of silk
shroud my body, tucking in close and protecting me, keeping me warm and safe.

******

“You work today?” He asks as we
sit at his kitchen bench eating the buttermilk pancakes he just made.  Topped
with strawberries, blueberries, maple syrup and whipped butter – they’re
mouthwateringly good.

“Jemma,” he gives me a quizzical
look, “you gonna answer me?  You work today?” His frown turns to a grin

“Sorry, I’m still shocked that you
can cook … and good too,” I smile

“You’re shocked that I can cook? 
God, woman, you know how to knock a man’s confidence,” he fakes hurt, clutching
his heart and jutting out his bottom lip.   My smile turns to laughter as he
makes puppy dog eyes.  He saunters over to me and lightly kisses my lips.  With
our mouths still attached he tells me, “Love the sound of that,”

“What sound?” I breath

“You laughin’.  Love the sound of
it.  Love that I made you laugh.  Love the way your face lights up when you
laugh. Love all of it,” his lips are moving against mine , his face all I can
see and it’s so
intimate
.

Pulling back he kisses my forehead
and semi-repeats his question, “Work, babe?”

“Yeah, I start at ten.  What are
your plans today? Do you have to work, or do you get a free pass ‘cause you’re
the boss?”

“Ha! I wish.  Got stuff to do
today, babe.  But I want you back here tonight.  Things go the way I plan
today, tonight’s gonna go a whole lot better for both ‘a us.” His eyebrows
raise suggestively and then he winks.  I feel my face flush, and other part of
me heat as well.

Pick me. Pick me.  I’ll be
here,
Selfish Jemma is riffling through her lingerie draw trying to find
her sexiest Victoria Secret apparel.

We need to think about this
today.  Think.  Process.  Act.
  Rational Jemma is giving Selfish Jemma a
stern look over my shoulder as she imparts her words of wisdom.

******

After dropping Jemma off at work,
Travis Steele made his way to the offices he owned with his brother, Elliott. 
Upon walking through the aesthetically pleasing front door (at least that's
what the interior designer told him and Elliott when they were decking out the
building), he clocked the receptionist filing her nails behind her desk. 
Typical, he thought.  They kept her only because she was good at her job. 
Truth be told she annoyed the fuck out of him.  She must think they don't see
the other side to her, or, that they actually like her overly flirtatious
behavior.  They don't.  None of the boys do.  "Olivia, get Carl.  My
office.  Now," He snapped as he walked past reception and down the hall to
his office.  Thirty seconds later Carl walked through his door,
"Boss?"  His tone questioning.

"Find me everything you can
on Raymond and Cynthia Calloway.  I want
everything
you can get.  And be
prepared Carl, if it's anything like I think it's gonna be, it's gonna be bad
so you're gonna have to dig deep to find that shit.  I'm thinkin' a lot of it's
gonna be buried, and buried deep.  I want bank details, addresses, work
history, police records, I wanna know when he last had a meal out and who he
ate with, fuck man, I wanna know when he last had a shit.  I want it all.  I'm
thinkin' you'll find more on Raymond than you will on Cynthia so dig deeper
with him, but I still want everything' you can get on her.  I want it
yesterday, bud, so get movin'."

"On it," Carl replied as
he closed the door behind him.  Travis let out his breathe in a
whoosh
,
rubbed his hands over his face and thought about Jemma.  Jemma Calloway. 
Fuck
,
but that woman was under his skin.  Under his skin in a way which he thought
might never happen to him and he wasn't worried if it didn't.  Under his skin
in a way in which now she was he couldn't see her working her way out and he
didn't want her to.  And if she did, he'd find a way to put her back there.  He
could 'a fucking ripped someone's head off - namely her fathers- when she told
him the story of her father selling her virginity when she was sixteen.  Sick
motherfucker.  Just thinking about it makes his blood boil.  Dirty fuckin'
prick.  Travis had a feeling that shit ran much deeper with Raymond Calloway. 
Much
fucking deeper.  If he was right, shit was gonna get fuckin' ugly. 

Didn't matter to Travis about
Jemma's past.  He could see when she was tellin' him her story that she was
embarrassed - humiliated, even, and ashamed.  Fuck, he just wanted to shoulder
all her hurt and worry.  He wanted to fix it all.  Make it so her beautiful
fucking eyes shone with light all the time.  There'll be no more darkness in
her eyes if Travis has anything to do with it.  Yeah, he thought, Jemma
Calloway's beautiful big violet blue eyes clear from clouds.  Then he thought
about her pert round ass and how it filled out her pants.  Ignoring his
twitching cock he went on to think about her perfectly shaped tits and what her
long legs would feel like wrapped around him.  Then he thought about the color
of her nipples and how they will feel when he tongues them. His cock hardened
and twitched again.  Then he thought of her pussy.  He wondered if it will
taste as sweet as he thinks.  Then he had to stop thinking.  His cock had
pitched a tent in his jeans.  Fuckin' great.

"I'm on my cell," Travis
called to Olivia as he strode past reception and exited Steele Investigations. 
He was on a mission.  He had big plans for him and Jemma tonight.  He wanted to
make it special for her.  He wanted it to be the best night of her life.  He
wanted her to remember it forever.  Life for her growing up had been shit.  Now
she free of that shit in a way but still tied to it in another.  Not anymore. 
From now on, Jemma Calloway's life was gonna be full of good.  And Travis was
going to be the one who made sure of it - starting with tonight.

******

“I’m off for my break,” I call out
to Tom as I head toward the direction of the kitchenette so I can retrieve my
purse.

“Sure thing, girly.  See you in
forty five,” he shouts back.

I head over to a small diner
across the road and settle in to one of the old fashioned booths.  In fact, the
whole diner is fitted out with vintage 1950's inspired décor, right down to the
old fashioned jukebox in the corner.  The booths have red leather backs and
seats, the floor is black and white checkerboard linoleum tile squares and even
the food is served retro style.  I order myself a milkshake and burger with
fries. 

I sit in my booth at the back and stare into my milkshake. 
My mind whirling with thoughts of the happenings of the past twenty four
hours.  I am confused as to how I feel about opening up to Travis.  On one hand
I feel relief; relief that I have finally shared.  Relief that his shoulders
seem strong enough to bare the weight of my past.  Relief that he didn't look
at me with disgust or worse, pity.  On the other hand, I feel scared.  Scared
that Travis will now be in danger,  Scared that my father will find out that I
have shared and he will hurt Travis.  Over and over in my mind, the same
thoughts swirl.  I don't know what to do.  Travis expects me at his place
tonight - should I go? Or, should I just go home and try to protect him as much
as I can from now on?  My heart skips a beat when I think of Travis's comment
earlier today about tonight going a whole lot better.  Then I think back to
this morning before he dropped me at work when he pulled up out the front of my
place and told me to pack a bag.  He did this by saying, "pack a bag,
babe.  You're gonna need shit for a few days, so don't pack light."  I
looked at him like a stunned mullet for longer than one would consider normal
in a situation like this, and it prompted him to grab my shoulders, get in
super-dooper close and say, "bag, babe.  Pack. Not light. Now.  Don't want
you to be late for work."  My voice had vacated the premises, Selfish
Jemma and Rational Jemma were both out of commission and so, with no
alternative, I simply nodded my head and went inside to pack a bag.  I will
note that I packed my only pair of fancy underwear (my mind was on a permanent
loop of all Travis Talk, and the tonight's going to be better speech was
getting the most air time) and my only fancy nighty.  I will also note that I
packed for two nights.  I didn't want to pack for, say three, or a week, or
forever, and risk looking over confident.  So I packed for two.  Which, I told
myself, was following his instructions to pack for more than one night. 

The one thing I do know for certain is that I want Travis. 
God I want him for the rest of my life.  I know this isn't possible though with
my history, so just one night (or two) will hopefully ease the ache I get in my
core every time he's near.  I remember when I was in therapy and my rape crisis
counselor telling me over and over that sex between two consenting adults is a
wonderful thing, I never really believed her.  I agreed with her on some level
because obviously, sex
is
great for most people.  However, I knew that
was not my destiny.  I was not destined to meet someone, fall in love and have
consensual sexual relations.  I couldn't picture it in my future.  Now I've met
Travis - it's all I can see.  I totally understand the concept of consensual
sex being good for both parties involved and I fully believe my therapists
words of wisdom.

Crap!  All my thinking of sex and I totally forgot about the
concert tickets Travis arranged.  I cannot believe that Travis knows members of
my favorite band,  I also cannot fathom the fact that he went out of his way to
organize the tickets to their concert and he also said I could meet them.  My
heart warms and I feel the cloud of silk pull tighter around me and in settle
in like it's going to be there for a while.  I love the  way it feels.  I want
it forever.  My heart pangs when I remind myself I won't have this feeling
forever.  I sigh.  Why does life have to be so hard?  So complicated?  So
heartbreaking?

I glance at my watch and see it's already been forty
minutes.  Shit.  I take a big bite of my otherwise untouched burger, chew and
swallow, then I grab a couple of fries and wash them down with a gulp of my
chocolate shake.  Leaving my money on the table, I quickly walk out of the
diner, the lyrics from the song on the jukebox ringing in my ears - it's a song
I’ve heard before and the words penetrate my soul.  I recognize the song as the
Goo Goo Dolls – Iris

And I'd give up forever to
touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
When sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

The lyrics replay in my head over
and over as I make my way back to work. 

"Oh, good girly, you're
back.  Jump on the register and start servin'.  I gotta help these
ladies," Tom is in a fluster when I arrive back at work.  The shop is
packed.  He takes off to help the ladies choose dresses - it looks as though
they're after bridal wear - and I set about serving the dozen or so high school
aged girls who are waiting.  They must have a dance or something coming up
because they're all buying formal gowns and shoes to match.

"Thanks, and have a great
day," I smile at the last girl as she gathers her bags. 

"You too," she smiles
back as she walks out the door with her friends.  I feel a sudden pang of
jealousy over those girls.  I don't know them.  I've never seen the before. 
I'll probably never see them again.  I just know that the reason I’m feeling a
mixture melancholy, longing and envy (not to mention a dash of guilt that I’m
even feeling this way to begin with) is because growing up I never had what
those girls have.  Growing up, I wanted it so bad but I always knew I couldn't
have it.  Not only am I envious of their friendship, I’m also envious of the
freedom shining in their eyes.  That carefree glow that they wear on their
skin.  I'm jealous of that most of all.  I sigh and shrug off my mood, then I
set about tidying, refolding, rehanging and sorting racks of clothes that have
become skewed in the madness of the last hour or so.