Strung (17 page)

"Interesting choice of food?" 
Chayton eyes my pecan pie and banana milkshake float.

"My soul is playing catch up.  You want some?"

"No thank you.  Catch up from what?"

"My Ex,
he had very strict dietary rules."

"He was a diabetic?"

"No.  He was an asshole."  His face registers his shock and I take another sip of my milkshake to hide my mirth.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup." 

"Considering recent revelations, it sounds par for the course."  I flush,
knowing which revelations he's referring to.

"So what, he told you what you could and couldn't eat?" 

He is unusually talkative today, isn't he?
  "What, when and how to eat, wear, sleep, where to go to, who to talk to," I sigh. 

"Wow.  That bad!"  He leans back into the padded bench and regards me intensely.  I must have been over this a thousand times in the last three years.  With the lawyers, my therapist, my aunt, the police. 

It reminds me of something my aunt once said about childbirth.  'When you give birth you are inspected, poked and prodded by so many people, that you could walk down the busiest street in town during rush hour, stark naked, and not bat an eyelash'

"So how long were you with him for?"  His voice is low and his expression is hard to read.

"Since I was eighteen.  Five years," I shrug, numbing to it all.

Chayton has gone quiet and slightly broody so I focus on the last of my pie, aware that
I am only eating now for distraction.  I push my empty plate away and concentrate on my milk shake.  The waitress returns with a pot of coffee and offers Chayton a refill but he declines.

"How did you know I would be here?"  I ask eventually as I scoop some of the
ice cream from the bottom of the tall glass. 

"I didn't.  I was running an hour early.  My business was taken care of and I figured I'd have a coffee in here before coming to fetch you."

"Oh.  Okay.  Well I'm all packed up so we can head back to the apartment now."

"You don't want to finish your shake?"

I flush a little.  "My eyes are bigger than my stomach!"  I pout and rub my belly and we both laugh.  He has a lovely laugh.

He insists on paying my tab and I don't have the energy to argue.  We walk - well he walks;
I am still paying penance for my dance mania and limping - discussing normal things, like the pending warmer weather, the shortage of parking and whether or not Cotton will be elected Seattle's Mayor for the next term.  As we arrive outside my apartment block, I spy the Beast parked in a loading bay.  A traffic warden is inspecting the vehicles plates. 

"Challenge on!"  Chayton grins and saunters confidently over to the warden who is preparing to write a ticket and I shake my head at his cheek.  Leaving Chayton to work his charm on the traffic warden, I head inside. 
If he fails – he is paying the ticket!

I just manage to put the last of the three pieces of luggage outside the door and
I am about to lock it when Chayton catches up with me looking very satisfied with himself.

"So I guess you succeeded in coaxing your way out of that ticket then?"

"Hell yes, and very smoothly I might add."  He studies the four pieces frowning.  "Is this it?"

"Um yes," I flush.  "I just need to hand the key back to the Land Lord, next door."

He nods, still staring at the small pile of luggage in disbelief.

I slide the key under the door as agreed with the Land Lord.  When I return Chayton is waiting in the hall for me and my luggage has disappeared.  He rests a hand lightly on the small of my back as we leave the building and head to the Beast, insisting on driving. 

"So tell me about the mysterious Chayton.”  I ask as we pull smoothly into traffic.

"I had no idea I was mysterious."  He glances at me, smiling.

"Oh, very mysterious indeed.  The mere fact that you had no idea just proves how mysterious you are."

"Is that a fact?  Well what would the circumspect Acacia like to know about the mysterious Chayton?"  He is still smiling and I feel emboldened to probe.

"Well, let's see.  How about - what does Chayton actually do?"

"Actually do?"  He glances at me again.

"You know, to earn a living?"

"Ah.  Well, I invest."  He says simply.  This
does not fit in with the images I have: Chayton - The Woodsman, or Chayton - The Maintenance Man, or Chayton - The Wilderness Guide or Chayton – The Biker.

He glances at my face seeing my bewildered scowl.  "You disapprove?"

"No.  Gosh no!  It's just that..."
how do I explain this?
  "I just expected you to have a more...um...
manly
occupation."  As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret it and groan inwardly.

"Manly huh?" he asks very quietly
.  "So, now I'm not
manly
enough for you?"  His eyes blaze and I feel the air sucked from my lungs.

I clutch at the
bench seat with both hands as he veers into an empty parking lot, the tires squealing in protest. 
Shit? 
I am frozen to the seat, anxiety and something sinister gluing me down, rendering me unable to speak.  He yanks the parking brake up and switches off the engine.  I cringe against the door, as the energy he exudes, washes over me tangible and stifling.  He turns in the driver's seat, his gaze searing me for a long, long moment before he pushes his door open and exits the Camper-Van.  The door slams, making me jump and my eyes follow him warily as he strides past the windscreen, coming to a halt at my window.

He pulls my door open and offers me his hand expectantly.  When I don't
budge, he swiftly leans across me, releasing my seat belt and bundles me out, depositing me on the asphalt.  My door slams and I jump again.

Fuck! 

He leans toward me, trapping me against the hard metal of the vehicle, almost touching; but not quiet.  I swallow hard as his narrowed eyes burn into me for an eon and I am mesmerised by their intensity.  Fear and desire weave a silent riot through my blood.

Breathe woman, breathe!

Then in one sinuous motion, the full length of his body is pressed against me and his mouth is ravishing mine, greedy and ardent.  A small squeak escapes from the tight confines of the back of my throat.  He groans loudly and his groan awakens something in me.  Something hot and dangerous.  I feel his hips tilt, the full length of his arousal pressing into the hollow of my hips, goading me.  Part of me wants to press back but the cadence of his assault has left me loose limbed and his weight is just too smothering. 

Then like the suddenness of an African thunderstorm -
he is gone.  I am left standing on the asphalt with only the Beast at my back for support.  My wits thoroughly stunned and pooling on the asphalt at my feet!

It takes a good minute or two for me to compose myself before
I am able to climb, albeit unsteadily, back into the vehicle to the welcome of his victorious smirk.

"Manly enough for you?" he asks, raising a sardonic eyebrow at me.

"There was never any doubt," I mutter sulkily as he pulls back into the traffic.

"You should be more careful, Acacia.  Men are very sensitive creatures.  We're very easy to wound," he teases.

"Well if you're going to react like that every time we wound you, then you should expect to be wounded more frequently," I mutter, slowly recovering my wits and he laughs.

"So you run an investment company?"  I ask trying to forget the very effective demonstration of his manly prowess.  I now have two powerful urges clawing at me from inside, seeking release - the urge to beat the crap out of Mike Tyson and the urge to be fucked senseless by my Chick Flick loving, Mountain Man Investor until I just don't have the energy to think! 

"Of sorts.  I'm quite good at it."

"No modesty then?  What about family?"

"You want to know what my family does to make money or you want to know if my family has any modesty?"

"Don't be obtuse!  I want to know what family the mysterious Chayton has."  I start to laugh but his expression halts me. 
I am desperate to rekindle the easy conversation we were having before I put my foot in it, but I it looks like I am just making it worse.  I groan, wondering what I have said as he stares sullenly out the windscreen.
 

Strike two.  One more and you're out!
 

"That's a story for another time.  Okay?  So what are your plans for the evening?" he eventually mumbles.

"I have to attend a dinner thing in Bellevue," I sigh, "you?"

"Similar plans," he mutters
.  "You're not going to drive are you?  I could send a car."

"No.  Grace, the Shelter
’s counsellor is also going.  I'll tag along."

"Oh." 

The mood in the vehicle is sliding south fast and I am relieved when he finally pulls into the shelters drive.  Grace and our tenants have all gone out and the huge house is empty.  I show Chayton which room I have claimed for myself and he helps carry my few things up the stairs.  Morgan arrives to pick up Chayton, just as the last piece of luggage is hauled upstairs.  Morgan declines my invitation for a cup of coffee, choosing to wait in the Jeep.  Chayton mutters a quick apology about a prior arrangement and offers me one brief, chaste kiss and then he's gone, leaving me alone with my growing melancholy.

Chapter 9

I have spent a few hours checking through the, thankfully small, pile of post and messages, which have built up over the last few days.  At the bottom of the pile, I find the invitation for tonight's dinner. 
Excellent!  It is a themed event and I don't have a costume.  At least I now have a brilliant excuse not to go!

I head to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, feeling a little better knowing I
do not have to face the same tired humdrum of fake sociability. 
Lighten up, gosh!
  As I finish stirring my tea, Grace bursts through the door.  Her arms are brimming with parcels and shopping bags and her considerable breasts are heaving with the effort.

"I obviously pay you too much," I tease as I rescue a handful of the bags, threatening to drop to the floor. 

"Oh don't you worry.  A lot of this is yours, and yes, you will be paying me for it.  Paying me and thanking me."  She dumps the remaining parcels on a stretch of free counter and sinks warily onto a breakfast stool to catch her breath. 

"Well?
”  I ask.

"Well what?"

"Well what have you spent my money on?"  I roll my eyes at her.

"Costumes for tonight!"

"Grace no!”  I groan, "I'm not going."

"Honey, if you think, for just one moment, that you can get out of tonight's dinner...think again!  You're living under my roof now and I'm going to make sure you go!"

"Technically it's my roof!”  I reminder her but she pretends not to hear.

"Besides," she grins, "If I have to squeeze these gorgeous hips into a little scrap of Burlesque costume, then you have to as well."  She plants her hands firmly at the top of her hips and runs them down, shimmying as she goes.

"How bad?”  I sigh, trying to keep a straight face.  Grace is very hard to say no to.

"They won't be able to keep their eyes off you," she promises, with a wink.

"That's what worries me!”  I grumble.

Grace starts shooing me out the room as though I'm a chicken.  "Trust me!  Now hit the showers girl.  Time is flying!" 

~.~

I am
pleasantly surprised as I give myself a last once-over in the mirror before Grace and I leave the house.  For a Burlesque outfit, my costume is surprisingly modest and beautiful.  Grace's outfit, by comparison, is in keeping with her gregarious personality.  She has chosen to flaunt the Moulin Rouge look to the maximum, comically and intentionally slutty.

The top half of my dress is a tight, ribbed corset of black lace over a base of ultramarine blue satin.  The swag layered skirt, longer at the back than the front, brushes against my legs, just exposing the lace tops of a pair of silky black stockings
.  Under the crisscrossing black ribbon, my back is bare.  The dress is sleeveless and the tightness of the corset has pushed my breasts up. 
I will have to make sure these puppies fall out!
 

I have
kept my make up light and twisted my hair up in a French twist, holding it in place with a comb adorned with a soft blue feather and I have a blue satin ribbon tied around my throat.  A pair of modest black heels completes the ensemble and my ankle feels surprisingly comfortable in them.

Okay.  I think
I might actually be looking forward to this.
  I walk out the office, straight into the chest of Edward.

"Oops.  Sorry" I smile apologetically.

"I um, no.  It's fine, my fault.  Wow!" he eventually finishes, getting a good look.

"Um
, yeah, we’re off to a weird themed party."  I explain, crinkling my nose. 
Very professional Acacia!

"Oh!" he sounds relieved.  "That would explain Grace," he thumbs over his shoulder.

"Oh goodness, yes Grace too!”  I exclaim, realising how ridiculous we must look to the ordinary folk, going about their day.  "Um, we should be back by around eleven.  You have our numbers?"

"Sure.  Enjoy yourselves.  May and I are going to couch potato with some films and
consume copious amounts of junk food." 

"Okay.  Thanks.
”  I grin.  I can hear Grace sitting on the car horn and scurry out.

~.~

We have been at the Seattle Mansion no more than five minutes and Grace is already dominating the dance floor.  Richly decorated, the room is draped in miles of deep maroon velvet swags with gold trim.  The tables overflow with elaborate flower arrangements, candelabra and crystal.  It is how I imagine an upper class, turn of the century brothel might look and it suits tonight's theme perfectly.  I wonder if it usually looks like this. 

I am
seated at our table, which Grace and I are sharing with two elderly couples.  Both couples are old-money industrialists and easy to talk to, but even easier to sit quietly and listen to.  I sit with them for half an hour, answering occasional questions, slowly starting to relax. 

A lively old tune starts up, and my companions excuse themselves politely, heading to the dance floor.  Alone at my table, I sip on a glass of champagne and glance around at some of the very brave costumes on display.  Gosh,
most of the costumes should be banned, the wearers arrested!  I spy Grace on the dance floor trying to do the Can-Can.  It is hilarious and I hope someone stops her before she hurts herself.

Feeling a pressing need to pee, made more urgent by the pressure of my tight corset, I grab my purse and weave through the tables and merriment to find the
little girls room.  I find an empty stall, listening to two older women, discussing the adorable 'buns' of a particular young waiter.  The theme, costumes and alcohol appear to be loosening the inhibitions of Seattle's wealthier senior citizens, I muse. 

I
leave the powder room five minutes later and stall, causing a near collision with a waiter. 
No!
  Blood drains from my head, leaving me feeling faint. 
This can't be right, can it?  After everything, he is... 
A wave of
nausea hits my stomach.  This morning's unreleased anger, unfurls somewhere deep down in the pit of my stomach, and my fingers start to tremble as it spreads through my body like a runaway freight train.

Anger is good.  Feeling something is good.
  Instinctively, I'm angry at myself.  I take a deep breath.  I am angry that I have trusted the wrong person,
again
.  I am angry that I put myself in this position, allowing myself to get hurt,
again,
but the anger feels wrong somehow, confusing me. 

'
Passive Self-Aggression
.'  I hear Victoria's words echoing uncomfortably in my head. 
FINE!
 
I am not angry with myself.  I am fuming mad - at him.  How dare he!  Who, the fuck, does he think he is? 

The rage is building to explosive levels and my whole body is trembling.  I don't think I have ever felt anger this raw, this overwhelming, and this scary.  I
am still rooted to the spot staring, probably red faced, at Robert and Chayton deep in conversation on the other side of the room.  Chayton's eyes scan the room idly as they chat.  They look relaxed and at ease with each other, even laughing.  His gaze finally sweeps towards me and his eyes lock on mine.  Briefly, just one fraction of a second, I think I see a flash of guilt flit across his face.

I can't bare it anymore.  I need air.  I need to escape.  I glance around frantically and spy a doorway a few feet away labelled Private.
I turn brusquely, ignoring a jolt of pain in my ankle and push my way past two waiters, to the door.  I burst through and close the door behind me, leaning heavily against it with my eyes squeezed shut. 

Breathe
.  In – out.  In – out.  Slowly.  Shit!  The tears are threatening to overwhelm me and I choke back a sob.

Opening my
eyes, I find I am in a study or a library of sorts with dark panelled walls and rows of bookshelves.  A thick, plush carpet covers the floor, absorbing white noise and the resulting silence is deafeningly after the buzz of conversation in the main hall.  The only furniture is a large desk and chair, to one side of the room.  I dart across the space to a large set of open French doors leading onto a balcony. 
Air!
 

I stand there, staring out into the dark moonless night gasping in huge icy gulps of air that burn my lungs.  I lean heavily against the handrail.  My legs don't feel very steady and the tears are still burning at the back of eyes.
  I feel his presence rather than hear him, the thick carpet absorbing the sound of his footsteps.

"Acacia?  Are you alright?" 

I glance over my shoulder at him.
  Am I alright?  Am I alright?
 
I have just seen you all smiley and sociable with my ex- husband.  My ex-husband, who destroyed my life.  And you!  Here!  Sexy and hot as hell in a...a...whatever the hell you call that!  Who, the fuck, are you?
  I shudder and look out into the night again, focusing on my breathing, rather than answer.  There is no telling what nastiness will pass my lips if I choose to speak right now.

"You look edible tonight," he whispers and steps up close behind me.  He doesn't touch me but I can feel the heat radiating off his body in contrast to the chill of the still evening air.  "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" 

Oh my God, is he really that clueless? 
I spin to face him and glare into his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"  I try to keep my tone neutral.  I think I succeed but it's at odds with my murderous glare.  His eyes search my face, mystified.  He really has no idea.

"Showing my support for a charitable cause?"  He volunteers, searching for the right thing to say and I continue to glare.

"Acacia, you are going to have to enlighten me,
” he sighs.

"Who the hell are you?"  I hiss.

"What do you mean?" he asks, confusion marring his beautiful face.

"I mean, who the hell are you?  One minute you're a recluse, who prefers to spend his life in a log cabin without electricity, then you're an investor and now you're..."  I flail my hands up and down at his attire and the room behind him, unable to articulate my words.

"What, you don't like the hat and tails?  Am I not allowed to party with the rest of the rich, famous and influential?  What's really eating you?"

The rest of the rich, famous and influential?  Investor who lives at Donavan's Pass.  Private man who rides a bike worth more than the average American home. 
I pale as the slow realisation dawns painfully.

"Christ, I am so stupid.  You're a Donavan!"  I gape at him in horror.

"Oh come on, Acacia," he sneers, "I find it really hard to believe you didn't know that."  His normally soothing voice has taken on a hard edge.  "This is quite a little show."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean.  And since when were you such good pals with Robert Jones?"  My anger is boiling over again.  "And..."  Chayton skims the fingers of one hand up my bare arm.  "...don't touch me!"

  I lash out, trying to push him away, to put some space between us.  I'm trapped between him and the handrail, the hard concrete, pushing into the small of my back.  He is unyielding and I end up beating my hands against his frozen chest in frustration.  I want to hurt him.  I want to hurt all the people in the world who think that it's okay to play with others like puppets. 

I run out of steam and find my forehead resting against his broad chest as I suck in air.  His arms wrap around my shoulders.  I am so confused and angry and hurt and angry and confused and...
  He smells amazing.

I steady myself and try to pull out of his embrace but he holds me tighter.

"Let.  Me.  Go!”  I grunt as I try to twist and push my way out of his arms. 

"Why?"

"Because I don't want this.  Because I'm angry.  Because you lied to me."  I spit through clenched teeth.

"When did I lie to you?"

"Probably all the time!"

"Acacia, there are a lot of things you probably need to know and will eventually, but other than by omission, I have never lied to you," he says softly.

He gazes down at me, his face a mask of sincerity and pity.  His arms relax and I take my cue, twisting out of his embrace.  I sidestep and making a beeline for the French doors.  He makes a grab for one of my hands and I swing it out of his reach.  He is just too fast for me and in a heartbeat; he has me up against the nearest wall, just inside the doorway.

My hands are pinned above my head and the full length of his body is pressed against mine, trapping me in pl
ace.  I gasp, remembering his similar assault earlier in the day.  His chest is heaving against mine, his gaze burning as heated and bright as my anger.

"Stop before you hurt yourself."

I shake my head and push away from the wall with my hips but he only pushes back with his own and I feel his growing arousal pressing against me, stirring up new sources of heat for my already burning blood.