The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (32 page)

Bradley frowned. “Not quite that misogynistic.”
 

I exhaled a loud sigh. “I really dislike those looks.”
 

“Gracie, you’re understandably sensitive about the way men perceive you—and you’ve been badly hurt in the past. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
 

“I admit I have issues, and they’re not all about Audrey. You met one of them at the dinner party. Speaking of which, he called Friday night.”

Bradley down-shifted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never joke about Troy Lambert.” I shook my head. “It’s taken me a long time to recover—even this much. You sure you want to take me on?”

A fierce gaze darted across the car. “Stay away from him, Gracie.”

“I can take care of Troy,” I assured him.

Bradley drove past my street and made a quick turn into an underground parking lot.
 

“You’ve certainly been busy these past two days.” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You leased a flat, took possession of this magnificent machine, and arranged for secure, covered parking.”

He pulled into a reserved space and let the engine idle. His fierce expression had turned pitiless and lethal. “Let me deal with Troy Lambert.”

I shook my head. “He’s not your problem, he’s mine.” I reached across the console for his hand. “Promise me no after work boxing matches.”
 

The throaty engine idled softly. “You still don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”
 

“You thought I was sticking it in Audrey Lacoste.”

“You didn’t read her texts.”

“We’re going to get through this together, Gracie. Audrey, Troy, Claire—whoever tries to fuck with us—we’re going to be okay. Better than okay.” Those beautiful eyes turned a softer shade of blue.
 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a difficult ex-wife and daughter baggage. Our lives are complicated. We’ve both got issues. And even with all that, you make me want to get close.” He shook his head as if he could hardly believe it himself. “I want real intimacy with you, the kind we both deserve.”

“Bradley, the simplest things are hard for me—work, friends, lovers.”

“I struggle with similar challenges. Just know that you’re not alone in this.” He was being sweet and supportive and I could actually feel my heart rate return to a normal.
 

He swallowed. “For a start, I think we’ve got to be honest about everything. Even if we think it might cause a discussion.”
 

One side of my mouth curled upward. “You mean even if it causes an argument.”

He nodded, adding a shrug of surrender. “I admit that relationship conflicts make me uncomfortable. My parents argued. Claire and I argued constantly.”

“You can’t take arguing away from me.” My grin reversed itself. “It’s emotional blackmail. If I can’t argue with you—.”

“Gracie—” He cut me off. “I don’t feel the same way with you. When you go psycho bitch on me you’re exasperating, but you don’t make me crazy.”

I stared at him. “I thought we were going to be honest about everything.”

“Maybe a little crazy.” He looked vulnerable, and he wore it so damn well. I wanted to melt into him, but my safety belt jerked me back in my seat.

 
“Let me get that.” He hauled me up over the console and onto his lap.

I tucked myself into his chest. “If we do this relationship thing for real, where do we begin?”

“We could start with boyfriend and girlfriend. Not too scary?” His beard stubble brushed my cheek.

 
I nuzzled back. “I love the way that sounds. And I love this car. Can’t we just move in?”

SUNDAY MORNING BROKE cloudy and gray.
 

Groggy and slightly hung over, Bradley and I still made it to the Chelsea Pier on time for basketball and antigravity yoga. We even found the energy to jog back to my apartment and enjoyed a hot, steamy shower.

My new man was an insanely great lover. He could be rough and wild, slow and sensuous—and always so deliciously naughty. He brought his own unique brand of Bradley kinkery into the bedroom, shower, dressing room, dance floor, and the shotgun seat of the Vanquish.
 

We spent the afternoon on Long Island, mostly in the Aston Martin. As co-pilot, I set up Bluetooth for both our phones and we went through the manual and learned every button and gauge on the dashboard.
 

We stopped at a seashore clam bar for lunch and afterward, Bradley put me behind the wheel. On a quiet shoreline drive, he patiently taught me the controls until I got the hang of shifting gears using the steering wheel paddles. So responsive and so powerful—driving this car was almost as thrilling as straddling the cock of its owner.
 

And I was shocked when he actually seemed comfortable enough to let me take us back to Manhattan.
 

 
“Only four days until LA, you ready for my family?” I glanced over and he appeared to spark to my question. Dinner with Bradley’s mother had been cut short. Not my fault exactly, but still kind of a bust. I wanted our first trip together to go well if possible. The downside? We were staying at my mother’s. No escaping that craziness.

“A few days ago, I asked you for your Virgin Flying Club number.” Bradley mused aloud. “I have an ungodly number of miles on my card, so I upgraded us to first class. I also reserved a car.”

For some inexplicable reason, his take-charge approach to our travel arrangements made me edgy. “I called my mother and told her I’m bringing a male friend who owns a tuxedo. She probably thinks you’re gay.”

I caught a glimpse of a grin. “Listen, this is not…it’s not like I’m taking you home to meet my parents, Bradley.”

He raised a brow. “Actually, it kind of is.”

How was it that this man—my lover—could be so exasperating and reassuring at once? Bradley had my back again. Organizing, taking care of things like rental cars.
 

I exhaled a sigh of surrender. “What kind of a car did you reserve?”

He grinned. “Something fast and convertible—Mustang or Camaro. The weather app says sunny and seventy-five degrees all weekend.”

I took a moment to marvel. At times, Bradley was almost intimidating. He was solid, responsible, and insanely dominant-sexy in bed. If I peeled back a few layers I knew he wasn’t perfect. He had a temper, which was physical at times, yet he didn’t lash out. He invited his enemy into the boxing ring, punched his lights out, and then bought the poor loser a beer.
 

When his lover misbehaved he spanked her bottom. The very thought got me tingly and squirmy.

He was also endlessly patient with Hannah and Liv—even his ex, Claire. Other than the gross infidelity, I knew very little about his failed marriage. It seemed obvious that there were unresolved issues between them, feelings and resentments he didn’t share much with me.

I suspected that at least some of Bradley’s silence had to do with him being a gentleman. He wasn’t about to trash-talk the mother of his child. But also because there were hints of fault on both sides—like maybe his need to be in control? Bradley was overprotective with smatterings of possessiveness. He was also dominant—aggressively so—which was a trait more worrisome outside of the bedroom.

Once we were on the parkway he showed me how to put the car in automatic drive. “The computer will shift gears for you.”
 

He settled back in his seat. “I need you to tell me what happened with Troy Lambert. Not just the phone call Friday night, but what his involvement was in your gang rape. If this upsets you, pull over and I’ll drive.”

When I didn’t answer right away, he asked again, in a gentler tone. “Start with the phone call from your ex.”

I reminded myself that being honest with each other also meant not withholding. “Troy wanted to know if I was okay. And he’s not my ex.”

“That’s it? He wanted to know if you were feeling better?” He sounded skeptical.

I nodded. “And… if we could meet sometime.” A small knot roiled around in my stomach. I pressed the turn signal on the car and pulled over. “I do want to be honest, and I don’t want to withhold from you. I also don’t want to put the first dent in this car.”

He smiled so sweetly I relaxed some.

 
“Come here, baby.” He released my seatbelt and pulled me into his arms. “As long as you weren’t hurt, I’d get over a dent or two.” He swept back a few curls. “What do you think he really wants?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. Absolution maybe?”

“He’s looking for forgiveness—some kind of closure?”

I nodded, scraping upper teeth over my bottom lip. “Closure was part of it.”

“And?”

“He asked if we could get together, and I told him not to call me again. If I had something to say, I’d contact him.”

“What time was it, when he called?”

“I’d have to check my phone—ten-ish. Why?”

Bradley’s face grew tense, and filled with concern. “I paid a visit to Mother’s law firm Friday afternoon.”

I stiffened. “You did what?”

“I went to his office to tell him to stay away from you and my mother’s estate. But…”

I thought about the cuts and bruises Bradley inflicted on Derek’s face and my heart began to pound. “What happened?”
 

His jaw tightened. “He hurt you.”

“Oh my God. I can’t have you beating up every man you think has injured me in some way.”

“Thing’s got tense. I may have made a few threats. Nothing physical yet.”

 
A part of me wanted to climb out of the car and walk home. But another part of me felt fiercely protective toward Bradley. “Powerful forces shield Troy Lambert and he’s an attorney. You need to be careful.”

His brows clashed together and he frowned. “And how exactly does that happen? Even if he didn’t touch you he was an accessory to those crimes.”
 

“His family has clout. Universities look the other way with most fraternity rapes. There’s always a lot of drinking involved and as horrible as it sounds, most frat rapes are never prosecuted.”

Wheels turned as he processed my comments. “How was it that your rapists did time?”
 

My gaze narrowed to slits. “And how is it you know so much?”
 

He pretty much had to explain. “After I signed the papers at Audrey’s, I paid a visit to a special investigative police unit. Troy Lambert isn’t the only one with connections. Mother is a huge contributor to the 911 First Responders Fund. She knows the chief district attorney personally. I got a look at the electronic files, what was available over the Internet.”

I sucked in a couple of deep breaths. Bradley’s invasion of my privacy startled me. I felt naked and defensive, but to be perfectly honest I also felt liberated. Finally, I had someone to talk to about a horrific event in my life.
 

I swallowed. “Then you know that I was given a large dose of Rohypnol and had a bad reaction. The hospital recovered the DNA samples. It was almost like they couldn’t not prosecute.” I dared to make eye contact. “Why are you doing all of this?”
 

His incredulous gaze met mine. “So I can formulate a plan to protect you.”

I didn’t cry, exactly, but I wanted to. Instead, I fell into his arms and he rubbed my back in that comforting way of his.

“From the accounts I read, one of your rapists made some serious threats. If Lambert or anyone connected to the sexual assault calls or attempts to see you again, you need to tell me. Promise me, Gracie.”
 

The words rushed out in a whisper. “I promise.”
 

Bradley swept back a few curls. “Do you still want to drive? I can take over.”
 

I felt surprisingly strong. “No, I’m okay. I’ll drive.”
 

The rest of the way home I peppered him with questions and even offered up details of the rape story I hadn’t thought about in years.
 

“Most of what I remember comes from other witnesses. According to Dad, Rohypnol has such a powerful effect you can’t recover much because the drug actually interferes with the brain’s ability to store the memory, so there is little or nothing in the file to retrieve.”
 

He scowled. “The perfect date rape drug.”
 

I nodded, floating momentarily on the wings of a mild euphoria. No one outside of my family and therapist had ever been so supportive. But I had never trusted enough to let anyone be supportive. Like so many rape victims, I had allowed the event to humiliate, even shame me. A blow to my self-esteem that required constant affirmation to overcome.
 

I glanced at Bradley just to check his expression. He appeared contemplative and compassionate, with an underlying anger visible in the lines that creased his eyes and mouth.
 

“If it’s any consolation,” he added quietly, “I think Troy Lambert is haunted by what happened to you.”
 

We traveled under the East River and made a quick stop for flowers on our way to midtown and Mount Sinai. The lumbering whale of a hospital occupied a prime location in the center of Manhattan with a spectacular view of Central Park.
 

Audrey had been moved out of intensive care and we got lost twice trying to find the right nurses’ station. Once we arrived at her room I thought it might be best if Bradley went in first. For starters, Audrey liked him so much more than she liked me.

“No, Gracie, you need to talk to her. Bring me in when you’ve both had a chance to say whatever it is you need to say to each other.”

I gripped the vase of flowers and tapped lightly at the open door.

“Come in.” Audrey didn’t sound like she had almost died last night, she actually sounded pretty normal. “Gracie?”

I entered the room tentatively, not knowing exactly where to begin. She looked pale and maybe a bit distressed or humiliated, pretty normal under the circumstances.

 
“How are you?” I asked, softly.