3
Glass in hand, I head with purpose toward the sunken living room that is the absolute coolest part of the house. The rest isn’t bad, but this room is like the walk-in dairy section at the big box stores. Maybe it will also cool any rising passions. Yeah, right.
Nick’s reaction shocks me, and I’m struggling with how much to reveal in turn. My instinct is to protect myself, but he draws me to him like a magnet. I perch on the edge of the coffee table and wave him towards the couch. But he stops at the door, filling it completely, and leans against one side. I’m effectively boxed into the large room, since that’s the only way in or out. I sigh and study my ragged nails for a few seconds, trying to regain my earlier composure. “Nick, I’m beyond confused. You only married me because of my father’s will, and your friendship with him — which was nice of you but I’m not your responsibility. Never was. You’ve never shown any interest in who I saw or where I went, let alone wanting to claim me as your wife in any way. So why are you asking me what’s going on?”
I dare to raise my eyes to his, searching for any clue of something I might have missed over the past year.
He practically growls, “You were grieving. What kind of lowlife would take advantage of a young woman when she’s just lost her last surviving parent?”
I snort at that one. “Is that the best you’ve got?” I can feel my temper start to rise at what sounds like platitudes you would give to a young child to distract them from the topic at hand.
Nick shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Since I own your building, the staff do report to me when I ask them to. And I know you’ve had no visitors other than female classmates in the last year. They were under strict instructions not to allow anyone male over the age of sixteen up to your place. But it was never an issue, so I assumed you were taking your time coming to terms with the changes in your life and finishing school. So I don’t know who seduced you, but they clearly had ulterior motives if they avoided your place of residence.”
I stare at him, wondering how that level of checking on me could have gone on for so long without my knowledge. I know why I never asked any men over, but he doesn’t. And it’s not like there weren’t available candidates already living and working in the building, which he clearly hasn’t considered. I’m not quite brave enough to point that out to him. “Okay, so you were waiting? For what? A sign from the heavens?” This is one of those weird dreams that makes no sense. It has to be.
Nick continues to avoid my actual question. “There are… all kinds of reasons why you and I aren’t a good fit, Mouse. The age difference doesn’t help. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by while someone takes advantage of you.”
The use of his old nickname for me, which I haven’t heard in years, has tears pricking my eyes. I blink them back. I’m not letting him off that easy. He opened the worm can, he can just deal. “Then why are you here? I’m an adult, I don’t care about the money and it’s not like I’m involved with anyone else. Although even if I was, I’m still not sure why you’d care.” I’m genuinely bewildered by the way his forearms tighten, meaning the hands he’s jammed in his perfectly tailored pockets are clenching. My brow furrows. “Nick? You didn’t even want to live with me in the same apartment. That, and I’ve seen the number of ‘appointments’ you have with women on your calendar.”
That takes him by surprise, and he visibly relaxes. Not all the way, but there’s a clear lessening of tension in his arms. Which is odd. But now it’s his turn to blink in confusion. “What? What on earth are you talking about? What women?”
Is he gaslighting me? I know what I saw on his calendar and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. “Where do you go after our Sunday dinner? Hmmm, Nick? I’m well aware you don’t go straight home.”
His neck flushes a dark red around his collar. If this wasn’t Nick, I’d be scared right now. He averts his gaze, visibly gulps and then mutters something.
“Louder, please.” I’m getting angry that he’s trying to avoid my obvious knowledge of his whereabouts.
“Therapy, Candace. I go to therapy.”
“Sex therapy?” I screech, jumping up from my impromptu seat.
He gapes at me and then laughs. A genuine belly laugh but with a dark vein running through it. “Where on earth did that come from? Only in the sense that I talk about why I can’t let you go, but also can’t bring myself to touch you.”
His words sink in like poison-tipped knives. I flinch and my stomach bounces like someone really did punch me. I’m too shocked to even cry, but that doesn’t stop the room from spinning. Strong arms scoop me up before I hit the concrete floor.
“Stubborn little mouse, I swear you go out of your way to misunderstand me,” he mutters as he carries me into the regular living room, which is a more normal room temperature. I push at his arms, desperate to escape to somewhere I can hide and lick my emotional wounds, but he cages me in.
“Candace, look at me. Candace!” he barks and my gaze jerks up in response. “You will not leave this room thinking I do not ache for you. That claiming your sweetness is the only thing I’m capable of thinking about late at night when my cock is desperate for release.”
My brow furrows deep enough to hurt as I try to reconcile both his statements. I gawk at him, searching his dark fathomless eyes, trying to fit everything together.
“Maybe you had better start at the beginning.” I suggest weakly, hiccuping slightly and barely able to get the words out, my body still aching from his previous rejection.
He eyes me warily and then nods sharply. “I did not want to do this, but yes, now you force my hand, little one. Maybe it’s time for a new nickname too, eh?” His arms that had held me loosely enough on his lap to keep space between our bodies pull me tight. I’m stiff, unwilling to relax against his hard chest and let down my guard. Nick sighs over the top of my head. “Yes. Something stubborn, I think. But still shy. Perhaps you are a mole, instead of a mouse?” He’s making an effort to tease me like he did when I was little, but those days are long gone.
“Stop trying to avoid the issue, Nick. Explain.”
He leans back into the depths of the big couch, taking me with him. “Very well. But know that I do not willingly tarnish the image of your father.”
I still, holding my breath. Nick’s language only reverts to that stilted European formality when he’s upset about something. My dad was no saint and a mostly absent parent, but he did his best. As I got older, I appreciated more that he never made false promises. Nine times out of ten when I asked him to come to some school event or take me somewhere he’d say something along the lines of ‘No can do, kid. Got a big meeting that week.’ But on the rare occasions he did say he would be there, he came. That happened just enough to keep me asking until I got to high school, when it just didn’t seem worth the bother. But he never lied, and he didn’t make me feel that I didn’t count. Just that business was more important. So I respected him, but I wouldn’t say we were ever close. I’m not sure how much of that Nick really understands.
“A few years before he died, your father did not take my financial advice. He didn’t take it to the tune of several million dollars.”
I try to piece that apart and put it back together. “You mean he made some bad investments. Ones that you weren’t overseeing.”
“Yes. He came to me much later and confessed. Asked for my help in righting the ship. He borrowed against your trust fund.”
I jerk my head up sharply. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Nick keeps his gaze steady on the opposite wall. “It depends. In this case, because he had set it up, and it was his money to begin with, then, yes, he could. And he did. It was then that he asked me to take care of you if anything happened to him before the fund was restored. He knew you were — are — stubbornly independent, so when he got sick, we added the clause in the will so you could blame him and not rebel against my protection.”
A new sinking feeling assails my stomach. This is more of a queasiness than the sharp pains of earlier.
“It was all your money, wasn’t it?” I whisper with dread, feeling my second-best dream gathering speed, ready to swirl down the drain, leaving me with nothing to cling to. “My allowance, the so-called inheritance?”
Nick looks ready to deny it, but then gives a sharp nod. I close my eyes to try to absorb the truth. “So this is really your house.”
“No! I gave you that money with no strings, little mouse. You were grieving. Honoring your father’s final request.”
I snort at that one and Nick looks down at me like I’m acting delusional. “Nick, you knew my dad better than anyone. He had two favorite topics of conversation after business; golf and how I never did what he told me.”
His lips quirk, as if he’s reviewing old movies in his mind and confirming my statement. “True. But death is different, little one. He wasn’t there for you to rebel against anymore. That had to have been a shock. Why else would you agree to an arranged marriage with a grumpy bastard like me?”
I keep my eyes cast down to avoid revealing the truth, but I can feel the burn of a telltale blush sweeping over me, making the curve of my cheek burn with embarrassment.
“Candace?” Nick’s voice is quiet, but it’s also knowing, like he’s just slotted the final piece of the puzzle together. I lean forward and bury my face in my lap to avoid the inevitable.
The heat of his massive hand hovers over my back. I wait breathlessly for it to descend, but instead he shifts his weight slightly. Then thick fingers with a surprisingly soft and dexterous touch press gently at the base of my skull.
“Little Mouse, it seems we are at an impasse. I have no business wanting you in the way that I do so without your explicit encouragement… and I have never yet fucked a woman who wouldn’t look me in the eye. I’m not going to start with you. And you, you are not ready to ask for what you think you want.” Amusement tinges his voice, but I can hear the thread of steel running through it.
“I’m… it’s a lot to take in,” I mutter, sitting up slightly but keeping my eyes glued to his chest.
“What is?”
I wave my hand around the room. “That this belongs to you, really. That you say you’ve wanted me. Want me now. But you’d rather tell a therapist, a female therapist, about it instead of talking to me.”
“So we have trust issues in common, eh, little mouse?” His hand resumes slow circles on my back. It’s relaxing and comforting in a way that makes me want to curl up against him. “Will you come back to New York with me now?”
This time, I bolt upright and stare him straight in the eye. “No.”
“No?” He looks open but confused, like I just announced plans to vacation in Siberia after discussing tropical islands for an hour.
“No.” I steel my expression, determined not to be won over by his natural air of authority. “You can stay here, though. With me?” I ask hesitantly, still not confident that he wants me in his life in any way, shape, or form that isn’t related to some old-fashioned sense of duty to my father. And I haven’t even told him yet that I’m a virgin.
He’ll either run for the hills or lock me in a castle tower with that one. I shiver slightly at the thought of being completely at a lusting Nick’s mercy. It sounds intriguing and, well, I’m instinctively clenching my thighs together. I’m still shocked though at his bluntly sexual statement. I had absolutely no idea. I’m still not sure I’m not hallucinating or that he’s… I don’t know… exaggerating to make me feel better? Sometimes I thought he maybe liked me… a little. But not that he wanted to devour me. What else don’t I know? I scan his face one more time, wondering if a more mature, experienced woman would see something I can’t.
His gaze softens slightly, but his hands tighten possessively on my body. “Maybe for now you should start by explaining the strange attraction Kansas holds for you, little one. I confess I do not see it.”