Loving the Beast (Skye Warren) (A) (3 page)

But she knew very well that history repeated herself. Blake himself had taught her that in his class.

“Erin.” His voice had gone low. In warning? No, in worry.

Could he sense the distance between them? They were leaving his home but on some level it felt like leaving
them
, the way they were together, returning to who they were apart. “I don’t want anything that happens to come between us,” she said.

“God,” he said, his voice rough. “No, it won’t. Of course it won’t. I wouldn’t let anything come between us.”

That made her feel better, that he said it. That he clearly believed it. But she came from a world of leaky ceilings and broken dreams. She knew that wanting something to last wasn’t enough. She knew that fighting for something didn’t mean she’d get it.

She tried to smile. “I think I’m just overemotional. I didn’t get enough sleep.”

“That was my fault too.”

“No,” she said, horrified she’d said it that way. He would take the blame himself. He’d take the blame for everything if she let him. “You can’t control the nightmares.”

He shook his head, pushing aside what he’d see as excuses. “Rest, baby. Recline the seat and sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

She wanted to argue, to make him see she didn’t blame him. Not for last night, not for whatever his parents might have done. She wanted to tell him that nothing could break them apart.

But with the seat lowered, sleep overcame her quickly. She closed her eyes and dreamed.

*     *     *

T
HE ORNATE IRON
gate rolled open before the car had come to a complete stop. Blake nodded at the discreet security camera as he drove through. Whoever was manning the desk these days had obviously been informed of his impending arrival and recognized him. Mr. Henderson would have retired years ago, living off a stipend supplied by his parents. They took care of their servants. At least Blake had always thought so, despite whatever other flaws they had.

Erin didn’t know this, but he intended to find out what happened to her mother all those years ago. His throat tightened imagining what could have happened to a young mother who needed a job, what an unscrupulous employer might do. Proposition her? Touch her?

Hit her?

It made him sick that it could happen to anyone, but even more so because Erin had been in just as vulnerable a position when she’d cleaned his home. The thought of anyone harming her made him see red.

He didn’t want to believe his father was capable of that.

He
didn’t
believe his father was capable of it, but he would make sure. For Erin’s sake.

He stopped the car at the end of the drive. His parents would have been informed of his arrival by the staff, but they wouldn’t open the door until he knocked.

Erin was asleep, her lashes long on her cheeks, her pink lips slightly parted. She looked soft in the waning afternoon light, her skin almost glowing white against the orange horizon. Beautiful and untouchable and somehow vulnerable.

He suddenly didn’t want to wake her up. Didn’t want to take her inside the house where he’d grown up. Didn’t want her exposed to whatever ugliness might have happened here. His father would never dare do anything to a guest, and Blake would never leave her side, but having her here felt wrong.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched her, but she woke up anyway. Her eyes opened, deep brown and full of sleepy love for him. His heart thumped painfully against his chest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She smiled, her expression still dreamy. “You’re thinking hard.”

That made him smile too. “It’s a character flaw.”

“It’s sweet.” Wakefulness entered her eyes, along with worry. “Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of your parents?”

“What? Jesus, Erin.
No.
”

She sat up, using the lever to pull the chair upright. “I wouldn’t blame you. I understand I’m not what they would have wanted for you.”

He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t give a fuck what they want for me. You’re what I want. You’re what I need.” The knot in his stomach grew tighter, and he couldn’t ignore it. “We don’t have to do this.”

Her eyebrows dipped. “Do what?”

“Visit them. We can just leave. I’ll tell them I wasn’t feeling well.” It wouldn’t even be a lie at this point. He had a bad fucking feeling.

“No way. We’re already here.” She glanced out the windshield, her pretty eyes widening as she looked up and up. Because yeah, there were fucking spires, like a goddamn fortress. And it had been as cold as one when he was a kid, too. She swallowed. “We have to go in.”

He knew that was true. He’d put off his visit long enough, knowing it was required, knowing that Erin would feel like he was ashamed if he didn’t bring her. The best he could do was get it over with quickly. As far as he was concerned, after this, he was done. His parents could make a cameo at their wedding so the press wouldn’t make a fuss, and that would be it.

He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter Three

E
RIN’S FIRST THOUGHT
when a tall, grim woman opened the door: the Ice Queen. Her hair was a blonde so pale it was almost white, with no roots of course. She seemed naturally beautiful, effortlessly elegant, the kind of woman Erin had always envied. And her smile could put frost on the windows.

“You must be Erin,” she said, taking her hand between long, cold fingers.

Erin forced a smile. “So glad to meet you, Mrs. Morris.”

“I’m sure.”

Blake’s father wasn’t much better. His hair a light grey, his eyes almost silver. At least in his case she had seen pictures online. The lauded ex-senator. Board member for countless charities. Successful investor. He was rumored to be a personal friend of the president, back in their fraternity days, and still had his ear. Yes, this family was steeped in money, and as they sat for lemonade in the sunroom, she felt the privilege thick and sharp.

“How was the drive?” his father inquired.

Blake’s expression looked tense. Was he worried about what she would say? Or was he always this way around his parents? “Uneventful,” he said. “Though we got a later start than we’d originally planned.”

His mother made a tsking sound. “You’ve been away too long, and I don’t just mean this morning. What can I tell people?”

“You can tell them you saw me now, mother. And that I’m getting married.” With that, he gifted Erin a brief smile.

Unfortunately Mrs. Morris did not seem impressed with her. “I don’t ask for much from you, Blake. You know that.”

Well, that explained the tension. This had gone from awkward pleasantries to major parental guilt in the first fifteen minutes. She sent up thanks that her mother had only ever given love and support. She hadn’t grown up with a father or a trust fund, but her childhood had been a hell of a lot warmer than this.

Blake sighed. “Mother, not now.”

“When then?” She glanced at Erin, with something almost like a sneer on her face. But that would be ugly, and this woman had never been ugly a day in her life. Erin imagined her waking up just as pretty, just as remote. “If she’s going to be in this family, she should know the truth.”

Erin froze, discomfort a hard knot in her throat. She’d been trying to ignore the truth, trying to pretend there was nothing to be uncovered here. Trying to pretend her mother had never dusted that lamp or swept this floor.

That way she could pretend she hadn’t seen her mother crying, that she didn’t wonder what had really happened in this house. Her gaze snapped to Mr. Morris, whose expression was unreadable. Was he angry? Bored? If nothing else, his poker face was to be admired.

“Erin and I are going upstairs now,” Blake said, his voice and expression even. Had he learned that from his father? But it was clear he was upset. She could feel it in him as if they were connected. “We’ll rest for a few hours and see you at dinner.”

His mother sighed. “I’ll have the maid show you to your rooms.”

Erin was relieved at the prospect of leaving the house, even for a few minutes to get their bags from the car. But Blake followed a middle aged woman in a simple black uniform up the stairs.

She stood for a moment at the base of the wide, curving staircase. Somehow this felt like crossing a threshold when just coming inside hadn’t.

Blake paused, looking back. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“Coming,” she answered, because she didn’t feel okay. She didn’t feel
not okay
either. She couldn’t have described how she was feeling at all, so it was a relief when she took his hand and felt him squeeze.

They didn’t need words to understand each other, to provide comfort. Didn’t need words to take in the fact that they had been placed into separate bedrooms.

Apparently the word
rooms
had been plural on purpose.

“It’s just how she is,” Blake said after the housekeeper had gone. “Trying to exert control on what she can. We’ll just move into one.”

Erin surveyed the navy blue bedspread and classic baseball posters on the wall. It seemed impersonal and yet… it wouldn’t be an ordinary guest bedroom. Not with that neat line of trophies on the bookshelf. “Was this
your
bedroom?”

He coughed. “We can stay in the other one.”

“Oh no,” she said, laughing. “We’re definitely staying in this one.”

His cheeks looked definitely darker. “The other room probably has a queen mattress. Maybe king. We’ll have more room.”

And his only had a double bed, it looked like, but she wouldn’t have left for anything. Instead she wandered in, running her fingers along the smooth walnut desk and line of books. “What were you like as a kid?”

She was fascinated just thinking about it. He was so firmly adult in her mind, so experienced and even wise. This room did little to dispel that image. It was like something out of a catalog. Not lived in. Not
his
.

He snorted. “Selfish. Stupid. Like most kids in this neighborhood. Wait here and I’ll get the bags from the other room.”

The idea of a selfish Blake was as foreign to her as a young one. All kids were probably self-centered to some extent. Erin had been. That night her mother had come home crying had opened her eyes.

What had opened Blake’s? His time overseas? Or something before that?

Blake returned with half the bags and stacked them by the others near the closet. She briefly wondered if Mrs. Morris would get upset about them messing with her room assignments, but Blake seemed to handle her pretty well.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, closing the door, shutting them in.

She shrugged. “Are you tired? You drove all that way, and I got to nap.”

“A little. I could sleep, but only if you’re with me.”

The idea of sleeping in this bed together, in Blake’s bed where he had been a teenager, where he had turned into a man, gave her a sort of thrill. There was an emotional component for sure, being with him, knowing him this way. As if the fabric, the mattress, had his story printed on them—invisible but just as true.

And there was a physical component too. A little taboo but definitely hot.

“I could lie down,” she said, drawing her finger over the smooth bedding. “Though I wasn’t thinking of sleeping.”

Surprise flashed briefly through his eyes. “Here?”

She glanced back. Maybe smaller than their usual bed but definitely big enough for two. “Have you ever?”

He knew what she was asking—if he’d ever had sex here before. An expression of guilt and pride crossed his face. “Yes.”

She considered that, and what else she knew about teenage boys. “Where’s your stash?”

His expression became suddenly, carefully blank. “My what?”

“Your stash. You know, stash of porn. Every boy has one, right?”

“What makes you think I left one here?”

She shrugged. “Did you?”

“I’d never leave something where my parents could find it.”

“Oh.” She was a little disappointed, but she searched for something else to ask him. It was too delicious being here where he’d once been both horny and innocent. They’d had sex a hundred times, a hundred ways—each time more inventive than the last. Was he always this way? Was it something he’d become? And then she knew what she’d ask next. “Who was your first?”

Silence.

She was sure he wouldn’t answer. She’d crossed the line, gotten too personal.

And irrationally, she felt hurt. Weren’t they going to share their lives together? God, she’d shared everything with him. Was she supposed to hold back?

He never let her hold back.

And the smile that crossed his face made her heart speed up. It was no longer vague or even shy, this smile. It promised that he wouldn’t hold back either. When he reached back to lock the door, to lock them inside, she tensed. Because he wasn’t just going to answer her with words.

And maybe that was what she’d wanted.

Then again, maybe it was more personal than she was ready for.

He leaned back against the door. “You want to know about my first time?”

She clenched the bedspread in her hand, rumpling the clean fabric, breaking the smooth lines. “I won’t be jealous.”

One eyebrow rose. “I didn’t think you would be. No, I think you’ll enjoy this story very much.”

A shiver ran through her, her voice almost a whisper. “And why’s that?”

He crossed the room, his long strides covering the room, and then he was in front of her, standing over her, dominating her with just a look. She loved the way he could affect her—body and mind. She craved it. And here, where it was probably inappropriate, where his parents were in the same house, where his mother didn’t want them sleeping in the same bed much less fucking in the afternoon, she wanted it even more.

He lifted her chin. “We’ll put on a show, beautiful. One for just you and me.”

A show. She swallowed hard. Where he would play himself and she would play… this woman? This girl? This long ago memory who had once spread her legs for a cocky, selfish teenage boy upstairs in his room?