Just One Night, Part 2: Exposed (9 page)

Finally he responds with a text that reeks of fear and frustration:

I don’t want to meet by the club.

I take a deep breath. This is where I turn fear into panic.

I am going to be at the club tomorrow at 5:45 pm. If I don’t see you, I will ask your friends as they arrive where I can find you. I’m sure if I explain the situation, they’ll help me. As you said, we need to talk.

As I read his response I imagine how it would look if it were written by hand. The letters would be shaky and uneven; his sweat would stain the paper. His text says:

I’ll meet you inside the restaurant. I’ll find a table in the back. Please, let’s make this private. This is about the two of us, just us.

I don’t respond to this last message. If I did, I would have to explain his error. This isn’t about the two of us at all. It’s about something bigger. It’s about concepts and perceptions, power and grief. It’s about the line between fair retaliation and offensive vindictiveness. It’s about winning and losing.

It’s about war.

I smile to myself, flip off the lights. A small nightlight illuminates things enough for me to find my way to the door.

And when I open it, he’s standing there before me. The dark silhouette of Robert, naked and strong, his form vaguely outlined by the weak light. He looks down at my hand.

“A little late to make calls, isn’t it?”

“I was just checking my e-mail,” I reply.

“My seductive little liar,” he says softly.

I open my mouth to defend myself but stop. “Must we tell each other all our secrets?”

“No, I enjoy a little intrigue.” He steps into the bathroom, puts a hand on either side of my face, holding me still. “I don’t insist on knowing everything.”

“So nice of you not to insist,” I say, the note of teasing light, mingled with a strong dose of anticipation. I close my eyes and feel his hand move into my hair.

“You laugh but there are things that I do insist on.” I open my eyes again. It’s still so dark. His details are lost, making him a man of mystery. I lift my hand, let my fingers outline his features.

“I insist that you stay safe,” he says. He drops his hands to my thighs and then up to the curve of my bum. “I insist that those who would hurt you be dissuaded.” His hands keep moving up, to my waist. With a sudden movement he lifts me up and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. I can see his hazel eyes twinkling in the shadowy light.

“I have a plan,” I say. “No one will hurt me. Your lover is a warrior.”

“Are you now?” he asks. “Perhaps my warrior will join me in the shower.”

He lowers me onto the counter, unbuttons the shirt I’m wearing, strips it off me quickly. It’s almost one in the morning. Having shower sex right now is completely impractical.

But now we’re riding the waves of our impulses, and instead of drowning, I swim.

He leads me into the glass-enclosed shower area, turns on the water, and pulls me into a kiss. As the water washes over us, I feel his hand on the small of my back, feel him grow hard against me.

I pull away, smile. “Your warrior’s hungry,” I say.

I lower myself to my knees. I kiss the side of his hip, brush my fingers against the tip of his erection.

“Kasie,” he groans. His cock twitches ever so slightly.

“Is that for me, Robert?” I ask. “It seems impatient.”

This time I let my index finger trace the vein that travels from the base to the tip, moving my finger up and down, lightly, taunting and tantalizing.

“You were made for me,” he breathes.

“Maybe. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.”

Again he reaches into my hair. He pulls just a little. I raise my eyes up to his.

“Kasie,” he growls, “now.”

There’s something in the way his says the word . . . it invites no argument; it’s presumptuous in its authority.

And it makes me want to immediately follow the instruction. I wrap my lips around him, take him fully into my mouth, one hand on the base while the other reaches between his legs finding that place makes him shudder. I hear him groan again as I move my hands and mouth in unison, back and forth, up and down. His skin glistens with the warm water, the muscles in his thighs tense, and I pause long enough to trace the tip again, this time with my tongue before devouring him. Everything is slick and wet and utterly amazing.

I can tell he’s getting close to losing control and with a bit of reluctance I let him pull away. He pulls me to my feet, kisses me again, gently before whipping me around and bending me over. I reach down, press my hands into the floor.

The penetration is so deep I cry out in both pleasure and surprise. I feel the water rushing down my back, through my hair as he grasps my hips and thrusts inside me again and again. Even with him in me I ache for him, and it’s that aching that brings me rapidly to the brink. The orgasm comes so hard and so fast my legs shake with the pleasure of it. But Robert supports me within his grip as he continues to thrust. I gasp, predicting his imminent release, but then he stops.

“No,” he breathes, “I want to see you.”

He releases me and I stand again, finding my balance before turning to him.

Robert wet is a beautiful sight. With grace I didn’t know I had I raise one leg and wrap it around his waist, balancing myself against him.

“Now,” I say.

And immediately he’s inside me again. The warm stream beats gently against our skin as we lock each other in a kiss. He moves inside me, one hand supporting my leg and the other on my ass; my breasts are pressed against his chest. We’re intertwined, connected in every way possible. I keep my eyes closed so all I can do is feel—the water, him, the ecstasy. It’s a greedy and indulgent romance and as he presses into me, slides his tongue against mine, I moan.

His rhythm increases. “My warrior,” he whispers as his breath mingles with mine.

“Always,” I respond.

He explodes inside of me as the water washes over us. In that moment I am the happiest warrior on earth.

CHAPTER
10

W
HEN I WAKE
UP
the next morning, he’s sitting by my side, looking down at me. Slowly I remind myself of where I am, that I am again in his shirt. I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my hip, only a thin sheet separating skin from skin.

“You don’t have to go,” he says softly.

I don’t fully understand his meaning. Is he referring to a specific location or is he talking about something grander, a declaration of us and what we can be?

But he quickly brings me back to earth with a troubling clarification. “You could work from here today. They don’t need you there. I’ll talk to Love, maybe Freeland—”

“I can’t let you do that,” I say. He already knew I was going to say that. I can tell by his tone, which carries only the faintest notes of hope, like violins that are all but drowned out by the heavy brass sounds of resignation.

“I told you last night, I will not sit back and watch as he victimizes you. That’s not how I live.”

I pause to consider the phrasing. It’s not how he lives. There’s something telling in that . . . but something I can’t quite place.

“I can win,” I say, pushing these thoughts aside. “I’m stronger than Dave. Smarter, too. I can win.”

“Not if you play by the old rules.”

I shift uncomfortably in the bed, moving the sheet down to my waist. “You don’t believe in rules?” I think of my sister, I remember her dancing on a table, shedding clothes like so many restrictive social conventions.

Robert smiles; his eyes flicker to the window, the port of entry for the hazy morning light. “There are so many old adages about winning. To the winner goes the spoils, the history books are written by winners, and so on. But there’s only one truly meaningful benefit to winning. You see, to the winner goes the
rules
. I believe in rules, Kasie. I believe in them because in my world I
am
the winner. The rules are mine to set. What I don’t believe in is playing by other people’s rules.”

The arrogance of that is enough to wake me up. I look at him with clearer eyes. What does it mean to truly be a power player? I wouldn’t know; neither would Dave. It took me a day and a half to figure out how to get out from under Dave’s thumb. Today, at 5:45 p.m., I hope to have that situation a bit more under control. Asha will be harder, she’ll bide her time, sharpen her weapons, hit me when I’m the least protected. But Robert Dade is different. He dominates the world in a way that I don’t fully understand and it occurs to me that if I give in to my feelings for him the way he wants me to, he’ll dominate me, too. And the danger here is that with Robert I might not look for the escape.

I will lose myself.

Like now, for instance. See the way he looks at me? Like a jaguar looks at a mate. Without making a sound he roars for me. How easy has it been for him to get me to forget my many protests and reservations? How easy was it for him to make me risk everything for him?

There’s a shift in the air. His hand reaches for the sheet and carefully he pulls it back. It’s just me, in his shirt, my hair covering the pillow. I sense his frustration, see that it’s mixed with a strong desire. It’s a hazardous cocktail.

I sit up, draw away from him. “I need to go home and change my clothes. Will you drive me or should I call a cab?”

There is a strain in our connection. His mouth twitches slightly as he swallows instinctive demands. “I’ll take you.”

He gets up and leaves the room. He’s exercising self-control by not trying to control me. But I wonder how long that will last.

*    *    *

A
N HOUR LATER
we’re parked by my front yard. I don’t have my car here. It’s in the parking lot below the office building I work in. But I don’t bring up this inconvenience. I don’t want to risk people seeing him driving me to work. I’ll find my own way. Just like I’ve found my own battle tactics.

I turn in my seat, a little hesitant, a little hopeful. “There’s a plan . . . one I’ve already set into motion.”

“All right,” he says, nodding his approval before he’s heard a single detail.

“I need your presence for it to work. I need you to be at this restaurant.” I pull out one of my business cards and scribble down a name and address before handing it over. “I’ll be meeting Dave there after work.”

His smile spreads a little wider. “You want me to come?”

“Yes,” I confirm, “at around six. Dave and I will already be seated by then. I’d like for you to come to our table and greet us, then choose a table for yourself. It doesn’t matter where.”

“You want me to be inconspicuous?” he asks; there’s an undertone of humor to his question. I doubt Robert has ever been inconspicuous in his life.

“No, I just want you to be close by but at a different table. I won’t be long. I should be leaving within fifteen minutes of your arrival, alone. I just need Dave to know you’re there as . . . as backup.”
As a perceived threat.

Robert nods, warming to the idea quickly. “Six o’clock, I’ll be there. But, Kasie, if he so much as raises his voice to you, I won’t stay at my table. He will have to deal with me. It won’t end well for him.”

I hesitate. Coming from the lips of another man, that statement would imply that a physical fight was possible—a barroom brawl as it were.

But I don’t think that’s what Robert means. I am anxious to win this war with Dave but I don’t want to completely annihilate him. I want him to rebuild a life without me. It’s easier for the victor when the vanquished sees a path out.

But if Robert gets involved, if he handles things his way, I don’t think Dave will get the chance to do that. I don’t think Robert fights with a gentleman’s grace, following civilized rules of engagement. I suspect he fights like a colonial power, decimating those who hold the territory he hopes to claim. If I win this war my way, Dave will lose me. If we fight Robert’s way, Dave will lose everything.

“He won’t raise his voice to me,” I say carefully. “If he sees you’re there, it’ll be enough.”

Robert nods and I lift his hand to my mouth, kissing his palm. “Thank you,” I say.

His eyes roam over my features, my hair, my neck . . . I feel an unwelcome shudder of excitement as I wonder where this will lead. I don’t have time for romance and yet something inside me knows that if he insisted, if he tried to take me right here, in his car, in front of my house, in view of all my neighbors and friends, I might not refuse even though part of me would want to.

It scares me and yet the thought is exhilarating. Why is that? How can I fight so hard for freedom only to be enticed by captivity?

“Go in the house, get yourself ready,” he says before leaning forward, gently kissing my lips. After a moment he pulls away. “I’ll see you tonight at six.”

I feel him watch me as I walk to my door, hear his car pull away as I go inside.

As I head upstairs my mind idly goes back to my undergraduate philosophy class. The professor’s favorite quote was from Lao Tzu:

Mastering others is strength. Mastering yourself is power.

A little part of me worries that Robert Dade has the strength to take away my power.