Awakening (9 page)

‘I love you too, doll face.’ He turned his lips into her palm and pressed a kiss to the centre.

‘Dream of me – after. Every once in a while, dream of me, so I can come and check on you.’

‘Always, love. I’ll dream of you always.’ He’d settled her more comfortably in his arms and soothed her back to sleep.

When he’d woken, she’d been gone. She’d died in his arms with a peaceful smile on her face.

Evan lurched into the store room and collapsed on top of a stack of boxes, struggling to breathe through the grief choking him. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let himself want Claire. Marianne was too close, too full in his heart, and he’d stopped wanting anyone but her once they’d met. He felt as if he were betraying her, and it made him sick. They’d never invited anyone else into their bed. He hadn’t wanted to. It had been just the two of them and it had been enough. But she’d died, and he missed her so much that it hurt.

He didn’t want to want Claire, and the fact he did – he wouldn’t lie to himself, he wanted her – was more than he could handle right now. Ruthlessly clamping down on his emotions, Evan took a deep, ragged breath and made his way to the small bathroom in the back of the store room to splash cold water on his face. When he was satisfied that he looked presentable, he returned to the selling floor only to find Claire gone and the store completely empty.

Chapter Six – Claiming Claire

‘Y
OU LOOK AMAZING
, Claire.’ The warmth in Marcus’ voice wrapped around her. She’d missed him so much. She hadn’t even realised it until she’d heard his voice over the phone. It had taken every ounce of courage she could muster up to dial his number, but she’d done it. And now here they were, seated across from each other sharing a meal on the patio at Luna Bella, a popular Italian trattoria.

Situated in the heart of the arts district, Luna Bella was an excellent restaurant which had that unique blend of open architecture and privacy. It faced the local art house theatre, and was one of Claire’s favourite places to eat. She often took in a matinee, and then popped over for a cannoli and espresso before heading home. The sweet confection and strong coffee were the perfect ending to an afternoon of cinema. From experience, Claire knew it would not be crowded on Sunday with so many people preparing for the work week, so she and Marcus would have plenty of privacy. The weather was warm and the night clear, making it the perfect backdrop for their reunion, so Claire had asked for a patio seat.

When choosing the location for this reunion, Claire had wanted to be in a familiar setting, but she had also picked this restaurant for its proximity to her house, which meant she could walk home if the evening went badly. She’d learnt a long time ago not to rely on anyone for transportation when the outcome of the evening was dicey, and this evening’s outcome was definitely up in the air. The last time she’d seen her brother, they’d parted on vicious, ugly words that she’d regretted almost instantly, but her pride had kept her from taking back. The result had been a ten-year separation from her brother, who had once been her closest friend.

Marcus had disapproved of her relationship with Charlie and he’d made no secret about it. Of course, he’d blamed Charlie for the dysfunction, absolutely refusing to entertain the notion that Claire was responsible. Instead, he’d told her she needed counselling for her delusions. Rather than continue to fight him, she’d made horrid accusations, claiming that he was jealous of her relationship, and had even insinuated he had an unnatural connection to her.

He’d slapped her. Hard. Splitting her lip and sending her reeling. She’d fallen into the coffee table and damn near cracked her head open as she’d gone toes over head before landing in a dishevelled heap. Looking up at him with blood streaming down her chin and neck, she’d laughed and asked, ‘Now, do you believe me?’

Marcus had stared at her, his face deathly pale with eyes dilated from shock for long moments before saying, ‘You need help,’ in a voice thick with tears. He’d pivoted on his heels and stormed out. It was the last time she’d seen or spoken to him, but that night had haunted her for years until, like so many of her crimes, it had blurred into the tapestry that was her life and she’d forgotten it.

Or at least, that’s what she’d thought. But, like so many of her preconceived notions, she’d found out she was wrong. She’d dreamed of him. Dreamed that he was looking for her. Relived those last moments with him, but this time in the dream she ran after him, calling out for him to come back. She’d drifted back to consciousness with the conviction that she needed to call Marcus thrumming through her.

It had taken a full week before she was able to let the call go through and not hang up the moment she heard it ring. Much to her surprise, rather than hang up on her, Marcus had been ecstatic to hear from her. They’d spent hours talking and catching up. She’d even gotten to speak with his wife and young daughter. A truly bittersweet moment, because it highlighted how much of his life she’d missed. They’d talked for hours that first call. She’d apologised, and he’d been gracious. He’d told her that he still didn’t understand the choices she’d made, but he was happy that she’d taken control of her life. He’d been the one to suggest they have dinner, but she’d accepted without hesitation.

She’d agonized over her appearance. She wanted to look her best. Wanted her brother to approve. She probably shouldn’t care, but she did. She felt as if she was being reborn. Tonight she met her brother on new ground as a new person. She was scared to death, but hoped it didn’t show. She’d left her hair loose and put on a simple wrap dress in black knit. Light make-up, a single strand of pearls, and black sandals completed the outfit. She felt elegant and armoured.

Marcus had made a special effort as well, donning a sport coat and button-down with jeans. Remembering his hatred of all things dressy, this definitely represented a special effort, and her heart squeezed at the gesture. The years had been good to him. His light brown hair was only slightly dusted with grey and his eyes, hazel just like hers, remained unlined. The most significant change was in his presence. Marcus had always had a lazy quality about him, one that made it easy to overlook him, but now he radiated a confident grace that made Claire do a double take when she first saw him. Rather than blending into the crowd as he’d always done, Claire had noticed him immediately. It was in the set of his shoulders and the lift of his head. No longer did he slouch or fold in on himself. Claire only hoped he saw some similar changes in her.

‘Thanks, so do you.’ She smiled at him. ‘Marcus, I –’ Claire broke off as she caught sight of their waiter wending his way through the linen-covered tables as he brought out their dinner. With an efficiency born of obvious experience, he deposited their meal of lasagne and salad served family style, and left them to eat. Claire waited as Marcus served them both before again beginning to speak.

‘Marcus …’

‘Claire, wait,’ Marcus interrupted her. ‘I think I know what you’re going to say, and let’s just leave it where it belongs. OK?’ He reached out and covered her hand with a warm palm. ‘We said all that needs to be said about that past. You’re my sister. I love you and I’ve missed you.’ He grinned widely, his hazel eyes shining, before leaning closer and squeezing her hand. ‘That’s what is most important. Let’s just start over from here.’

Tears flooded her eyes unbidden. It felt like a wall had just crashed down inside her and emotion was flooding through her. A happy sob escaped her, and she brought his hand to her lips, kissing the palm before placing it on her cheek. For several seconds she just held him to her, absorbing the connection before laughing out loud.

‘You always did know how to make me cry.’

Marcus chuckled. ‘At least this time I didn’t cut off a hunk of your hair to do it.’

Claire’s joyous laughter, not just at his words, but at reclaiming such a large part of her life, floated out into the evening.

Bright laughter caught Evan’s attention as he stepped out of the Silver Theatre. He’d just taken in the latest instalment of their annual Hitchcock festival.
Vertigo
with Jimmy Stewart was one of his favourites and, since it was Sunday, the store closed early, giving him the evening to do something fun. He might own a bookstore, but he was a film buff. He generally came to the theatre on Sunday after the store closed. They catered to classic movies with the occasional indie flick thrown in, and that suited him just fine. He didn’t enjoy the crowds that generally accompanied the blockbusters.

Another trill of laughter sounded. It pulled at Evan. The joy infused in that laugh was not often heard. There were silly laughs, guffaws, belly laughs, and sarcastic laughs, but this laugh radiated happiness. Evan had laughed like that at one time, but it had been a long time since he’d felt joy that deep. Since Marianne’s death, Evan had become a connoisseur of laughter. He’d learnt to recognise the nuances and shape of it. At first, it had been in reaction to the anger he felt every time someone laughed. Marianne was dead and it seemed like the world should be grieving her loss with him. He’d resented other people’s happiness. Eventually, he’d come to grips with the fact that life moved on and he must too, but by then it had become a habit to catalogue the laughter he saw in the world around him. Almost as if by doing so, he was storing it up to one day be able to laugh again.

He scanned the few patrons seated on the patio at Luna Bella, searching for the source such joy, and, like iron to a magnet, locked in on Claire and the man she was with just as she kissed his palm and cradled his hand against her face. She appeared almost transcendent in her joy. The smile on her face transformed her from attractive to resplendent, and the peace she radiated at the man’s touch was almost physical. Evan had never seen her so open and relaxed.

Rage, red and searing, burned through Evan so quickly it stole his breath. Evan was halfway across the street, prepared to rip the man’s hands from Claire, before sanity reasserted itself and he retreated back to the entrance of the theatre. Chest heaving, Evan struggled to regain his composure. This was exactly why he stayed away from her. He wasn’t himself around her. All control flew out the window and he behaved like a Neanderthal. She was nothing to him. A customer, nothing more. She could date whoever she wanted. He didn’t give a fuck. The thought barely made it through his brain before his inner bullshit meter asserted itself.

You’ve never been a liar, Evan. Don’t start now.

Taking a deep breath, Evan sought to calm his racing heart. He gritted his teeth and clenched every muscle in his body before slowly relaxing one muscle at a time. When he was able to unclench his fists, he forced himself to admit that he did care. He’d been making a point of guiding her through her explorations of BDSM for the sole purpose of preparing her for her first experiences in it. He had a vested interest in who she dated. If her initiation went poorly, she could be harmed both physically and mentally. After what he’d heard her tell Bridget, she might never recover if that were to happen.

She wasn’t ready yet. She still selected only light stories even though she devoured the ones he left out for her. He’d know she was ready the day she voluntarily picked out a story that involved more than being ordered around in the bedroom. Until then, she had no business getting herself involved with a man. Period. What relaxation he’d been able to achieve flew out the window as the image of Claire on her knees in front of the stranger seared its way into his brain. He had to get the fuck out of there.

Clamping down ruthlessly once more on the urge to go over there, Evan stalked away, determined to get home and forget about her.

Forgetting about her was proving easier said than done. Since he’d walked through the door he’d made himself a sandwich, taken a shower, done what few dishes he had, and had tried and failed to read the newspaper, all to no avail. The image of Claire with that man’s hand on her cheek was burned into his brain like a brand. Each time it popped back into his head, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. To make matters worse, his overactive imagination wasn’t letting it stop there. No, every time he’d think he’d gotten his unruly thoughts in order, he’d get taught that he was wrong. In the shower, he’d been thinking about everything other than Claire. The chores that needed doing at Bibliophile, the paperwork he needed to finish, the fact he needed to submit his tax return …
Bam!
His brain locked on “submit”, and there she was, naked, on her knees with that same adoring look he’d seen in the restaurant.

Having your dick punch out into an erection at the same time your chest squeezes so tight you can’t breathe is a recipe for disaster. He’d had to sit down on the edge of the tub until he could collect himself. It had been like that ever since he’d gotten home. An errant thought leading to a graphic image of Claire in submission. To the point where he was so on edge his skin felt brittle and strained under the rage he was struggling to hold in. The tension in his body was so profound the air around him felt thick and heavy.

If he didn’t collect himself soon, he was going to have a fucking heart attack. With a mental shake, Evan grabbed the fifth of Evan Williams off the sideboard and poured himself a hefty dose of the amber liquid. Walking to his window, he stared out over the quiet street, and did his best to find some perspective.

He was being unreasonable and he knew it. She was a grown woman, and free to make her own choices. But dammit, she was naive. She didn’t understand the risks involved. If she wasn’t careful, she might pick a man who was willing to exploit her. Use her as the punching bag she’d been so intent on being to her ex. She didn’t realise how lucky she had been that he
didn’t
want to use her that way. There were men who would exploit that need in Claire so badly she would be torn down, shredded, and left for dead inside before she even knew what happened.

The thought of Claire broken and helpless brought on another surge of rage so strong his hand shook as he took another deep swig of bourbon. He felt responsible for her. He was deliberately opening her mind up to experiences she might or might not be ready for, and now he was confronted with the very real possibility that she might jump in before she truly knew what she was doing. Everything in him rebelled at the notion of Claire being hurt through ignorance. But what could he do? He was doing everything he could do already.