Mirror of My Soul (7 page)

“She’s young and hormonal. And she doesn’t know what an arrogant pain in the

ass you are.”

He grinned. “You find me irresistible, even knowing that about me.”

She bit back a smile. “Why the front porch? We have chairs in the back.”

“So I can see you when I drive away.”

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She cocked her head as they followed the side pathway past her car and the

blooming azalea bushes to the side steps to the front porch. “I think you just want my neighbors to see me sitting in my robe on the front porch with a man and destroy my reputation.”

“There’s that. And it makes the men realize you’re not available.”

She came to a stop. “You couldn’t possibly be indulging in something so

Neanderthal.”

She was a step above him. He put his hands to her waist, hooking the robe’s sash and turning her so her back was against the rail. Before she could stop him, he opened the front of the robe, worked his hands inside over the soft skin of waist and hip. One hand threaded up behind to cruise up her back and press her into him for a kiss. His lips were not physically demanding but their seductive persuasion was relentless. Her knees went weak, the now almost expected but still amazing sensation of desire curling warmly in her belly, like the question mark of steam over a fragrant cup of tea.

If she had turned a hundred and eighty degrees, she would have faced the street.

But in her current position, she was covered, modest. Only the most imaginative neighbor would realize that her fully naked body was pressed against his clothed but quite obviously aroused one. The movement of his hands along her back and over her hips under the robe would be disguised by the fluttering shadows of her magnolia tree on the side of the house.

“You’re going to cripple me,” he said against her lips, his voice urgent with desire.

“You’re a drug, Marguerite. I want to keep you near me every moment.”

She pulled back, more than a little breathless. “You won’t keep my attention that long. I’ll get bored of you any day now.”

“Ah. You’re considering the future. An improvement. You’ll find I have a

fascinating mind. I’m an exceptional conversationalist. And listener. You haven’t gotten bored of me yet, right?”

“Does tedious and irritating count?”

“Keep it up and I’ll kiss you again. I’ll rely solely on sex appeal to keep your interest.”

Hastily, she pulled her robe closed and retreated toward the front porch. She

jumped when he caught her hand, settling down when she realized he wanted to do only that.

Her tiger was still there, curled around the base of the pedestal table where Chloe had put the large bouquet. The door was open, the familiar sounds of preparations for the day’s first customers drifting out through the screen with the aromas of tea, mixing with the scent of Tyler’s flowers. It was an unexpected extension of the peace she’d felt in their yoga session. It wasn’t a hardship to be sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tyler on the front steps watching the early morning work traffic go by. As neighbors she knew headed to work, they raised a hand in greeting, eyes alive with curiosity at Tyler’s 34

Mirror of My Soul

presence. Marguerite turned so her knee was pressed at an angle to his, accepted his coffee cup and took a sip. “So you prefer coffee to my tea?”

“A question with a decidedly female word choice. In the category of ‘does this dress make me look fat’.” He leaned back, stretching his arm along the top step, which put her inside his arm span. He plucked at the sleeve of her robe, tugging it off her shoulder.

“Tyler Winterman.” She shrugged it back up, poked him in the side. “There are

children in this neighborhood.”

He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Tell me about your neighbors.”

She found herself doing so, responding to his questions about them, appreciating his quick mind, his grasp of her affection for her surroundings, his understanding of the unlikely place she’d set up her café. While they spoke, he casually passed the cup back and forth with her, reinforcing the tentative intimacy, the truce in tensions they were sharing. While on one hand she thought of it that way, another part of her wondered if he was trying to prove to her that this was the way a relationship would be. Passion mixed with the beginnings of friendship.

“Another question. There’s a locked armoire in your room. What’s in it?”

She slanted him a glance. “Tools of the trade. Floggers, plugs, vibrators. D/s magazine subscriptions. Why didn’t you just jimmy the lock and find out? It’s not like you don’t ignore or bypass any other locked door I put up.”

“I did. I just wanted to see if you’d lie to me.” He grinned, ducked her swat.

“I have a lot to do.”
And think about.
She said it reluctantly, handing him back the coffee cup. “Thank you for the flowers and the tiger.” Then, because she wouldn’t let herself be less than honest in the moment, she added, “And for your understanding. I appreciated this morning. Very much. And, even if it we don’t go any further, decide it needs go no further, I’ve gotten a lot from our interactions…these past few days.”

She could tell by his expression she was stumbling into dangerous waters but she didn’t know where else to go with this. Where it was going. Or how to direct it.

“Marguerite.” He took both of her hands. “I need you to listen to me. Are you

listening? Are you paying attention?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’m going to go home, take a shower. Do the things I’ve planned to do with my day, much as I’m sure you’re planning to do. But then I want you to think about last night. What was said, what I meant. And think about what you want.” He stood up, still holding one of her hands. “I’m going to try very hard to give you some space. To stay away while you think it through. I’m asking you to think it through. If you accept what we both understood well enough last night, then you come to me. Please come to me.”

It was obvious he was struggling with a desire to state his Will more forcefully but he stopped at that. Squeezing her hand, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his 35

Joey W. Hill

lips. She held on to his touch, not realizing she was squeezing back until he began to pull away and had to wait for her to loosen her grip. Her cheeks pinkened.

“I’m taking that as a good sign.” He smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes which were warm and intent on her face, spreading that heat on her front the way the sun coming in through the side of the porch was spreading warmth on her back.

Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her throat, a sensual reminder. “No more of that. Remember. I mean it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Go away, Tyler. I’m not fragile ‘that way’. Remember?”

“No, you’re not. You’re strong, so strong you won’t bend. You’ll snap off like a brittle twig when you finally face up to something you can’t handle.”

“I can’t handle you,” she snarled. “And I’ve bent in twenty different directions trying to shake you off. I haven’t broken yet.”

She bit her lip, wishing she could have bitten off the words before she said them.

“Why do you think you have to handle me?” he asked after a quiet moment.

“Us. I can’t…” She sighed, shook her head. “Tyler, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You know why I can’t. You’re inside me. And I’m inside you. If you’d just…

Goddamn it, if you’d just open the door so I don’t have to pick the lock every fucking time, I promise I won’t do anything to abuse your trust.” He shook his head, backed off the step, gave her a long, thorough look. “I’m going home. Don’t even try to pretend you won’t miss me.”

“Like a mosquito.”

He smiled, for real this time, and went down the walkway. She moved to the top step, her hand falling on the paw of the stuffed tiger. Absently, she stroked the soft plush, watching him walk to his car. He had a fluid stride, a bearing that women would notice and men would respect. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the stretch of the shirt across his shoulders, enhanced by the fact he carried his jacket slung over one shoulder, his fob in his hand to deactivate the security. He was James Bond, she thought with a suppressed amusement, but her gaze lingered on his waist, the fine ass, long legs. He was more than that. He’d just told her he was hers. All she had to do was come to him.

The hardest thing in her life she could possibly do.

She glanced over her shoulder to find Chloe and Gen in the doorway, their

fascinated attention divided between her and the man leaving. Realizing she was still petting the tiger, she folded her hands together, gave herself a quick, reassuring squeeze—that’s that—and rose.

“Give me just five minutes for the shower,” she said briskly. “I apologize that I’m behind schedule.”

Her employees exchanged glances. Gen folded her arms and tucked her tongue into her cheek. “Should we slap her on principle for that comment and then beat

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Mirror of My Soul

information out of her, or just combine it into one general throwdown?” she asked Chloe.

“If you don’t tell us something that explains why he was here this morning, why he looks like he’s been in a fight to protect your honor and why your dress is in pieces on the floor, we’ll just implode,” Chloe added.

Marguerite pushed her hands through her hair. “I suspect it’s rather obvious why he’s here. I do have a personal life, though it generally doesn’t intrude on my routine.

Tyler is… We’re… I don’t know what we are and it…” She stopped, all of the calm she had felt after the yoga drifting away, eluding her desperate grasp before inquisitive eyes that suddenly felt invasive. “I am not a teenager. We are not teenagers. He was here, we fucked.” Or something close enough to it that it was not a lie, exactly. They both looked startled at her crudity and that spurred her further. “We had a fight of sorts and I beat the hell out of him. Does that satisfy my staff’s curiosity?”

Chloe nodded, hurt written across her features in big letters. Gen, older and more understanding, reached out toward her. “Sweetie, we didn’t mean—”

Marguerite stepped back to avoid the contact, forgetting she was at the top of the stairs. She met air. Falling, the sense of falling. This she knew. And it frightened her as it never had before.

She was jerked to a halt before it actualized. Both women lunged forward and

caught her. Chloe her left arm, Gen her right.

She took a deep breath, clutched their arms. They cared about her, she knew that. In the normal world, people who worked together enjoyed a rapport. Would exchange light banter over a romantic interest, women especially. This was yet another reason she couldn’t do this. Pain radiated through her chest, but then Chloe wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “I’m sorry, M. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. Okay, I was, but not to be mean. We love you, you know? And you looked happy, the way you guys walked up

here, holding hands. You don’t often look happy. You don’t have to tell us anything.

We just want you to feel that way. We’re glad for you.”

Gen put a hand on her shoulder, stilling her, but Marguerite gave her a tentative, stiff squeeze, eased her back. “I know, Chloe. Thank you both. I just don’t do…this.

And it’s hard for me to understand how to handle it. I don’t want to hurt either of you, so let’s focus on this morning’s routine, all right?” Her voice sounded a little desperate, even to herself. “Can we just get back to the morning routine? I’ll meet you inside in a minute.”

They retreated reluctantly with another of those pregnant exchanged glances,

leaving her alone, standing with her back to the edge of the stairs. Turning carefully, she stared down the road after his car. She felt the beat of her heart hitting the wall of her chest, resounding in her stomach like a cavern.

He’d been wrong. It wasn’t her that was the drug. It was him, for as he drove down the street, she felt the emptiness, the desire to have him back beside her like a physical 37

Joey W. Hill

pain nothing could assuage, except something she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing.

Please, come to me.

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Mirror of My Soul

The right connections could get you where you had no business being. Tyler went up the walkway of the modest patio home. It was located in a quiet retirement

community designed to appeal to senior citizens of modest income, the type of home that would appeal to a widow who’d spent her career as a social services worker.

She’d opened the door when he drove up, waited for him behind the screen. He felt her assessment of his car, his appearance, even the way he walked as he strode up the paved path. While he made eye contact, determined not to project anything but

confidence, he felt like a thief pretending to be the owner of the house he was about to rob.

“You look like you’ve been mugged.” Komal Gupta said as he made her top step.

“Since you look like money I assume that’s the case, since I also assume that’s what greased the wheels that brought you to my door.”

“No, actually it was my connections in the government, earned by risking my ass in places where hell would be considered a vacation resort.” He met her barb for barb but kept his tone mild. “I know this is wrong, Mrs. Gupta. I know it goes against your ethics and you wouldn’t be doing it unless your former boss, a person you greatly respect, hadn’t leaned on you hard. But I need to understand some things. I’m hitting a brick wall.”

“Walls of brick are built to protect the occupant from the harshest elements.

Helping you pull out the foundation so that wall can crumble and leave the occupant vulnerable doesn’t seem something I’d be willing to help with. Why would I?”

“Because you care about her. And because I’m in love with her. And sometimes

brick walls are a prison, not a protection.”

She studied him another long moment. “Come in and we’ll see what we can talk

about. And I’ll choose what that will be. If you can’t accept that, get back in your car.”