My Love Forgive (11 page)

His virtuous smile set my nerves on fire. His silence transformed them into an inferno.

“Damian?”

He turned his attention away from me and finished my breakfast.

I looked at his peaceful profile and saw how completely he had banished me from his thoughts. I sniffled. My eyes itched and my mouth turned in on itself. Pain clawed away inside my chest, demanding to be let out in a torrent of tears and curses.

I took a step backwards. Damian continued the civilized motions of eating breakfast. I repeated my actions until I stood within the doorway. He merely speared a fluffy cloud of scrambled eggs.

Abandonment swelled. Images sped across my mind’s eye. Damian’s love morphed into a taunt plied by a very cruel man. My throat warbled something to finally catch his attention.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

He stood up. I whirled about into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. I climbed up onto the bed, drew my knees up, and stared at the closed door.

“Risa.”

Muffled only slightly by the wooden barrier, Damian’s crisp, calm voice thrummed my rebellion. I settled my chin onto my left knee while wrapping my arms around my legs.

“Answer me.”

I shook my head.

“I am going to give you thirty seconds to open this door of your own will.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

The seconds sucked by with bog-like suffocation. A click later and then Damian stood in the doorway, framed and backlit with menacing intensity.

“Would you care to repeat what you said out there?”

I looked at his left shoulder with apathetic attention. “I hate you.”

“You do not.”

“Yes. I do.”

Damian tilted his head to the side. His focus settled onto my reddened nose. “You are undoubtedly my bad little girl. I suspected you would be throwing a tantrum soon but not quite this early. Did you get up too early?”

“Be quiet.”

The amused half-smile slid away. Damian’s eyes hardened into twin points of stone. “Risa, you are already in a lot of trouble for your previous disrespect. This is sure to tip you into a place you really don’t want to visit.”

“I don’t care. I don’t have to follow your rules.” My grandiose plans of tricking him and escaping simmered down. I nursed my resentment, feeling completely justified in what I’d said.

If he didn’t care enough about me to feed me then why should I care about what I said to him?

Damian inhaled deeply before letting it all out at once. “Okay, Risa. We’ll do this your way. Just remember this is what you wanted.”

He approached the bed. I stiffened, expecting a sharp slap for my defiance. Instead, Damian plucked me off the bed and made for the bathroom. The chain slithered across the floor, hissing my name for a fool.

I wanted to clap my hands over my ears.

Damian set me down with a murmured “Stay right here and don’t move” before turning towards the tub. He adjusted the water and tested it with several passes of his palm before declaring the temperature just right. He then studied two different bath salts taken from a shelf above the tub before deciding on the vanilla scent.

Several minutes passed as I watched Damian then choose from an assortment of bath fripperies. He picked up several loofahs, inspecting each one before setting it aside in favor of another. Damian did the same with the bath sponges. Once satisfied with his choices he moved onto the gels, shampoos, and scrubs.

He’s still so focused on the details. And once again he’s blocking me out.

When I shifted my position Damian immediately turned away from his intent perusal, grabbed me by the arm, and swatted my backside. Hard. “I told you to stay right there.” He waited until I grudgingly nodded before returning back to his task.

I took odd comfort in the stinging burn. The pain made sense of our disordered patterns. Anything was better than his indifference, than his complete lack of care about me and my needs.

I got more upset about Damian eating my food than kidnapping me and keeping me here against my will. What does that say about how I really see this? Is Damian right? Is it really my pride that’s hurt more than anything?

Does that mean I’d actually stay here like this otherwise?

I didn’t have to wonder. I knew the answer. If this had happened any other night I’d be happily prancing around, imagining myself to be Damian’s slave and how I’d work very hard to please my taciturn master.

What a stupid girl I’d been. This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. This was what happened to girls who thought that submission was something that could be taken back on a whim.

“Lift up your arms.”

I obeyed. I was so, so tired of fighting him.

Damian took the sweater off in one smooth pull. His fingers unclasped my bra, leaving me to wonder how he was going to remove my jeans.

The answer came in the form of dangerously sharp scissors pulled from a drawer.

“Do you know why I wanted you to stay still, little girl? It’s because of what I’m going to do now.” Damian held the half-open scissors in front of my nose. “If you move, even the slightest, these are going to cut you. Do. Not. Move. Understand?”

“Yes, Damian,” I bleated, seemingly incapable of doing anything other than obeying now that the questions nipped at the heels of my outrage as fatigue dragged me down.

He bent down on one knee, reached for my waistband, and slid the scissors down until it rested against my hip.

Slice.

The slick sound reminded me of cutting into construction paper. Giddy fascination infected me with each controlled pass.

Slice.

Damian finished with my right leg before repeating the process on the other side. My entire world shrank to studying him with fanatical intent. Damian rarely frowned, preferring to keep his emotions and thoughts from betraying him in so gauche a manner. Subtle cues were my guide to the precious sanctum of his true thoughts.

Slice.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, their gray and amber as hard and bright as the metal in his hand, lured me to interpret what I saw.

Concern, determination, and doubt flashed in kaleidoscopic resoluteness. Hurt disrupted the controlled chaos, damaging the patterns of his adoration for me. Damian wasn’t as unmoved to my spiteful declaration as I had thought.

Slice.

“Damian.”

“Ssh.”

I ignored his command and said, “I’m too tired to fight you right now. I’m calling a truce.” I then leaned into the hypnotic blade just as it reached my knee.

“Damnit! Didn’t I tell you to hold still?”

I held my breath, giving into the contradictory sensations of pain and relief firing off throughout my body. Instinct to touch the wound curled my fingers into claws. I forced myself to accept the burning agony of split flesh in punishment.

I’m sorry, Damian. I shouldn’t have said I hated you. I don’t hate you. I hate what you’ve done right now, but I could never hate you. I don’t how to tell you that yet so this is all I can do.

The scissors clattered into a corner of the bathroom. Damian split the fabric with one vicious pull. “You did this on purpose, Risa! Don’t think I don’t know that!”

I exhaled long and deep before smiling a sickly, ghastly twitch of top and bottom lip.

Okay, it’s getting better. All I have to do is keep breathing and it’ll be over soon.

Damian pressed a damp washcloth against my leg. “Sit down on the edge,” he directed by guiding me back to the oversized tub.

My erratic heartbeat settled into its normal speed as my focus shifted away from the petty pain and back to Damian. “Do you think it’ll need stitches?”

His gaze seared mine. “No. Your escape plan failed, Risa. No emergency room for you.”

“I didn’t do it to escape you, Damian.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Not this.”

“Then why?”

“I just did.”

“Why?”

My mouth-brain connection faltered again. “Because I deserved it.”

Damian pressed my leg harder. “You didn’t have to hurt yourself, Risa. An apology would have sufficed.”

Maybe it was a combination of exhaustion and hunger but I giggled. It brought him closer to me. I sensed Damian scrutinizing my face, probably to see if he’d finally broken his silly little girl.

Not quite but close.

“This
is
my apology. I hope I scar.”

“You probably will.”

“Good.”

He pulled the washcloth away. I glanced down. My leg wasn’t so bad. The thin cut had already slowed its bleeding.

“I bled for you, Damian.”

He remained silent, watchful.

Emboldened perhaps by his silence, I asked, “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I like seeing my blood on you. It’s my sacrifice to you. Do you accept it?”

Damian opened up his hand. He rubbed his thumb across my chin. I felt the blood smear like macabre finger-paint. “Yes, I do.”

I pitched forward, arms linked around his naked back, and kissed him.

Two Weeks Earlier: Damian’s Apartment

Risa’s flush came without the inducement of alcohol. Perched on the edge of my bed, she kicked her small feet in happiness.

“I can’t believe I landed it! I mean, it was such a long-shot for me considering that company has always had such a Good Ole Boy reputation.”

“What changed?”

“The old guard is out and the new guard is young and fresh and run by the granddaughter.”

“Congratulations, Risa.”

“Thank you.”

“Arms up.”

She obeyed me and continued chattering about her triumph. I listened attentively. I nodded at the correct moments and praised her when necessity dictated as I undressed her.

Such a little chatterbox.

Gretchen hadn’t been one for sharing her mind so unflinchingly. Opening her body to me—yes. Her uncensored thoughts—no. The same went for me. Every word had been spoken in calculation. Not necessarily for manipulation but for the instinct of self-preservation.

Respect in silence kept my past safe.

The wall between Gretchen and me had loomed high. Divided into our own private spaces, seeing the other but never letting our individual mental spheres come too close, it had made for a comfortable existence.

Risa seems to have no idea of how much she lets me see into her. Our conversations are one-sided with her speaking 98% of the time but I truly could listen to her talk for days. It doesn’t annoy me.

Risa interested me beyond her delightful, luscious body.

I loved to hear her talk about what she heard on the morning radio, what she had for lunch, what new account she wanted to cozen, what she wanted to eat for dinner, and how badly she wanted me to fuck her.

I especially loved hearing that part of her scintillating conversation.

Especially when she begs so prettily.

Yet, I wasn’t satisfied. Discontent interrupted the peacefulness of being with her because I was growing attached to her far too quickly.

I’d begun to wonder how I was going to break the news that I wasn’t Damian Black, IT Director, but Damian Black-Price—founder and CEO of Bridgewater National and the parent company of hers, Black-Price Holdings. How would she take knowing her lover’s net worth had landed him on the “Top 10 Billionaires Under 30” list?

Trailing that I wondered if I’d ever come to a point where I could tell Risa about the Konstantinovs? As my wife she’d deserve to know.

Wife?

The ease and permanency of those thoughts disturbed me. Still, the idea of letting Risa Kelly go was absolutely not a possibility. Not now.

It wasn’t the kind of position I’d ever expected to be in. Couple that with the fact that Risa seemed oblivious to my affection to her—well it was enough to exasperate me.

She talks about anything and everything but not what I want to hear.

Risa never spoke about her family, her love for me, and her growing pain in keeping silent about them both. This infuriated me. I hated Risa maintaining any part of her thoughts hidden from me and I hated having to pretend I didn’t know what lay just beyond the flashing smile.

This is the world she runs to when she doesn’t want me to see her. Where she doesn’t want to acknowledge the insecurity eating her alive. She’s still afraid of what she means to me. She pretends she’s not but I know she’s lying.

And I’m not helping matters because I don’t know how to show her.

The man who’d learned from two of the best chameleons in the world how to mirror, blend, and charm anyone had the finesse of a socially stunted giant. It was as if all my lessons had never happened.

Yet, somehow Risa had responded to my crude wooing.

And although my lover’s smile was one of the highlights of my day, there was one I truly was getting to the point of hating—her fake smile she used when she wanted to close me out. I hated it almost as much as I hated the silence I had once so treasured.

“So now I’m leading in sales. Isn’t that just so awesome?”

“It is. You’re very talented at what you do.”

“Thanks.” Risa lifted her hips, making it easier for me to slide her skirt off. “Oh! I’ve just been going on and on. I’m sorry. How was your day?”

“The same as it was yesterday.” I rolled down her stockings and deposited them neatly inside one heel.

“Are you still looking to hire someone to revamp the website?”

“I’m taking bids.”

“Oh.” She cocked her head and frowned. “You’re not going to hire someone?”

“No. We’re contracting out.”

“Really? I just thought—” I touched her lips with one finger. She quieted immediately.

“Let’s leave work where it belongs.”

Risa ducked her head and sheepishly smiled. “You’re right. Sorry.”

I still make her nervous. I wish it weren’t the case. It’d be easier if it was because of my brusqueness. Although that never seems to really bother her. Strange.

Clumsy of word, blunt to the point of rudeness. Risa seemed to accept that of me and it felt…good.

I wished she were just as open with me too. Pushing her to do so would be redundant. It would serve no purpose other than to deepen Risa’s insecurities and aggravate me for failing to solve this terrible anomaly in her otherwise exquisite personality.