His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (39 page)

I found a shop in the same strip mall that sold sunglasses and I bought a pair with big round lenses. With my new hair and sunglasses, I felt secure in my anonymity for the first time in days and days.

It was all pure nonsense, the need for disguise. I knew it, too. But I didn’t care. I had to do it and couldn’t deny myself. When I made my next stop at a packing store to buy boxes, I wasn’t afraid of someone sneering at me or leering. The lessened stress more than made up for the knowledge that I was acting unreasonably.

I got some cash from an ATM then I headed home. The walk through my building was something of a gauntlet, but I met no one on the way to my apartment.

It was a daunting task, trying to think of everything I needed to get done before I could leave. Impatient to be on the road, I considered abandoning most of my things, letting my landlord deal with the disposal of my furniture and whatever else I couldn’t take with me. I compromised on buckling down to work and doing what I could.

I had hardly begun, was just starting to pack up important papers, when my buzzer sounded. I flinched, immediately thinking of Michael. But no, it couldn’t be him. Gibson’s last report was that he believed Michael had left the country.

I went over to the door and pushed the button on the call box with some dread. “What do you want?” was my terse opening.

A manly voice responded, “Nonnie, buzz me in, please.”

Well, hell. It was Gibson. I felt annoyed, and fought down the little thrill that grew in my chest when I heard his voice.

“What do you want?” I repeated.

“I want you to let me in.”

I sighed, and buzzed him up. I opened my door and waited for him to make his way to my apartment. Crap, crap, crap. I didn’t want to see him before I left, didn’t want the reminder of what I’d lost. Didn’t want anything to fuel the growing anger I felt toward him.

When he stepped through the doorway and looked at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You cut your hair.”

“It was an act of empowerment,” I said, closing the door and waving a hand at a chair.

He made a hmm sound as he sat down, unbuttoning his suit coat in his usual fashion. His dark eyes followed me as I took a seat on the sofa.

“It looks good,” he said. “But you’ve lost weight, and you’re too pale.”

“Thank you. And you’re not my mother.”

He didn’t respond, remaining still, his attention focused on me, his expression fixed and unreadable per usual.

I asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I wanted to tell you that we’ve tracked Michael to South America. He took a flight to Brazil, but it looks like he may have traveled from there to another country. We’re getting closer every day.”

“Why bother with it anymore? The damage is done. You took care of everything else, so there’s nothing we need him to do. What’s the point?”

“Closure.”

I sighed, shrugged. “I appreciate that, but you should just let it go. That’s what I’m doing.”

“No you’re not. You’re running away.”

A few heartbeats of time passed while I considered my response. “I’m moving on. That’s different.”

“Fine,” he said in a level voice, “and I’ve got the perfect place for you to do that. There’s a cottage on my estate. You’ll move into it today.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s a safe place for you to stay while you figure out your next step. There are extensive grounds so you can get some exercise, get out of doors. Xavier will be happy to cook for you and you can help Paulina with the gardening if you’d like.”

I stared at him. Waited for him to say more. Nothing followed. I said, “If you’d excuse me a moment.”

He didn’t even blink. “Of course.”

I got up, grabbed my phone and headed into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I quick-dialed Elaine. She answered in short order.

“Don’t take my head off,” she said in lieu of hello.

“Gibson’s in my living room. You shouldn’t have told him I’m leaving.”

“I was just saving him the trouble of having to chase after you, honey, and saving you some gas money.”

“You shouldn’t have done it. He wants me to move into a stupid cottage on his estate.”

“Sounds perfect. I expect to be invited over for a tour soon.”

I exhaled loudly. “I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can. It’s exactly where you need to be right now. Lots of privacy so you can get some fresh air and exercise. Clear your head.”

“But,” I said, trying to steady myself so my voice wouldn’t break, “he doesn’t want me.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t want me. He’s only doing this because of guilt.”

She made a loud snorting sound. “You need a reality check. Do you understand what that man has been doing for you? The expense he’s gone to? The risk? I doubt he’s slept any more than you have. He’s worked his ass off.”

“I know, I know. But it’s because he feels responsible for what happened.”

“Honey, I love you, but really now. You’ve gotta wake up. What he’s done for you ... well, a man doesn’t go to that kind of trouble for a woman he doesn’t want.”

“You don’t know Gibson. He’s got a supercharged sense of responsibility.”

I could practically hear Elaine’s eyes rolling from afar. “When you’ve lived as long as I have ...”

I interrupted, “Don’t start on your I’m older and wiser stuff. I know what I’m talking about. You haven’t seen him with his employees, at his business. He’s not just their boss, he’s like their caretaker or something. He works for them more than they work for him, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. But being responsible and wanting you aren’t mutually exclusive.”

I hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, yet felt she wasn’t leaving me any choice. “I’m ruined, Elaine. A man like him can’t be with someone like me, someone who’s been in a porno.”

“What?” she said more like an exclamation than a question. “This isn’t 1850. Hell, it’s not even 1950. You’re ruined. What kind of nonsense is that? Seems like half the women on television have a sex tape these days.”

“Well, Gibson wouldn’t be with them, either.”

She sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t go live on a fancy estate with private grounds and who knows what all classy things he’s got going on out there. What do you want for supper?”

“Huh?”

“For supper. What do you want? Ron mentioned spaghetti last night and I was thinking it sounded good if you’re on board.”

“I’m not going to be there, Elaine. I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not. You have two choices. Go live in splendor with a handsome, single man, or get hauled back to my house by my big, burly husband. Pick one.”

“Dammit, I can leave if I want and you were on board with this earlier.”

“I was not,” she said with force. “I just thought you’d be reasonable about it when Gibson came to collect you. Obviously I was wrong about that.”

We argued on in the same vein for a while longer, me insisting I had free will and her insisting I could have all the free will I wanted as long as I did as I was told.

Finally, she said, “Nonnie, you’ve got no business being out on the road alone. You’re not going to find any answers out there. Everything you need to know is sittin’ in your living room right now, waitin’ for you to get off the phone.”

I didn’t know. Maybe she was right. But I didn’t think I could handle knowing for certain what Gibson thought of me now. It was better to assume he didn’t want me, while cherishing a tiny hope that he actually might. Better that than to know for certain he did not.

I said, “Spaghetti sounds fine for supper.”

“Okay, honey. If that’s what you want. There’s plenty of time, I guess.”

I tried to ignore how sad she sounded. We said goodbye and I primed myself to return to Gibson.

When I entered the living room, he was sitting where I’d left him, looking as blandly polite as ever. Something about that mask of his rubbed me the wrong way of a sudden.

I said, “I’m going back to Elaine’s house.”

No response, physical or verbal, for a moment or two, then he asked, smoothly, “Did you forget something there?”

“I meant I’m moving back there, to live, for a while.”

“No, you’re moving into my cottage. I told you that.”

I stood beside the sofa, my hand resting on the curved cushion of the back. “I’m going back to Elaine’s house.”

“You’re moving into my cottage.”

We stared at one another. He had to have been thinking, as was I, of another time he was here, telling me he wanted me to move in with him. But this time was different.

He wasn’t asking me to move in with him. This time he offered me a cottage of my own. I had no idea what my face looked like in that moment, but I doubted it was as blank as Gibson’s. That mask. Always with the mask.

I said, “Fuck me.”

Chapter 21

I shocked myself. Had no idea where that came from. Wanted to take it back. Then he blinked. I saw a twitch in his jaw. And I realized I didn’t want to take it back, and that I meant it, in both of the ways the phrase might be taken.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“You heard me,” I said, and began kicking off my shoes.

I watched him as I yanked my t-shirt over my head, tossing the shirt aside. His eyes flicked down to my chest, then back up to my face. I reached behind my back, undid the hooks on my bra and threw it after the shirt.

Muscles twitched in his jaw again, his gaze lay steady on my bared breasts.

He said, “Put your shirt back on.”

I responded by unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. Within seconds I was stepping out of both pants and panties, tossing them away.

I stood before him naked, breathing in quick and shallow breaths.

He visibly swallowed, looked at my pussy, and unconsciously pulled at the fabric above his knee.

I said, “Fuck me.”

He raised his eyes, meeting my gaze. “Why are you doing this?”

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said carefully, “Because I’m lonely and I’m hurt and I’m kind of hating you. And maybe if you fuck me I won’t feel that way anymore.”

A heatrbeat of time passed. And another. Then he changed. It was as if another person materialized in the room with me, taking Gibson’s place. His dark eyes turned nearly black and his lids lowered.

He stood up in a smooth motion, shrugging off his jacket as he rose. Then he loosened and removed his tie, unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, rolled up his shirt sleeves. All the while, he never broke eye contact with me, not even for an instant.

He stepped toward me, and my knees trembled slightly when his hands closed around my upper arms and he turned me, pushing me backward against the wall. My back pressed flat against the cool drywall as he raised my arms over my head, clasping my wrists together in one of his strong hands.

He wasn’t Gibson; he was something new, someone other.

The thumping of my heart was an expectant rhythm in my chest, tightening the winding coil in my belly.

He leaned in, his mouth mere inches from mine. “You think you can use your body to control me.” His free hand closed over my breast and squeezed hard, “You think that because your breasts are beautiful that I can’t stop myself from touching you.”

His fingers dug into my flesh until I gasped and said “no.”

He released my breast only to reach up and pinch my bottom lip between his fingertips. “And these lips. You think I can’t resist a chance to bite that sweet flesh again, to sink my teeth into you, see how far I can go before I break the skin, draw blood.”

He pinched tighter and tighter until I whimpered. “No,” was my muffled whisper.

He let go. I quivered. And his hand traveled over my body, down to my waist, and as he went, he spoke.

He said, “How about here? Or here? Your stomach is lovely. Your hips just round enough. And your legs, your ass.” His hand hovered over my mound. “But it’s here, isn’t it? Right here that you count on most.” He cupped my pussy, his warm touch sending a shudder through me.

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. I tried to suppress a moan when he kicked my legs apart then stroked his fingers up my damp slit.

“This is where you’ve got me,” he said. “Here, and here,” as he slid over my clit then down and pushed against the opening of my pussy. “So tight and hot. I couldn’t possibly turn you away.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not it.”

His fingers moved up between my labia, digging into my slit before he rammed two fingers up into my wet pussy. My eyes flew open and I met those black, fierce eyes again, and bit back my cry. It was too hard, the way he hit home. Too rough. Too perfect.

He said, “You think I care that you hate me?”