Maybe Baby (11 page)

“Just tell me what confuses you, and remember that there's no need to be embarrassed about
anything
. It's not your fault.”

“Okay, here goes. I'm going to just blurt it out because I don't candy-coat stuff. That's just not my style.”

He nodded, ready for it.

“I mean I
love
that you're okay with the fact that I'm still a virgin and all,” I blurted, “but what I don’t understand is your promise to make that right when you refuse…uhhh…you are
reluctant
to make love to me, because I guess you think that I’m not ready. So, I guess my question is how much longer do you think my virginity needs to stay intact?”

I looked at him and suddenly realized I'd totally blown his mind. He couldn’t say that I hadn’t warned him about my bluntness. I continued to watch him closely, waiting for a response. His expression was that of shock or confusion. Maybe a little bit of both.

“You’re a
virgin
?” he finally sputtered. “I had no idea. My God, are you
sure
?”

What? I mean…WHAT?

“Am I
sure?
I think I'd know, don’t you?" I croaked loudly.

He looked stunned.

"What the hell did you mean when you said that I had nothing to be ashamed of and that we would make it right then if you weren’t referring to my
virginity?”

“I was referring to what I presumed to be some sort of…sexual abuse from your past. I mean…the dreams, or nightmares or whatever you want to call them and then there's your aversion to talking about them. I guess I just assumed it was some type of…sexual battery from years ago."

“Are you serious?" I asked, totally blown away by his assumption. "I mean don’t you think that I'd know it if I had been sexually abused?”

He was thoughtful for a moment. “How do you explain the dream last night?”

“It was a nightmare. I’ve had a few since my concussion. They're weird and a little scary, I admit that, but to think they indicate I've been raped or abused? I don't see how you got there."

“In last night’s dream you were screaming things at me. You were asking me why I was letting ‘her’ use me to hurt you. You then screamed that you could do those things, and that you could be what she is.”

“So?” I asked, defensively. “None of that sounds like I was raped does it?”

“Who is
she
?” Trey demanded. He didn't wait for an answer.
"She
is your mother, isn't it? And who is Daniel?"

His eyes were searching mine for an answer. I was afraid to trust him with this secret. I didn't want to believe it was true. Hell, even I wasn't sure if it was real or not.

“Daniel was my high school boyfriend who took me to prom,” I replied, not daring to look Trey in the eye. “I guess I must've dreamt about my prom while I was in the hospital. Daniel and I were going to make love for the first time after prom, but it never happened.”

“Why didn’t it happen?” he pressed.

“I’m not sure,” I mumbled. “Probably because I got drunk and then sick, and then passed out. Like I said last night, remember?"

“Is that all that happened?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Your nightmares seem to be focused around your mother,” he commented. “Are you sure that there isn’t more you’re not telling me?”

His questions were starting to make me feel defensive. “What if it is my mother in those dreams? What does that prove? It doesn’t prove that I was sexually molested or raped, or that I’m…frigid.”

“Who said
anything
about you being frigid?” he asked, his eyes flashing. “Is that what frightens you? Because I don't think you have a thing to worry about there. No, there's something else you’re not telling me. Why won’t you trust me?” he prodded.

“There's nothing to tell,” I replied, not hiding my irritation. “I have a shitty mother, so what? A lot of kids grow up with shitty mothers and absent fathers. I guess we can’t
all
be brought up with perfect parents, perfect educations, and perfect lives. Some of us simply do the best we can with the cards we're dealt.”

“Don’t go there with me,” he warned. “This isn't about me at the moment. Trust me, I've had my share of drama and heartache in my thirty years, but right now, we're talking about you."

“Maybe both of us are presuming too much about the other. I want to know what your life has been like. You want to know everything about me, yet you share nothing about yourself. Why?"

“I'll tell you whatever you want to know when the conversation is about me. Right now it's about
you
and you're skirting the issue. I want to know what happened that makes you have these nightmares."

I realized that Trey was sincere, and for whatever reason, he cared.

“I can’t explain the nightmares because when I dream, I'm not sure what is reality and what is fantasy—or at the very least, symbolism. I can tell you that if anyone has the answers, it’s probably my mom.”

“Good,” he answered. “Then maybe it's time to find your mother and get those answers."

He did his best to change the mood after our discussion. We walked back over to the horse and put our helmets back on. He lifted me astride Derringer, and for the next twenty minutes led me down a path that opened up into a perfect riding arena. It was circular, fenced in, and private.

Sliding down off the horse, he handed Derringer’s reins to me and cautioned me to trot for a while, letting Derringer get used to the feel of my reining him. The horse and I moved around the perimeter of the arena, practicing our halt-walk-trot transitions. He yielded effortlessly to my leg signals and slowed to a walk when I sank low in the saddle. I let out an exaggerated exhale and the horse halted. I knew then that he was an expertly trained dressage horse.

Around two, Trey asked if I was hungry. I was famished. He climbed up behind me once again, taking the reins, which allowed me to settle back against him. I was getting my ‘Trey-fix’ two days in a row and I loved it.

Once we were back at the stables, Charlie Roberts was inside feeding the horses and cleaning their stalls. He seemed surprised to see me with Trey. He eyed me a bit warily, and again, I got a creepy feeling. Trey appeared not to notice. He dismounted then turned and lifted me off the horse. Trey called Charlie over, handing him Derringer’s reins.

“Will you untack and rub him down?” Trey asked. A dark look passed over Charlie, as if he felt put out for having to care for Trey’s horse. It did not go unnoticed by Trey.

“Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Roberts?”

“Not one bit,” Charlie replied, his face expressionless. He turned away and led Derringer down the aisle toward his stall. Trey gazed after him for a moment, his face unreadable. He turned back to me, all signs of irritation gone, and smiled.

“Let’s go eat, Ms. Preston. I’ve got just the place in mind.”

He took my hand and we turned to leave the stable. Behind us, I heard Charlie mutter something. I couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like, “uppity bitch.” I looked over at Trey, but he was reaching for his phone, having been beeped with an e-mail message. He scanned it, and then shut the phone off. He'd not heard the muttered remark.

Chapter 13

“Trey,” I whined as he tugged me across the lawn toward his car, “shouldn’t I change if we're going out for lunch?”

He laughed playfully, displaying his glorious dimple. “It’s just lunch and you look great,” he said. “Trust me, it’s nothing fancy.”

We passed through Bristol where most everything in the small town was closed on this Sunday afternoon. Just outside of town, Trey downshifted into the parking lot of a lone brick building with a neon sign in the window blinking “Open.” The door read “Morelli’s Fine Italian Dining.” Trey parked, got out, and opened my door, helping me up from the low-ride seat. As soon as we walked in, the aroma of Italian cuisine enveloped me. I was ravenous. A smiling matron came over to greet us. It was obvious that she knew Trey.

“Signor Sinclair,” she greeted heartily, “it’s nice to see you! How long has it been mio figlio?”

“Saluto, Carmelita!” Trey greeted the woman, embracing her, “Come stai?”

“È questa vostra bella moglie?” asked Carmelita.

Is this your beautiful wife?

“No, non ancora, un giorno forse,” Trey said.

No, not yet, someday maybe.

The restaurant was filled with patrons eating an early Sunday supper. Carmelita led us to a table for two in a quiet area of the restaurant. It was quaint with red and white checkered tablecloths. Soft Italian music played. Trey ordered a bottle of Chianti for us. I raised an eyebrow at him from over my menu.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, smirking, “I just recall how pissed you were with Clint because I was drinking at Luke’s bonfire the night of my…accident.”

“Who said anything about you drinking tonight?” he replied giving me his cocky smile.

“Well, I suppose then that I'm the designated driver?” I inquired sweetly.

“No way,” he laughed, “I don’t think you can handle the horsepower.”

“What's good here?” I asked, ignoring the last jab.

“Really there's nothing bad here. I like the baked ziti.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

Trey ordered for both of us: baked ziti and salads. Carmelita brought fresh bread on a cutting board to the table and filled our water goblets.

Our salads came, and as we started in, Trey brought up the subject of Clint.

“You know,” he said, “you were right about one thing. I had no right to be so hard on Clint over the incident at the pool that night. I suspect I may have had more of an issue with him than your inebriated state.”

I eyed him warily; what was he up to with this? “Oh I get it,” I said, smirking. “You’ve made nice with Clint now that you’ve turned him into your own personal nark.” I said, laughing.

“I don’t have a clue what you're talking about,” he replied.

“Well, let's see. I know that it was Clint that called you and told you that I was riding Jezebel in the fourth, so you've managed to put some fear in him, obviously. But you see, I don’t have any desire to remain friends with someone who would nark me out like that.”

“I see,” Trey responded. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Clint was worried about you racing so soon after you were released from the hospital?”

“Maybe,” I said, a bit snidely, “but answer me this; if Clint had not called you in Atlanta to let you know so that you could bust ass back to Bristol and scratch me out of that race, who would you have been more pissed at when you discovered on your own that I had raced - me or Clint?”

Trey was thoughtful for a moment before answering. “I suppose I would've been equally pissed at the both of you,” he muttered.

“I get that you want to keep me safe, but in the process, you're kind of alienating me from my co-workers and friends. That could make it very lonely here for me.”

Trey was right; the food was delicious. We ate in silence, partially because we were both so hungry, and partially because it was a bit strained after the topic of Clint came up. Carmelita came over to clear our empty plates, noticing the silence between us.

“Signor Trey, credo che voi e la vostra amore avete bisogno di dolcezza, no?” Carmelita said.

Mr. Trey, I think you and your love need some sweetness, no?

“Concordo Carmelita. Cosa suggeriresti?” Trey asked.

I agree Carmelita. What would you suggest?

“Vi faro qualche Tiramisu Signor Trey. Ti alimenti al vostra amante. Ha bisogno di un po 'ingrasso.”

I'll bring you some Tiramisu Mr. Trey. You feed it to your lover. She needs a little fattening up, eh?

“It seems we’re having dessert Tylar,” Trey said, his eyes dancing. The tension lifted. He pulled my hands into his, gazing into my eyes.

“I’ve had a really nice afternoon with you. I have to leave on a flight to Atlanta tomorrow morning. Our firm has a class action trial starting on Tuesday, so I have to go. Will you be all right?”

“Of course I will,” I replied nonchalantly.

“Ray should have the locks on your cottage changed by now. He is going to make sure that the key he has is not hung on the hooks with the other master keys to the cottages. Does that make you feel any safer?”

“I never really felt unsafe. It’s just been creepy in the cottage since then, you know? I mean it’s not like anyone has threatened me directly or anything like that…”

“You don’t have to stay there you know.”

“Where else would I stay?”

“Well, you can stay up at the main house if you wish.”

Give me a minute to pack…

“Oh and that would look real good, wouldn’t it? I can just imagine the comments from the rest of the staff on that one,” I replied with an eye roll.

“I really don’t care how it looks or what people think. The fact of the matter is I'll be gone for the week and I don’t want the additional stress of worrying about your safety. There’s staff at the house. No one would bother you there.”

“I’m a big girl,” I asserted. “I can take care of myself. If something starts creeping me out, I’ll call Ray or Denise, how’s that?”

I could tell he felt a little relieved, but I was certain that having me stay at the manor would have made him feel totally better. Carmelita brought over a plate with a large piece of tiramisu and two forks. She winked at Trey and removed his dinner plate, hurrying off. I reached for one of the forks, but Trey stopped me.

“Here, let me,” he said in his soft, silky voice.

He lifted a fork, and cut a bite-sized piece of the cake, dipping it into the small cup of warm chocolate sauce that was on the plate. He raised it slowly, teasingly up to my lips, cupping his other hand underneath it to catch any drips. His eyes never left mine. I parted my lips slightly, and felt the warm cake as it brushed past my lips and reached my tongue. A small drop of chocolate dripped onto my bottom lip; Trey leaned over and wiped it from my lip with the pad of his thumb, smiling as his eyes locked with mine. He licked the chocolate from the tip of his thumb, circling it provocatively on his bottom lip. We continued this ritual until the cake was gone, taking turns feeding each other. It was totally erotic and delicious.