Sweet Backlash (14 page)

He looked forward to finding out what
she liked to do, besides inflict pain on restrained men. He
released a crazy laugh and went to the mirror. Bracing his hands on
the sink's edge, he studied his reflection. He wanted to learn what
she liked to eat, read, and drink. He wanted to know what kind of
movies she watched. Listen to her childhood memories. Find out what
music she preferred.

Beginning to think he was a glutton
for punishment, he went back to pacing. He could make this easy and
leave tonight. After he talked her into taking him to his car, he
could go to Bob's house and stay there a few days until he got his
own place. The office might prove awkward, since Melony worked as
his secretary. After a while, they'd get past what had happened and
become good co-workers. Maybe even friends.

The idea depressed him. He craved her.
Not just sexually, though that was a big part of it. No, he needed
to give her a chance. He wanted more time. Yeah, he was definitely
a glutton for punishment. He would take the hard way and stay. What
was wrong with him?

"Do you want me to put the meat in the
pan?" she called.

He smelled the browning garlic and
onions. Much longer and they'd start to burn. "Go ahead," he called
back, not ready to face her.

Sitting on the toilet seat, he rested
his elbows on his knees and lowered his forehead to his hands. If
he did this with her, he had to set goals and limits. For one
thing, he refused to let her cuff him to anything ever again. He
had to admit, however, the ropes had been serious fun, and wondered
if she would let him bind her. For another, she had to let him in,
had to start answering some of his questions. He wouldn't require
her to tell him what happened that screwed her up so badly, but she
had to open up and share part of herself. He would give them one
week, and if he couldn't see a realistic future with her beyond
dating, he'd walk away.

When Chip returned from the bathroom,
he didn't seem the joking, fun-loving man he'd been at the grocery
store. He had lost his smile and the bounce in his step. Melony
wondered if he found her less appealing because of her age. He had
told her he thought she was nineteen, and perhaps he preferred his
women that young.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"A little," he said and sent her a
tentative smile.

He finished making dinner and filled
the apartment with heavenly aromas. While he transferred food from
pans to plates, she set the table and opened the loaf of Italian
bread he had purchased. Even with his darker mood, she enjoyed the
teamwork. When they sat, she gazed proudly at the meal they had
prepared.

"Everything looks so good," she said,
wishing she knew what bothered him but not sure how to ask. She
couldn't remember experiencing this level of comfort with a man.
Chip needed something from her, but she couldn't comprehend
what.

"Dig in. I think I made too
much."

She held out her plate and he dished
some of the main course onto it. "We'll have leftovers, which are
good after a long day of work when cooking seems like too much
trouble."

"Cooking too much trouble? Never." He
winked and grinned.

Encouraged by his attempt at banter,
she tried to draw him out further by asking questions. "You said
you made this the first time for your sisters in Boston? Do they
live in Massachusetts?"

He gave her a startled look then shook
his head with a thoughtful expression. "They live in northern New
York with their families."

Not as much as she expected, but it
was something. She spooned colorful red, yellow, and orange sautéed
bell peppers onto her plate and exclaimed, "Oh, we forgot the
salad."

"I usually eat the salad after the
meal."

"You do? Why?" All the restaurants
where she ate served the salad first.

"It's better for the digestion." He
forked a piece of beef into his mouth and said, "Mmm, this is even
better than last time. It must have been your help."

She smiled, liking his compliment,
though he blew smoke up her ass. "Considering I helped, be glad
it's edible." She tried some. Delightful flavors blossomed across
her taste buds in complex combinations. Her knees actually went
weak. "This is delicious."

Taking a sip of wine, she closed her
eyes as the underlying tartness enhanced the seasonings and
heightened the taste. Wow. This guy knew what he was doing with
food.

"I'm glad you like it." He took a sip
of his wine and gazed at her over the rim.

He held back, and she wanted him to
engage in conversation. This superficial talk, though nice, didn't
feel right with him. She needed to ask more questions. Digging
deep, she figured out what she most wanted to know. "Have you ever
been in love?"

Quirking a single eyebrow, he set down
his glass. "That's out of the blue."

"Sorry." No, she wasn't.

He thought for a minute then said, "I
thought I was, once. With a feisty redhead in high school. I
thought she'd be the one I would marry. Before I left for law
school, I asked her to wait for me. We'd dated for two years, so I
didn't think I was asking too much. She did, though. Apparently,
she had big party plans for college that didn't include
me."

"That really sucks. She broke your
heart, huh?" Her fingers itched to take a whip to the redhead's
hide for hurting him.

"No. I wasn't sad. I was angrier than
I could remember, but that was because I wasn't getting things my
way. I've grown up since then. How about you? Ever been in
love?"

"Nope." For some reason, she was proud
of that fact.

He stopped in mid-bite, his fork
suspended above his plate and his mouth open. Clapping his lips
closed, he stared at her a moment, as if gauging the truth of her
one-word response. "Not even a crush, or an
infatuation?"

"For about ten seconds, I thought I
was in love with my tenth grade soccer coach. Then I found out he
was gay. Turns out that was why he coached the girl's team. They
wouldn't let him near the boys." She laughed. "No, I never could
tolerate the immaturity of boys. By the time I was old enough to
catch the attention of men, well… I can't go into that."

Did she see disappointment flash
across his face? She couldn't decide because it disappeared as
quickly as it had appeared.

"I don't think I've ever met a
twenty-six year old woman who hasn't been in love at least twice. I
mean real love," he said.

She needed to get off this subject.
"So why did you come south? Why this law firm?"

He chuckled. "So many questions from
you. What are you trying to do?"

Did she push too hard? Was she scaring
him? "I'm sorry. I can stop, if you want."

"No, I like it, actually. It feels
like a date."

"It does? I wouldn't know."

"You wouldn't know? What does that
mean?" He set his fork on his plate and gave her his undivided
attention.

Damn it, she wanted off this subject,
but her big mouth brought them full circle. "I just… Well… I told
you I've never been in love."

"Not having been in love before is a
far cry from never dating. Holy cow, Melony. I mean, does your
family hold some religious belief that doesn't allow dating?" The
disbelief on his face hurt as surely as if he had slapped
her.

She tried to make light of it. "Are
you kidding? You've seen me in character. I'm into bondage and
dominance. You think I would let a religion tell me I can or can't
date?"

He relaxed and took a bite of bread.
"Then what? Pardon me for saying so, but someone who looks like you
not dating is just not normal."

Yeah, that hurt, too. "I told you, I
wasn't into dating boys."

If he kept this up, she'd renege on
her promise to let him live the month out in freedom. She tried to
imagine using her whip to get him into the playroom so she could
cuff him to the bar and teach him a few lessons about respect, but
she couldn't. He wasn't George, or Stanley, or any of those men. He
had his own mind, a strong will, and a decent sense of right and
wrong. If she had the courage to face the truth, she'd admit she
was damaged goods. She wasn't normal. Far from it.

"Melony?"

He'd been talking, but she hadn't
heard. About to fall to pieces, she excused herself and went to her
room. She locked the door and preparing for the flow of tears she
had not let loose in over a year.

* * * *

Shit! Shit! Shit! He had promised
himself he wouldn't push her about what happened. They made
progress at dinner, asking and answering questions, but he couldn't
let the dating thing go. He comprehended it related to whatever had
happened to ruin her life, so why had he done that to
her?

"I'm an ass," he said out loud,
squeezing his eyes shut.

He took his time cleaning the kitchen
and putting food away, trying to think of a way to make amends.
Ruling out borrowing her car to buy her flowers, he suspected she
wouldn't go for such a meaningless gesture. Finally, he had it. He
cringed just thinking about it, but anything less wouldn't require
the sacrifice he believed she needed from him.

Screwing up his fortitude, he marched
to her bedroom door and knocked twice.

"Go away. I need to be alone," she
said, her quiet voice barely audible through the wood.

"I'm sorry. I know that's not good
enough," he rushed to say before she could interrupt and before he
changed his mind, "so I'm willing to show you how sorry I am. I'm
willing to let you cuff me to the bar."

The door cracked open almost
instantly. Her eyes weren't even puffy. "Really? The
bar?"

"I thought you were crying," he said,
immediately regretting his insulted tone.

"I tried. I thought I would." She
looked down at the floor and whispered, "I think I'm
broken."

Putting out his hand, he said, "Come
here. You're not broken in any way that can't be fixed, I'm
sure."

She came out and closed the door,
taking his hand.

"You want to put me on the bar? It
might make you feel better. And if you ask really nicely, I might
even put on the loincloth." He choked on the last word, hardly
believing he offered.

She made a strangled sound, as if she
attempted to stifle a laugh. "Can I whip you until you
bleed?"

Horrified, he asked, "You really get
off doing that?"

She guffawed. "No. I was
joking."

He nodded. "Okay, let's not joke about
that. You really freaked me out."

Smiling, she said, "I don't know how
you do it."

"Do what?" He waited for her to berate
him up one side and down the other for giving her such a hard time
at dinner.

"Make me laugh. Nobody else can. Well,
Kathy can sometimes, when she's not trying. I'm really a very
serious person."

"I can see that about you. What with
all the leather and implements of torture."

She punched him in the arm. Not hard,
and he was grateful because he'd borne the force of one of her
earnest strikes.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked. "I'm
serious about the bar. Please don't make me wear the
loincloth?"

She put her hand on his arm. "I
forgive you. You're curious and I like that."

"Good, because that's a big part of
who I am. I don't know that I could change that." He didn't seek to
change her. He wanted to figure out what she enjoyed.

"I won't put you on the
bar."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Another
night on that thing would ruin his Sunday.

"But if you're truly sorry, there is
something I'd like you to do for me."

Shit. Here it came.

She put up a finger and disappeared
into her room. Returning a second later, she held out a brown box
with fancy black curlicues all over it and a shiny plastic wrapping
declaring it new and unopened.

She turned it around, and he read the
label. "Chocolate Body Paint."

Melony let Chip take the box out of
her hand. "Kathy gave it to me as a birthday gift."

"It's not open," he said.

Reluctant to say why, she said, "I've
been waiting for the right time."

He tossed it in the air and caught it
in one hand. "No time like the present."

She took his hand and led the way to
the living room. Next to the bed, she faced him and gathered his
red polo in her fingers and pulled the hem from his jeans. She slid
her hands underneath, running them up the ridges of his stomach.
His warmth beckoned her, and she couldn't wait to stretch out
alongside him, skin to skin. He lifted his shirt off over his head
and tossed it to the chair.

"You're a mystery." He lifted off her
T-shirt and dropped it onto his discarded polo.

"I don't try to be." He settled his
hands to her waist and her insides tightened in anticipation.
Sending her fingers into the swirls of his chest hair, she looked
into his eyes.