That Which Destroys Me (14 page)

She was beauty embodied. Her face held an expression of despair veiled with fierce anger and agony laced together, covering her and creating an enigma.

Her voice, though child-like, brimmed full of desolation as she sang a somewhat familiar tune. In an effort to grasp the lyrics after she turned her back to me, I leaned over the edge of the crooked shingle roof shed, out of the shadow’s security to hear her words.

I may be mad

I may be blind

I may be viciously unkind

But I can still read what you're thinking

And I've heard is said too many times

That you'd be better off

Besides...

As her voice carried off into the chorus, she turned. Instantly, I lurched back for cover, trying to fall back into the shadows. Instead, the shingle under my foot slipped, becoming unhinged from its spot. My feet shuffled to gain tread only to come up short and kick the shingle from the old roof and land at beauty’s feet causing her eyes of every color to clash with mine.

If I were forced to ever explain my fervent need to expend, delving into the subject of English. Reading every written word known to mankind, searching adamantly for the words to piece together to help me interpret the thoughts and dormant emotions she evoked. If I were ever asked to name my muse behind mastering English Literature, it would be her…

The beauty with eyes of every color.

Chapter 16

Pawn to Rook

After I move Stella’s sleeping form up on the bed, I pull the sheet up to cover her before sliding into bed and curling her body around mine. I grip her thigh and hike it up over my waist, my lips settle on top of her head and I inhale the scent of her hair before kissing her.

God, she smells like a crisp winter morning.

I run my fingertips up and down her arm and cannot keep the ridiculous smile from my face any longer.

I look down at her through the darkness and whisper, “You don’t fucking break, angel?” I chuckle, “No, I guess you don’t my little angel that fights. But you sure as fuck submit.”

I have felt true pride in my life maybe a handful of times. Actually, I can fucking count the times on one hand and not use all five fingers.

1)   My first touchdown in peewee football. My ma was cheering her ass off. I was supposed to be a backup fucking kicker. Well, that didn’t last very long. The coach’s kid, along with half the rest of the team, came down with a stomach flu. Yep. As much as I hate to admit it: My life was completely altered by a stomach virus.

See, at that point in my life I was nothing more than a poor kid whose mom had once been a
VERY
well known, well… whore for my schoolmates’ lack of better words. So to say I didn’t have any friends was putting it mildly. Now, on this fateful Thursday night, because of my height and my ‘unnatural’ ability to throw the perfect spiral at six years old, I led the remaining shitty half of our team out onto the field as quarterback. The phrases ‘hitting them in the numbers.’ And ‘threading the needle’ where whispered in excited shock throughout the entire game. However, when I was three quarters down the field facing my touchdown line and every kid on my team was either already on the ground or in the middle of being brought down… I tucked that ball under my arm and ran like the hounds of hell were snapping at my heels in the fourth quarter, last play of the game. I literally flipped my ass over the touchdown line being blocked by kids that were three and four years older than me. The moment the parents on both teams stood in unison to cheer and clap and my eyes landed on my ma and saw her smiling, beaming with pride as tears fell down her face - That was the first time I tasted pride.

2)   The night I took my high school football team to state champions and won that motherfucker practically one handed. On the way out to the car, I had my arm around ma’s shoulder and her excited chattering went on and on until it was stopped by a gentleman asking to take us to Western Sizzling for a steak. He said he wanted to talk about my options, yeah… My
options
for which college I preferred.

That man was the assistant coach and head scout for LSU. He not only said that I’d get a free ticket to and through college, but that they wanted me in quarterback position for LSU before my Junior year in college. They also said that my mom’s living expenses would be paid as long as I played ball. That is probably one of my fondest memories as well as my proudest moments to date.

3)    The third and last time I was swelled with pride was also tampered down with the knowledge that even though I’d taken control of JPH and turned it into a highly successful ‘smut rag’ publishing company, (my father’s words, not mine) and in less than two years turned the Jacob’s fortune from millions to billions. On the other side of that victory, that feat, was knowing either way the old fucking bastard that had left me and my mother in a shit town when I was a kid would forever reap any benefits of me kicking his ass at his own game of publishing monarchy.

So, now that you know about the few times I’ve felt pure pride in my life, hopefully you’ll understand that when I’m struck by the revelation that Stella did indeed submit - fighting the whole damn time - but she submitted, the pride I feel astounds me. The resounding effects of the unadulterated pride swelling inside my chest for the fourth time in all my thirty-one years, leaves me baffled and utterly confused.

At first, I wonder if it’s because I’ve finally tapped that, but quickly I discredit the thought. That can’t be it. I tried tirelessly for over six fucking years to get that bitch Rachel in bed. And it turned out little miss ‘No-I-don’t-think-so, Boss’ was just as irritating and ‘bamboo shoots up the fingernails’ torturous as all the other bitches I’d fucked within the first thirty minutes of meeting them.

I lay here looking down at Stella in my arms asleep with her body curled up against mine, my fingers twirling the ends of her chestnut hair that reaches the top of her ass, when an intense feeling of happiness fills me, the urge to protect her and keep her happy overwhelms me—it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t irritate me. It fucking intrigues me.

These are all very new emotions for me. I am so deep in uncharted territory that it should scare the fuck out of me, but the only emotions I feel are curiosity and excitement.

At least until thoughts of her past come crashing in on my happy thoughts. Then irritation and seething anger mix with my need to keep Stell safe.

And I will keep my little fighting angel safe.

I only hope when I get bored with her, and I will - look at my track record for Christ’s sake - that Stella doesn’t end up hurt because she does something foolish like falling in love with me. She’s had enough heartache in her life, and I refuse to add any more.

Somehow, not anytime soon - this thing between us is too new - but at some point, we’ll need to have a little talk and I’ll let her know that falling for me is a no-no.  I don’t necessarily want to put an expiration date on what we have, but I definitely need to let her know what we have is
NOT
forever and will never lead to wedding bells and two point five kids with a sappy happily ever after. It’s not in the cards for me. Hell I don’t even want those cards in my deck!

I don’t think I was born with the DNA responsible for a man to fall in love and be with the same woman forever. I’m not sure if I missed out on those because of my mother who never married, or my father, the asshole that only married to acquire a nice piece of life long arm candy.

I really like Stella, a lot, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not that guy, I never have been. And I’m really hoping that she’s not that girl. Because if she isn’t that girl, then this thing we have, could be fucking incredible! It could very well be the time of our lives, not forever, but definitely something neither of us will ever forget.

I wake up and immediately panic seizes me, choking me when I see Stella isn’t there. After I pull on some boxers I dart through the house looking for her. Once I reach the main sitting room I hear her in the kitchen growling before saying, “For an expensive looking coffee maker, you certainly are a piece of shit. How the hell?”

I walk into the kitchen to find her staring at the Italian stovetop moka pot on the counter with her brows furrowed and a look of both confusion and pissed off on her sleepy, pretty face.

My laughter causes her to look up and the smile that follows lights up the whole damn kitchen. “Are you already fighting my kitchen appliances? What’s next, accosting my building’s door man?”

“You have a door man I can accost? What in God’s name am I doing fighting your coffee maker for then?” She laughs.

She’s wearing nothing but my dress shirt from last night. Jesus Christ! Just like my damn drunken vision. Only this time, when I reach out to touch her, she doesn’t disappear… I pull her to me before sliding my arms under her bare ass and scooping her up, “Good Morning, Ms. Reese.” She giggles before brushing her lips against mine.

Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms slide around my bare shoulders. “Good mornin’, Wes. I hope you slept well.” Her lips are still smiling when she leans in to kiss me. My tongue traces the seam of her pouty lips seeking entrance. She immediately grants me access and I groan into her mouth as our tongues dance and slide around each other like we’ve been kissing for a thousand years.

“You want me to make you a cup of coffee, an espresso, or a cappuccino?”

Her eyes widen, “You can make that piece of shit do
ALL
of that?” She asks mocking disbelief.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a piece of shit, but yeah.” I chuckle, “I can make it do
ALL
of that.”

I smack her ass that is still resting on top of my forearms. “Hop down, angel.” Her legs unlock from around my waist before she slides her body down mine. “So, what’ll it be?”

“Coffee, black. One Splenda. Think you can manage that?” She says over shoulder before reaching the opposite counter top and hiking her little ass up on to it to sit, perched while watching me move around the kitchen.

“I’m pretty sure I can.”

After I have the coffee brewing, I turn to face her and lean back against the marble counter top before crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes on hers. “It’s Sunday. You stayed the night, which if I may be honest here, that’s a fucking first. So… What do you have planned for the rest of the weekend, Ms. Reese?”

She smirks and crosses her own arms as her left eyebrow cocks up, “From angel to Ms. Reese already? I must say, you are quick to shift gears, Speed Racer.” She sighs running her fingers through her hair before she continues, “I looked over Jude Preston’s manuscript a bit yesterday. I barely even scratched the surface though. I planned to have the whole damn thing read before tomorrow, so
THAT
will be at the top of my priorities for the remainder of the weekend. Cool your jets, Mario Andretti, I’m only still here for a cup of coffee. After which I’ll be out of your hair.”

I’m directly in front of her in only two strides cupping her face in my hands and studying her eyes. After a moment, when I see both the disappointment and sadness in her eyes that I was hoping I wouldn’t find it dawns on me that she isn’t just being a bitch; she’s actually being serious and it makes something in my chest constrict right before it cracks.

“Angel, that is not what I meant, not by a fucking long shot. I don’t want you to leave.”

Actually because of your buildings inadequate security I prefer you stay— at least until I can find a safer place for you.

Thank fuck for small miracles. That would’ve made shit awkward had I let it push its way out.

She blinks up at me for-fucking-ever. Finally, she clears her throat and looks down before speaking. “Well… Thank you for saying so, Wes, it was very nice of you. But I don’t really think I would get much of anything read, much less retained around you.” Her sad laugh takes whatever in my chest cracked and shatters it. “I’m gonna go hop in the shower, babe.” She looks up at me as she scoots off the counter. “Then coffee, and then I have to get home.”