Dear Sir, I'm Yours (5 page)

A flush of pride blazed across Rae’s cheeks and she wanted to grin like an idiot. Property manager had a very nice ring to it. “Pleased to meet you, Samantha. Everything smells incredible.”

Smiling, Samantha headed back for the kitchen. “Why, thank you, Rae Lynn. I hope you love good southern cooking. Tonight’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy.”

Taking a drink of his tea, Conn sighed happily. “And lots of sweet tea.”

Rae smiled at the bliss on his face. Catching her silent laughter, he arched a brow at her and shrugged good-naturedly.

Miss Belle leaned over to loudly whisper, “Conn has the biggest sweet tooth this side of Texas.”

Slowly raising his glass to his mouth, he gave Rae that smoldering sexy look that should be illegal. “The sweeter the better.”

Yanking her gaze away, she stared at the stack of homemade bread and her mouth watered. Warm, yeasty wheat filled the air, making her stomach growl so loudly Rae blushed.

“Conn, will you say grace, please?”

Miss Belle took Rae’s left hand and his right. He slid his hand across the table toward her, palm up. Pulse slamming in her throat, she met him halfway. His fingers curled around hers, his palm big and strong, swallowing her hand. Exactly how she always felt with him.

Swallowed. Overwhelmed.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this food we are about to receive. Bless every single person in this house.” His fingers tightened on her hand. “Thank you for protecting Rae all these years and bringing her safely to us. Amen.”

Her eyes burned. Had he been praying for her? Thinking of her? She met his solemn gaze, still holding his hand. Clenching her mouth shut, she fought not to blurt out everything that had happened, the apologies and excuses and entreaties jumping around in her mind. She longed to tell him every truth she’d learned about herself and the many mistakes she’d made.

Or would that only drive him away?

“Try this, Rae Lynn.” Miss Belle offered a slice of bread slathered with pale, creamy butter. “Samantha’s rustic country bread and fresh-churned butter from our local dairy.”

Slipping her hand from his reluctantly, Rae took a bite and her eyes closed in bliss.

Conn chuckled. “Wait until you taste Samantha’s hot-out-of-the-oven blueberry muffins for breakfast. Or her blackberry cobbler.”

“Does she live here, too?”

“Oh, no,” Miss Belle replied. “She has two children and a rather obnoxious husband.

They live in town. Right now, she’s just working part time, trying out new recipes and such until we settle on the right menu. I’m afraid we might have issues with her husband the closer we get to the grand opening.” Leaning toward Rae and keeping a careful eye on the door, she whispered, “He’s a bit abusive, I think, but she never says anything. He’s also very controlling and doesn’t like letting her work out of the house.”

A flash of rage made Rae tighten her fingers, crushing the soft dough. She knew that sort of man all too well. Deliberately, she concentrated on her slice of bread, refusing to meet Conn’s gaze. Would he be as big a jerk? Controlling every move? Demanding to know everywhere his little woman went?

“I like control, Rae.”

His words from five years ago mocked her. She was a fool to think she could ever adjust to his sort of demands.

“Do you want me to speak to him?” Conn asked. Rae wanted to roll her eyes. Yeah, one control freak to another, he’d probably congratulate him. “Samantha deserves a chance to start her own career. I simply can’t believe her husband would knowingly force her to give up her dreams.”

“Lots of husbands would disagree with you.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Flickering her gaze up, she winced at the intensity of his piercing eyes.

“Do you speak from personal experience?”

Perhaps it would be best to get his reaction to her marriage and subsequent divorce with witnesses where he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on her. “My very ex-husband was the same kind of jerk.”

Conn’s eyes narrowed, grooves deepening between his eyes and around his mouth.

“How long were you married?”

“Nearly three years.” The incredible bread turned to sawdust in her mouth and she nearly choked. “He was the second biggest mistake I ever made.”

His harsh bark of laughter made her flinch. “And I was your first, right?”

“No,” she whispered, fighting not to cry. She stared down at the table, memorizing the swirls in the lacy cloth. “My worst mistake was leaving you.”

Oh, God, she couldn’t believe she’d said it. Not so openly to him, in front of his grandmother. He’d always had that effect on her, though. She’d blurt out answers in class, too, any answer at all, because she couldn’t bear to let him down.

The silence was unbearable. She wanted to squirm. She wanted to jump up and flee the room. She didn’t dare look up at his or his grandmother’s reaction. Her heart thudded painfully, her stomach clenching uneasily on the bread. She reached out for her glass and her fingers trembled so badly she sloshed tea on the pristine tablecloth.

She’d never seen him angry. Would he yell and rage, punch the wall, call her names, all things her ex-husband had done and worse? Or would Conn punish her with silence? She’d never had much of a will when it came to him.

His chair scooted out from the table, the squeak of wood against wood loud in the silence. “Miss Belle, if you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Rae and I need to have a quick private discussion.”

Married.

His Rae had married someone else. Another man had held her, touched her, made love to her for three fucking years and yeah, jealousy blinded him in a thick haze of red.

But the fear shimmering in her eyes pissed him the hell off.

What kind of man did she think he was? For five years, he’d been beating himself up for scaring her, afraid maybe he’d done serious damage to her psyche, and the whole time, she’d been with another man. He’d never once contemplated laying a hand on her in anger. Never.

He’d sooner take down the claymore displayed on the wall above his sofa and gut himself before he’d ever abuse her.

If she seriously thought he could ever hurt her like that, then he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of regaining her trust.

Like a rabbit frozen by headlights, she watched him come around the table at her. He damned near ground his teeth to dust, but he moved slowly and didn’t say a word as he pulled her chair away from the table.

He wanted to yank her into his arms and hold her to his heart and swear with his last dying breath that he’d never ever hurt her again. And then he’d kiss her until she knew it, until she believed it in her heart and could trust him without a single doubt.

He despised that fear in her eyes. Fear he’d put there himself. He deserved whatever punishment she meted out and if he had to crawl on his belly over broken glass for years before she ever let him touch her, then by God, that’s what he’d do.

For now, he simply held the door to the back porch open for her and silently indicated the dirt path leading down to the gazebo.

Early autumn scents of fresh mown hay and leaves filled his nose. The evening air was crisp but not so chilly that she’d need a coat. He could always give her his suit jacket. Bitterly, he jammed his hand through his hair and paced the circular floorboards. Gallant gestures would never be enough to bridge her fear.

It was too late. Perhaps it’d always been too late.

Sitting on the bench and staring down at her small hands clenched in her lap, she looked achingly young, as innocent and fresh as the first day he’d seen her in his classroom. That prim, frilly white blouse should have made her look like an old maid, but instead enhanced her delectable body. They’d lost so many years because of one lousy mistake.

He must have made some small sound, a breath of remorse, for her gaze slowly rose to his. His heart lurched. Colonel Healy’s ghost could have materialized right beside her in full dress uniform jingling with all his service medals, and Conn wouldn’t have noticed. He was too busy losing himself in her eyes.

Deep and soulful, her eyes had been the first thing he’d noticed when the shy, unknown student raised her hand during roll call in his class five years ago. His Romantic Period class was senior-level English, so he’d expected to know every single one of his students. Gleefully, he’d prepared to strike terror into the heart of this new student with his rigid classroom structure and demanding syllabus.

Instead, she’d struck him deaf and mute, then, too, drowning him with her eyes and the clear, sweet, pure glimpse of her heart. Nobody had eyes like hers. All the clichéd phrases of verse over the centuries dedicated to a woman’s eyes were proven in her gaze. Starry climes were just the beginning of what he’d sensed that day.

Here was a woman who’d never be able to lie to him, to anyone, because her eyes would betray her. He saw her shyness, the undeniable attraction she felt toward him, and the subtle siren call of a natural, thoroughly untrained submissive. From that first moment, he’d wanted to make her his. He’d wanted to be the one to show her how he’d treasure and love her with his control.

And then he’d stupidly ruined it all by losing that control he’d been so proud of.

What he saw in her eyes now shook him to the core. Fear and even longing he expected, but not guilt. Not from her. She was innocent in this whole mess. Anger dissolving, he quoted softly, “‘
Oh! Let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle’s,/ Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,/

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells.’
”

“Sounds like Byron,” she whispered hesitantly.

“Very good, Miss Jackson.” He sighed heavily. He had no idea what her married name was. Married. The thought still made him sick at heart.
Mine, she could have been mine. Should
have been mine.
“I’m sorry. What’s your new name?”

She twitched with surprise, which almost made him smile. She hadn’t expected him to apologize. “After the divorce, I went back to Jackson.”

He gave a small nod. “I’m sorry for my reaction. I had a ridiculous preconceived notion that you’d been pining for me all this time, pure and aloof, and certainly not married to someone else.”

Her chin inched up and her eyes flashed, spirited but still heavily laced with guilt, which hadn’t been his intention. “We never had any commitments. I never—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he broke in gently. “We didn’t have a formal agreement. It just takes some adjustment in my mind to reconcile you with another man. What was he like?”

She shifted uneasily, her gaze dropping back to her hands. He waited, not pushing, but letting the weight of his silence drive her to give him the answers he needed. Had that one moment in his office shaken her so utterly that she couldn’t trust any man at all?

“We obviously didn’t get along very well because we divorced,” she finally answered. “I shouldn’t have married him. I don’t want to talk about him. Not with you.”

Ah, but that’s exactly what he needed the most, because something wasn’t adding up in his head. Her fear caused by his initial anger worried him. He’d seen only desire and shyness in her eyes tonight, before he’d found out she’d been married. Dread tightened his throat, but he fought for calmness in his voice. “Did you fight often?”

“At the end. He…didn’t treat me very well.” She forced a laugh, shrugging, and it broke his heart. He didn’t even know who the bastard was, but he’d break him with his bare hands if he ever ran into him. So many hurts and sorrows darkened her eyes that she tried to hide.

“Daddy tried to tell me it was a mistake to marry him. He was right. I knew it was a mistake the day I married him, but…”

Slowly, he sat down on the bench, not too closely. She didn’t flinch away, which he took as a good sign. He stretched his arm out on the railing and traced the whorls in the wood with his fingers, when what he really wanted to do was feel the softness of her skin in the moonlight.

“I’d lost you, and I was so lonely.” Her voice was fragile, so low and soft he strained to hear. “By then, I figured you weren’t ever riding up on your white horse and it was too late for me to call you. I thought it’d help if I moved on with my life. I was wrong.”

Her voice broke and he had to touch her. Gently, he grazed his fingers across her shoulder. Shuddering, she moved, not further away but closer, enough that he could smell the sweet vanilla scent of her hair.

“Rae, darlin’, it was never too late.”

She shook her head, her shoulders straining, but she eased closer. If he moved an inch, he’d be able to drape his arm across her back and hold her, but was that what she wanted? He dared not move too quickly.

Anguished, he asked the questions tearing him up inside. “Did you really miss me? Did you need me? Did you think of me at all?”

Long moments passed, his heartbeat loud in his head. Barely breathing, he waited for her answer.

“Always.” Turning in a rush, she buried her face against his chest. “Oh, Conn, I missed you so much I wanted to die.”

Conn smelled as good as she remembered, only she’d never been wrapped in his arms like this. Careful and polite, he’d barely touched her that semester long ago until that very last day. She’d taken his final, turned her blue book in, and met him at his office, giddy, silly, and totally unprepared for the real Conn to peek out from behind his civilized professor veneer.

Of course, it was the dangerous, sexy, demanding man who’d pinned her on top of his desk for a slow, seductive spanking that she’d dreamed about all these years. She didn’t realize she was crying until he stroked his fingers across her cheeks to brush the tears away.

“Shhh, darlin’, don’t cry. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss you, wondering where you were, what you were doing, if you were alright. Can you ever forgive me?”