Return to Mariposa

Chapter 16

Iwould have been grateful the nurse didn’t toss us out of the sick room a few hours later if it weren’t for the fact that our presence would make no difference. The grief was like a leaden weight inside me, as my own breathing matched his machine-assisted respiration, and I wanted to weep, I wanted to fight; I wanted to do something, anything to keep this from happening.

Instead, I sat, dry-eyed, silent, still holding his limp hand, hoping that he somehow knew I was there.

Ian had disappeared when the nurse returned, and I told myself I preferred it that way. This was between me and Granda, the real me, not the tarted-up parody of Bella. This was Kitty, who’d always adored him, even when he betrayed her and let her go.

What had he said to me earlier? He’d called me Kitty, but that was simply because of his confusion. He knew perfectly well that Kitty wasn’t anywhere around, that it was Bella by his side.

And yet the look in his eyes wasn’t the look he gave Bella. When he looked at Bella, his gaze was fond and indulgent and just the slightest bit wary...why did I just realize that? When he looked at Kitty, there was nothing but love.

Or had been, until my mother had dragged me away from this place and he’d written me off. I’d hoped to use Bella as a conduit back to him, but she’d explained in the most reluctant of voices that he didn’t want to see me. That I’d left and was no longer part of Mariposa.

He was a proud old man, and I’d listened to my mother rather than to him, not that I had any choice. It was perfectly conceivable that he’d hold a grudge.

But there’d been no grudge when he’d asked where Kitty was. And the warmth in his eyes hadn’t been for Bella...

Who the hell was I kidding? Of course it had been for Bella—who else would he have thought would be by his side with pre-Raphaelite curls and designer clothes?

I needed to make my peace with him. I needed him to wake up just long enough for me to tell him who I was, to apologize for tricking him, to tell him I loved him.

But Granda, who’d towered over me my entire life, seemed to be shrinking in the big bed, drawing in on himself, and I knew he was going to go without my confession. Probably better for him anyway.

“I love you, Granda,” I whispered, holding his hand. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

The slight pressure of his fingers had to be my imagination—there was no change to his face at all. “I just hope you can forgive me.” My voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, barely heard over the sounds of the machines keeping him alive.

“Forgive you for what?” Ian said from directly behind me, and I jumped, releasing Granda’s hand for a moment.

I glared up at him. “For not coming to see him for five years,” I said sharply. Score one for Bella.

And then he put a cup of coffee in my hand, and the aroma drifted to my nose. It was black, the way I liked it, not lashed with heavy cream as Bella preferred, and I felt a reluctant warmth fill me. I needed that coffee.

Blinking back unwanted tears, I said a brief “thanks” and took Granda’s hand in mine once more. It was cool to the touch, almost cold, and I glanced worriedly at the windows. They were closed—no stray breeze was going to disturb him.

Ian had brought his own coffee in with him, and he re-took his seat at the end of the bed. We sat there peaceably enough as the nurse bustled around us, checking his vitals, straightening his pillows, and I realized there was nothing she could do, not really. His long life was coming to an end, and even though I wanted to scream and fight and rail against the fates, I was helpless. All I could do was hold his hand and wait.

No one disturbed us until the early afternoon, when Mary Alice strode in, all bustling efficiency, jarring in her bright, almost feral smile. “Enough is enough,” she announced. “You’ve monopolized Granda for too long. I hate to tell you this, Bella, but he’s not going to change his will for you at this point—all this show of grief is a waste of time when we all know you’d rather be out cruising around the countryside in your ridiculous car.”

I could feel myself shrink at the sound of her strident voice, and I desperately tried to summon my faithful mantra—what would Bella do? I didn’t give a flying fuck what Bella would do, I only knew I wanted Mary Alice to go away.

“Her ridiculous car is totaled,” Ian said in something close to a growl. “And she’s here because she needs to be here.”

At another time, I would have been shocked at his defending me, but at this point, I was past caring about anything.

“I have just as much right to be here as she does,” Mary Alice said, her voice rising, and I could sense Granda’s sudden restlessness. “If she’s going to have the chance to play devoted granddaughter then I have the same right...”

“Get out.” Ian’s voice was low, deadly, and Mary Alice halted her diatribe, staring at him in shock. A moment later, she rallied.

“You can’t tell me...” she began.

“Get out!” he thundered, and Mary Alice scrambled to the door, noisily complaining until the nurse shut it behind her. I turned back to Granda, and there seemed like the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

I squeezed his hand gently. I could still hear Mary Alice off in the distance, arguing with someone, but I knew we were safe. She wouldn’t come back, not without reinforcements, and even then, Ian would stop her, thank God. I wanted nothing from Granda but his peaceful passing, and I would do anything to keep him quiet and safe. Fortunately, Ian had chosen to be gatekeeper.

She came back, of course, this time with Valerie, but she’d obviously thought better of her deathbed ministry and departed more quickly than I could have hoped. Marcus came, looking everywhere but at Granda, and escaping as soon as he could, but Ian and I remained in silent amity throughout the long hours, as the day lengthened into dusk, and then night.

He slipped away just past midnight, so quietly that I was surprised I knew. Between one labored breath and another, he simply stopped, letting go, and I stared at him in numb disbelief as the nurse rushed in, all efficiency. She tried to detach my hand from his, but I refused to let go, refused to look at her, refused to do anything but watch Granda’s face for some sign of life. He was gone, and I could feel the tears drenching my face.

Ian stood abruptly, and I pulled my gaze away from Granda to stare at him. His face was cold, shuttered, as if something had closed inside him. “Don’t waste your crocodile tears on me, Bella,” he said in a low voice. “I know how much you really care.”

Rage sliced through me, hot and furious, wiping everything away. “You know absolutely nothing about me!” I shot back, my voice quiet in the still atmosphere.

“I know you’re a cheat and a liar, and that’s good enough. Go find Marcus and the two of you can console each other. I have to make arrangements.” Without another word, he stalked out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Slowly, I released my grip on Granda’s cold, limp hand. My stomach had knotted painfully, and a sudden wave of nausea washed over me, so strong that I rose quickly, knocking my chair over as I tried to get out of the way.

“Don’t let him upset you,” the nurse said in her softly accented English. “Death takes some people that way.”

I tried to summon a smile, but my lips were trembling, and I knew anything I came up with would be a travesty. “I have to go,” I mumbled, my voice thick with tears.

She nodded. “I’ll take care of him. I’ve been with him for many years, and I can do this for him.”

She was a stranger to me, and she’d loved him as I did. I wanted to summon fury at all the years I’d missed, but it would do me no good. I needed to find someplace to hide, someplace where I could mourn undisturbed.

My tears had stopped at Ian’s harsh words, and I needed their release. I scrambled through the halls, downstairs to my bedroom and threw myself on the bed, ready to dissolve into uncontrollable weeping. My eyes stayed dry, my heart filled with cold rage. I wanted to kill Ian, whose words had been a verbal slap, stopping my grief cold. I felt dry and empty inside, icy as I tried to force the tears, tried to let go of my iron control. Nothing happened. I had been playing a role for so long that I couldn’t break free, couldn’t give in to honest emotion.

Ian’s contempt for me was a wound I well deserved. I was everything he said, a liar and a cheat, but I loved Granda, and his loss devastated me. Who the hell did Ian think he was, to question the depths of my grief? And why did I care? He was no longer the boy I had instinctively trusted—he was Ian the Wretch, making my life miserable when I was most vulnerable.

I slammed out of my room, not caring whom I woke, but the house was still and silent. Apparently, Ian had decided not to inform the rest of the household that Granda was gone—apparently he thought he had the right to make such decisions. He could do any damned thing he wanted—if I stayed locked up in my room for a moment longer, I would suffocate.

I was outside, barefoot when the rain started, just a light sprinkle at first, then growing stronger, the punch of thunder shaking the hills around Mariposa. I didn’t care. It was pitch-black, but I knew where I was going. Straight across the courtyard to the stables, to Ian’s apartments, to tell him...to tell him...

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, whirling me around, and I screamed, terrified, my emotions at fever pitch. Recognizing Ian in the brief flash of lightning did the opposite of calming me down.

“Bastard!” I screamed at him over the wind, and slapped him across the face so hard my hand went numb, but it gave me no satisfaction. “You cold-hearted monster, how dare you...how dare you ...” I didn’t know what I thought he dared, because the tears came then, as I was beating at his chest with my fists, furious, shattered. His arms came around me, stopping my useless blows, pulling me tight against his body in the pouring rain, and I only fought for a moment longer before I gave in to the tears that had finally returned.

He held me. He pulled me close, pressed my face against his shoulder and simply held me as I wept, noisy, ugly tears.

“Shhh,” he said softly in my ear as he cupped my head against him. “It’s all right.”

“It isn’t!” I sobbed. “Granda’s dead, and I loved him, and I hate you, you miserable bastard, I hate you!” My words were garbled but clear enough, but Ian kept stroking rain-soaked hair.

“Of course you do,” he murmured inconsequentially, sounding unbelievably gentle. “Just cry it out...”

“I don’t want to cry it out!” I screamed at him. “He’s dead!” But I had grown weaker, no longer able to fight him, and I was shaking with grief and despair.

He scooped me up in his arms, and I made no effort to push him away, simply letting him carry me in out of the rain, through the stable and up the steep, shadowy stairs. A moment later, he’d kicked the door open to his apartment, carrying me into the inky darkness. Another flash of lightning illuminated it for a moment, and then everything went black again.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Power’s out.”

I finally realized where I was, and I started to struggle. “Put me down!” I said furiously, the effect ruined by my tear-thickened voice.

He paid no attention to me—when had he ever—and carried me across the room in the darkness, dumping me on what had to be a sofa. I immediately struggled to get up, but he simply shoved me down again.

“You need a drink,” he said. “And I need to get out of these wet clothes. What the hell did you think you were doing, running around in a thunderstorm? Aren’t things bad enough without you getting yourself killed in the bargain?”

I barely reacted to the lack of logic in that statement—no one was going to kill me, for God’s sake. “I don’t want a drink. I just want to go home.”

“Mariposa is the only home you’ve known,” he said flatly. “You’re already here.”

“I’m not wanted here!” I said wildly. “This is no home to me...” I darted up, trying to avoid his shadowy outline as he loomed over me, only to smash my shins against a table. I cried out in pain, and immediately his arms came around me again, and before I realized what was happening, we were both on the sofa, I was sitting on his lap as he held me.

“Just cry it out,” he said in a low voice. “You’re right, I’m a heartless bastard, but I’m here for you. I know you loved him. Just cry.”

And I did. I cried for Granda, and all the years lost, I cried for my idiocy in agreeing to this stupid charade, I cried for Ian and Marcus and loving the wrong man, and then I didn’t know what I was crying for.

His long fingers wiped the tears from my face, his body was warm and solid beneath mine, and he cupped my chin, looking at me for a long unreadable moment as I snuffled and cried. And then he kissed me.

This wasn’t like the other kisses—there was no anger in it, no threat. His lips were soft, a sweet solace against the rage of my grief, and I let him kiss me, savoring it, my tears dissolving into stray hiccups as I slowly, tentatively kissed him back.

They were innocent kisses, safe kisses, comforting kisses, and when he deepened it, there was such a naturalness about it that I followed him into a world of sensation that flowed through my body, warming me in the cool night air.

He was so big, so strong, and that strength felt like safety, not a threat, as I leaned back onto the sofa cushions, beneath him as he followed me down. He was hard, and I recognized that with a kind of triumph, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him to me, moving my hips beneath his, pressing. His hands slid down from my shoulders and cupped my hips as he thrust against me, and I made a sound of uncontrollable pleasure. This was what I wanted, this was what I needed, all the pain and lies and uncertainty wiped away in an act of blinding passion.

And then he pulled away, abruptly, pushing up. “No,” he said, his voice raw and breathless.

It was a slap in the face, a shocking blow that made me freeze in my erotic daze. “No?” I echoed in a shocked whisper. He was right, of course. This was the worst thing we could do.

He was looking down at me. It was so dark, I couldn’t be sure if he could see me, but his shoulders were tense, and emotion vibrated through him.

“Yes,” he said then, his voice sure in the darkness.

“Yes,” I said, reaching for him. “Yes.”

There was danger in the darkness, there was safety. His hands on my body were deft, stripping the clothes away from me so quickly I barely had a chance to reach for my buttons. He was in a hurry, and I thought I knew why—he didn’t want enough time to pass that he thought better of what we were doing. I heard the rasp of his zipper, and then I felt him, hard and heavy against me.

There was no question as to whether I was ready or not—I was wanting him so badly that all common sense had vanished, and I only knew that this was Ian, and he was mine.

He braced himself over me, pushing inside me, and I gasped in surprise. He was bigger than what I was used to, and in the past few months, I hadn’t been used to anything at all, and my body protested his steady invasion as I clutched at the smooth warm skin of his shoulders, biting my lips to keep from crying out.

Reaching down, he pulled my legs up around his hips as he drove home, and I made contradictory sounds of pleasure and pain, tightening my hold on his body.

“Am I hurting you?” His voice was little more than a rasp.

“Don’t...stop,” I choked out, and he moved, his first thrust so powerful it shoved me deeper into the cushions. And then again, and again, as his rhythm grew fluid and I arched up to meet him, my natural instincts taking over. I knew how to do this, and yet somehow everything felt new and different, with the darkness all around us and only Ian alone with me, claiming me, owning me in ways I’d never thought I wanted. It no longer mattered what lay between us—he was elemental, eternal, and rational thought had deserted me.

I could barely see him in the darkness, so I reached up and cupped his face with my hands, needing to touch him everywhere. He kissed me with hot, devouring kisses, and the tension inside me rose, until I was so close to exploding.

He fucked me in cool, determined silence, and I wanted to scream with pleasure and despair, as he moved faster, harder inside me, and I was about to lose it completely when he moved his hand between our surging bodies and touched me, so deftly, so purposefully, and for the first time in my life, I screamed as I came, as I felt him grow and expand inside of me and I realized he hadn’t worn a condom.

And I was stupidly glad. I was his, he’d claimed me, and I’d wanted nothing between us.

I slowly drifted back to a breathless reality, calling myself all sorts of a fool, calling him all sorts of a villain. He pulled out of me, and I felt bereft, but a moment later, I was in his arms and he was carrying me through the inky black apartment to the wide expanse of a bed. I thought he was going to leave me alone, but a moment later, he was back a damp towel to wash me off. He finished stripping off the last of his clothes, all without saying a word, and then lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms, tucking me against him.

When he spoke it was depressingly prosaic. “I didn’t wear a condom.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it—I take care of myself.”

“I’ve never forgotten before,” he said, his voice unreadable in the stillness. Was it self-disgust, surprise, or something else?

“You’re safe from me,” I said dryly, knowing I should pull away. So, we were having the awkward morning-after talk and it wasn’t even morning.

“I wish,” he muttered. “You’re the most dangerous woman I know.”

I wasn’t. Bella was, and I’d just had sex with Ian while pretending I was someone else. I wanted to curl up in shame. I certainly hadn’t deserved the best orgasm of my life.

Guilt erupted in me. “I need to tell you...” I began, determined, but he stopped my mouth with his.

“Don’t tell me anything,” he growled when he lifted his head. “Just feel.”

He was growing hard again, to my amazement, and I was growing aroused. In fact, despite the power of my release, I’d stayed minutely attuned to his body and his touch, the way he made me feel.

He was right—this was no place for confession. I’d tell him tomorrow when we were both fully clothed and he could yell at me all he wanted.

I would take tonight, what little there was left of it, I would take everything I could from Ian, and give him everything in return. Tomorrow, when I told him the truth, he could throw it back in my face, but I would still have the memory, the pain and pleasure of it. It would have to do.