The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (22 page)

This was too much. I had to get away.

I struggled to my feet, a task made more difficult by my
cuffed wrists. Once upright, I stuck my arms out straight and looked anywhere
other than at Gibson. “Unclip these.”

He walked over, quickly flipped the clip open. I yanked my
arms away when he tried to undo the clasps, too. As I took a few steps backward
and away from him, I opened the cuffs on each wrist and dropped them to the
floor.

I searched out my robe and pulled it on, cinched the waist
and headed for the door between the dungeon and the bedroom.

“That didn’t come out right,” Gibson said behind me.

I didn’t care. I wanted away from this place. Away from him.

“I was angry. It isn’t what I meant,” he said.

I thought it was probably exactly what he meant. If he said
he regretted telling the truth, I might actually believe that.

In the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of sweats, an old
sweatshirt and some socks and shoes. I headed for the hall.

“Wait,” Gibson said, coming through the secret door.

But I didn’t wait. I ran from the room, down the corridor
and all the way to my studio, the one place in that huge house that was all
mine. Once inside, I slammed the door shut and threw the lock.

I sat down right there, my back pressed against the door,
and waited. His knock came in a few moments.

“Go away,” I said. “I need time alone.”

“Are you okay?”

What a stupid question, I thought. I didn’t, couldn’t answer
it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Okay.”

“Nonnie.”

“Please leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry. For all of it.”

I had nothing to say to that. I waited until I heard him
leave, his footsteps slowly fading away into the distance. When I was sure he
was gone, I stood up and went to the small bathroom and splashed water on my
hot face before sitting on the sofa and snuggling up with the cuddly blanket
I’d bought one day on a whim.

I felt like I’d been in a car wreck or something. I was in
shock. Was this real?

I couldn’t see how it was possible for what was so good to
go so bad so quickly.

Was it only the night before that I realized I loved him?
Right before he finally took my anal virginity? It was amazing, incredible,
more than I dreamed it could be. Last night. Twenty-four hours.

And now it felt like everything was shattered to bits.
Broken.

“I won’t be turned into Michael Weston.”

I’d have rather he punched me than said those words. I tried
to convince myself he didn’t mean them, that it was some weird compulsion that
made him say it with no connection to anything real. He didn’t mean it. He
couldn’t mean it.

But he did mean it. No matter how much I wanted to, I
couldn’t fool myself.

Twenty-four hours.

My head pounded. I winced when I remembered how I’d revealed
myself to him, how I pleaded with him to use me, to take me however he wanted.
I’d been honest. He had not.

At least I knew what was what now. He wasn’t denying me
because I was too inexperienced, or because he thought I was still a poor
injured bird. No, he wasn’t protecting me. Turned out, he was protecting
himself, from me.

God, I wanted to believe I was over-reacting. I loved him
still, in spite of everything. I wanted to believe anything but what was
glaringly obvious.

That my relationship with Gibson Reeves might be over.

I fell asleep on the sofa, many long, painful hours later.

I woke late the next morning, feeling groggy and hung over.
I made it to the bedroom without running into anyone, relieved further to find that
Gibson wasn’t in the bedroom.

I took a quick shower, dashed through drying my hair and
putting on makeup, then threw on one of my nicer dresses, a pair of heels,
snagged my purse and headed for the front of the house. I ran into Gibson at
the bottom of the stairs.

He looked shaken when he saw me dressed to leave. “Where are
you going?”

I brushed past him. “I have brunch with Lilly and Rose.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

I headed to the coat closet in the foyer. Gibson trailed
behind me.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Not right now.”

“Of course not. But later. When you come home.”

“We’ll see.”

“We need to clear this up.”

I threw my coat over my arm, marched past him and stood in
front of the window, looking out at the circle drive for Lilly’s car. “Thought
you were pretty clear last night.”

He exhaled a loud breath.

“There’s Lilly,” I said, pulling on my coat and reached for
the door.

Gibson beat me to it and opened the door for me. “Have a
nice time.”

I didn’t look at him as I blew past, wasn’t in any state of
mind for that.

Lilly stepped out of her car, looking pretty and perky as
she always did. She waved at me, then at Gibson, called out a hello and
goodbye. I slipped into her car without a look back.

Chapter 18

Lilly proved to be a good distraction, and since she didn’t
require much conversation from me, she was perfect company. Our brunch with
Rose was lovely, and she was in good spirits herself, laughing with Lilly and
sipping her mimosa with joie de vivre.

It was over too soon for me, and I was disappointed when
Lilly turned down my suggestion that we go shopping. She said she had to go
visit Paulina, that she was doing alterations on some clothes Lilly had bought
and they needed to do a fresh fitting.

I had no idea Paulina knew how to sew, though I wasn’t
surprised. The woman had many talents.

When Lilly asked me to come along and see the clothes, said
she’d put on a fashion show, I gladly accepted.

It was a typical cold and gray day, and the Martins’ house
was a welcome contrast, all Mediterranean warmth and color, and it smelled
fine, too. Xavier was cooking.

We went to the kitchen where we found Xavier bent over the
counter, chopping up vegetables and dropping them into a big pot on the stove.

Lilly walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Whatcha
making?”

“My special stew,” he answered with a smile and a nod of
welcome at me.

“Yummy. My favorite,” Lilly said.

“That might be why I made it.”

“And that might be why I love you so much.” She sniffed at
the pot. “Okay. Where’s Paulina? In her sewing room?”

“I think so.”

“I’m off then. Come on, Nonnie.”

I settled on the barstool across the counter from Xavier.
“You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay. I’ll come get you when I’m ready for my show.” She
sailed away.

“Want some coffee?” Xavier asked.

“Yes, please. I’ll get it.”

I helped myself to a mug of coffee then resettled in front
of Xavier. I loved to watch him chop food. There was something mesmerizing
about the confident way his big knife attacked the vegetables, so fast and
sure, a skill that came from much practice.

I sipped at the hot coffee and waited for the caffeine to do
its trick.

Xavier looked up at me from time to time. “How’s it going?”

“Okay.”

“You look tired.”

I shrugged. “No biggie.”

“You’ve got quite the schedule now. Are you handling
everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

“School?”

“Love it.”

“Work?”

“It’s work.”

He smiled. “Not as scintillating as you’d hoped?”

“It’s okay. Pays the bills. Not that I have any bills.”

He dumped a pile of sliced carrots into the pot, then poured
himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside me. “So, if it’s not school or work
that’s the problem, it must be Gibson.”

“I didn’t come here to dump my troubles on you.”

“I know. But since you’re here, and I am, too, why not
share? Maybe I can help. I’ve known Gibson most of his life.”

I traced the lines of the mosaic tile on the countertop with
my fingertip. “Was Gibson involved in some disastrous love affair or something,
in the past?”

“No. You’re the first and only woman he’s lived with.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes. We’d long since given him up as a confirmed
bachelor. Then he met you.”

“Well, I thought maybe he’d been burned in the past by
someone and it gave him trust issues. Like in romance novels. The hero has
always been ruined by some evil bitch who ripped his heart in two.”

“Sorry. No evil bitches or ripped hearts. Not that I know
of.”

“Too bad. I mean, too bad it won’t explain things, not that
he hasn’t had an evil ... oh you know what I mean.”

Xavier smiled. “I do. So, you’re having trust problems with
Gibson?”

“Kind of.”

“I can tell you I’d trust him with my life. I have trusted
him with my life. He’s the sort of man who would never betray you.”

“Oh, I know. I trust him. He doesn’t trust me.”

“He’s jealous of someone?”

“No,” I said. “I wish it were that. It’s not that kind of
trust. Hard to explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I guess what I’m wondering is, how can you be with someone
who doesn’t trust you on a basic level? Isn’t that a flaw in the relationship
that’s impossible to ignore?”

Xavier expression turned serious. “I think it’s something
that should be addressed, certainly. Have you and Gibson talked about it?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What does that mean?”

I took a sip of coffee. “It means everything’s all screwed
up and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Talk to him.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Talk again.”

“I don’t know.”

He patted my hand, that grandfatherly gesture of his that
always melted my heart a little. “Work it out. Don’t let him duck it, if he
tries. Keep on him.”

I sent him a bleak look.

“I can tell you this,” he continued. “He’s never reacted to
anyone the way he has to you. He cares about you more than any woman I’ve seen
him with. And he’s been happier now than I’ve ever known him to be. That must
mean something to you.”

I blinked my burning eyes a few times. “It does. Thanks.”

“I know he’s stubborn and proud. And he’s had it all his own
way for too long. He’s not used to compromising. He hasn’t had to, so you’ll
have to teach him how. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I do. You’re the perfect woman for the job. You have been
all along.”

I gave him a weak smile. Wanted to believe.

Lilly chose that moment to bop into the room. “I’m ready to
show you my new clothes,” she sang out, her chipper cheer cutting through the
hopeless aura that cloaked me.

Before I headed off with her, I gave Xavier a hug of thanks.
If nothing else, he’d given me fresh material to consider.

I had to go home to Gibson eventually, though I put it off
until late in the afternoon. When I made it to the bedroom, got changed, then
slipped into my studio without encountering him, I thought to check the
messages on my phone. Sure enough, there was an hours-old text from him,
telling me he had to go into the office, but he’d be back by dinner.

I gratefully accepted the reprieve. I rearranged the pile of
garden debris on the floor, found the angle I wanted, and settled down to
sketching.

Hours passed without my noticing, until I heard someone
knocking on the door. I opened it to Gibson. He passed by, bringing with him his
familiar spicy scent and the delicious aroma of ginger and garlic. He carried a
pair of bags.

“I brought Chinese,” he said, and set the bags on one of the
work tables. “Thought you might like to eat in here for a change.”

“Okay. Sure,” I said, thinking it was unusual for him to eat
anywhere other than one of the dining rooms.

I pulled over a pair of stools while Gibson unloaded the
food from the bags and laid out paper plates and chopsticks. I added a couple
of bottles of water from the supply I kept in the studio, and we were set.

We ate together quietly. I didn’t know what to say, and as
for Gibson, he was as blank-faced as I’d ever seen him. He asked me how my
visit with Rose went, and I asked him if there was trouble at work. Other than
that, it was conversation-free. At least the food was good.

When I finished and was nursing my water, wondering what to
do next, Gibson answered my unspoken question.

“We need to talk, but I didn’t want to do it while we ate.
It didn’t work out so well last time,” he said.

I recalled Charity’s uneaten lobster salads.

“Perhaps we could sit on your sofa?” he asked.

I walked across the room, wanting to make a left turn and
get the hell out of there. My meal didn’t sit well in my stomach. If we had to
have this conversation now, then so be it, desire to bolt be damned.

We sat and for a few minutes, he appeared to gather his
thoughts. I picked at the label on my water bottle.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you last
night.”

I looked over at him. He didn’t appear so blank anymore. He
seemed worried. Good. He should have been. This wasn’t a conversation I could
ease into.

“How could you think I’d want to turn you into Michael?” I
asked.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I’m not sure. I was angry. You wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Then how do you know what you didn’t mean?”

He plucked at his pant leg. “All I meant was that I didn’t
want to go too far with you. I said it wrong.”

“You blame me for what happened with Michael. If I’d used my
safe word that night with him, it never would have happened, the video, none of
it. So you blame me.”

“Oh, God no. Nonnie, I’ve never blamed you. Never.”

“But you’re hung up on this safe word stuff because of what
happened with him. I’ve put the video and everything behind me, but you
haven’t.”

“I won’t lie and say it doesn’t weigh heavily in some of my
concerns. It does. It’s not a criticism of you, but it’s a worry that you have
a history of —”

“Of letting things go too far? That’s it, right? My fault it
goes too far.”

“I didn’t say that. I was going to say you have a history
of, sometimes, giving more than you should.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

I screwed the lid onto the empty water bottle with a hard
twist. “Whatever. Bottom line is, you don’t trust me.”

“I have concerns.”

“You don’t trust me. I let you tie me up, supposedly do what
you want. I have faith you won’t turn psycho on me. But you don’t trust me
enough to believe I know my own limits, that I’ll use a safe word if I have
to.”

He blew out a long breath. “I don’t see it as a matter of
trust.”

“When you were with Dorothy or Doll, whatever you called
her, did you have these concerns with her? How about your other subs? Safe
words were part of the business deals, I bet. You trusted those women to use
them, didn’t you?”

I could tell he didn’t want to answer, but he did, with a
terse, “Yes.”

“It kills me that you trusted them but not me. And I can’t
deal with knowing you once trusted me, at least some, before you watched that
god-forsaken video.”

He held out his hands, palms up. “I don’t know what to say.
I can’t change this, not when I know I’m right, that it’s what’s best for you.
The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, but it’s impossible right now.
We need time, that’s all.”

He was right about one thing. It was impossible. How was I
supposed to respond to that?

“I would ask you to give me a chance, Gibson, to prove
myself to you,” I said. “But it won’t work, and I’ll tell you why. Because you
don’t push me far enough that I actually need to use a safe word, that’s why.
Your tests were pointless, lightweight set-ups to reaffirm what you already
believed. I can’t win. I can’t convince you with words or actions. You’ve left
me nowhere to go.”

“Not true.”

“It is. And it won’t help to remind you that I have used a
safe word before. I used it with Kamun, if you’ll recall.” I despised having to
say his name, but there was no way to avoid it.

“I do.”

“And knowing that doesn’t change your mind.”

“It was an extreme situation which never should have reached
that point to begin with.”

“So once again, it’s my fault. I should have stopped it
sooner.”

He frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. And anyway, like I said, it doesn’t
make any difference. Nothing I say or do can change your opinion.”

“This has just blown up too fast. You need more training,
more experience. We can work through this, but it has to be slowly. Not be so
impatient.”

“You mean I shouldn’t be so impatient.”

“Damn it! Quit being so certain that every word out of my
mouth is an accusation.”

“I’m certain because that’s what you’re doing.”

He ground out his words. “I am not.”

I stood up, marched over and tossed my bottle into the
recycle waste bin. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said with my
back to him.

“Maybe you’re right. We’ll try again, later, when we’re both
in calmer states of mind.”

I heard him walk over to the table and begin bagging up the
leftover Chinese food. “I’ll get it,” I said. “You can go ahead and leave.”

While he headed to the door, I waited where I was, arms
crossed over my chest, closed off from him.

“Nonnie,” he said before he left, “I wish this were
different. I hate upsetting you and I only want what’s best. I hope you know
that.”

I was too angry to acknowledge him. I didn’t turn around
until I heard the door close behind him.

A day can be a remarkably long time when you’re at
stalemate. The next day, Gibson and I parted in the morning with few words, ate
dinner together with even fewer words, slept together, then woke up to another
awkward morning. It was a horrible, uncomfortable stretch of time.

We had nothing to say to one another. Even small talk was
difficult.

And then another day passed the same as the one before it.
And another. And so on, until it was the weekend again and I didn’t know if I
could stand spending it with Gibson. So I didn’t.

I made dates with Lilly, and the Hoytes, and took a few
cooking lessons from Xavier, locked myself in my studio for hours on end. I
even helped Paulina and Toy in the greenhouse gardens, which proved how
desperate I was to escape the discomfort of Gibson’s company.

He didn’t say it, but Gibson must have felt the same as I
did since he didn’t complain about my absences or try to spend time with me
either.

Stalemate.

The more I thought about the chain of events that led us to
this place, the more apprehensions I had that this wasn’t something we could
settle or work out. There seemed to be no middle ground. No compromise.