11. Daphne
11
DAPHNE
T he sex, in case you have any doubts, is phenomenal. Best ever. No contest.
I do scream.
Twice.
Luke makes some comment about ensuring the neighbours call the police then I straddle him and he’s not even capable of being a smart-ass for a while. There’s nothing better than that groan he makes when he finally lets go, the one that goes on and on and on, as if his release is being torn free of his soul.
The third time starts in the shower and ends up on the bathroom counter, then I’m so exhausted I can hardly stand up. Luke carries me to the bed as if I weigh nothing at all and tucks me in. I sigh with contentment and murmur ‘good night.’ I expect him to let himself out and disappear forever.
Instead, he slides into the bed behind me and wraps his arm around me. He kisses the back of my shoulder then nestles in, his breathing getting slower as he falls asleep. He’s warm and rock-solid and I have no complaints that he’s challenging my expectations.
It’s lovely.
I sleep like the dead and awaken only at the sound of my front door lock.
Luke , I think, heading out, never to be seen again.
But then I realize that Luke is still dozing against my back, the weight of his arm around my waist. In fact, his hand is on my stomach, fingers splayed, and his thumb is doing this delicious swirly thing that is melting my knees and turning my brain to a tangle of spaghetti. I’m not even awake and I’m so turned on. He has to know it and I wriggle against him, just to be sure.
He’s huge and hard, exactly what I want to make up to, so I reach back and close my hand around him.
He makes a little growl that proves he likes the situation as much as I do. He rolls me to my back and leans in for a kiss. How can he taste minty fresh like toothpaste already? I have no time to ask because his kiss is gloriously distracting and I love how he’s pressing me down into the mattress…and the keys jingle again.
My eyes fly open. Friday!
It’s Friday .
The trouble with really great sex—especially if you haven’t had any sex in a while—is that it blurs your thoughts to other possibilities. Sensation has a way of making me forget reality, and the better the sensation, the more details I drop.
After the night with Luke, it’s amazing that I remember my own name.
What I’ve forgotten is this: my dad and I have a weekly meeting every Friday at this breakfast place in Havelock. (It’s called Eggs-traordinary. Really. The entire menu is filled with puns and dad-jokes. My dad loves it. He sits there chuckling away, each and every week, as he reads the menu.) You would think that I also would have remembered that his car was in my driveway, that it was full of Merrie’s pots etc., and that he has keys to my house.
I yelp as I sit up. Breaking contact with Luke’s hand means I instantly remember everything.
Shit .
Luke lounges against the headboard, eyes gleaming. “Expecting someone?” he asks in a silky murmur and I know he’s enjoying my reaction.
I swat him and he grins, unrepentant.
“Competition?” he asks, clearly knowing he has none. He reaches over and caresses my nipple, rolling it between finger and thumb.
Traitor that it is, it tightens to attention and I close my eyes in rapture…
“Daphne! Sleeping in after your drive?” my father calls from the foyer.
Then there’s a silence, one that makes me remember the detritus shed in every direction as we undressed each other. Luke’s boots and jacket. My skirt and jacket.
My bra.
My father clears his throat delicately, apparently having noticed said detritus.
Of course, my father must know that I’m not a virgin anymore, but being aware that something is probably true and stumbling unexpectedly onto the evidence are two different things.
I look at Luke, who looks more like mischief than should be humanly possible, and he smiles wickedly. He cups my breast, leans in and kisses it, sending shivers right to my toes.
I have no script for this moment and don’t know what to do.
In fact, Luke’s caress is removing all vocabulary from my mind, replacing it with wonderful sensations and even better urges. Luke catches me around the waist and rolls me beneath him in one smooth move. His lips are against my ear again, his breath warm and his hands more than a little distracting.
“I’ll hide,” he whispers and I don’t believe it. I pull back to look at him. He nods and crosses his heart with a fingertip.
Those eyes, though. They’re twinkling with devilry.
“What price?” I mouth and he pretends to laugh silently.
I do not trust him. Not one bit.
My soul is gone forever. I’ll owe Luke sex on demand whenever he wants it—and I can’t regret the possibility much.
“Hi Dad!” I call, knowing I sound ridiculously cheerful. “Sorry I overslept.” I try to get out of bed, but Luke pulls me into his lap. He turns me around, bending to kiss first one nipple and then the other, even as I stare down at the dark tangle of his hair. He moves seductively, slowly, and once again I’m drowning in sensation, everything else forgotten. I feel his lips close around one and his teeth graze the taut peak gently, so gently that I nearly moan out loud.
He glances up and tips his head toward the stairs, his expression expectant.
My dad. I forgot.
Again.
“Why don’t we cancel this week?” my father calls. “I see that my car is a bit full.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I’ll get it sorted out today. Sorry!”
Luke spreads his fingers and slides his hand down my belly. I’m on fire and he knows it—and quite possibly my dad does, too.
“No problem,” my dad replies cheerfully. The moment feels surreal. “I know it’s a long drive. See you at noon?”
“Yes! I’ll be in the office by then. Thanks, Dad!” The door clicks as he leaves and I fall back against Luke with relief. I twist around to face him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You. Are. Wicked.”
It’s not exactly news and he doesn’t look chastened.
In fact, he looks proud of himself.
“Guilty as charged,” he cedes easily. “Now come here and do something about it.”
“Why should I?”
His eyes glint. “You don’t think I’ll make it worth your while?”
“I think you want what you want and everything else is immaterial.”
He sobers. “Guilty as charged, counsellor.” He gives me a smouldering look, entwining his fingers with mine and I roll to my back again. He braces his weight over me as he gazes into my eyes. My heart skips a beat and he can probably feel it. I have no idea what he’s going to say or do, and even that is exciting.
“I have a confession to make,” he rumbles.
“Talk, talk, talk,” I complain and his grin flashes before he sobers again. His gaze locks with mine and he’s so serious that I’m a little bit worried.
“I thought you were gorgeous the other day when I came into the office, Daph,” he confesses and my chest squeezes tightly. “All sleek and polished, polite and cool. It made me want to shake your composure. I thought you were pretty much irresistible.”
He steals a kiss, a slow sweet one that takes my breath away.
The man defines ‘irresistible.’
“I wanted to wake you up and shake you free,” he whispers in my ear, giving me shivers. “I wanted to feel you wrapped around me, to make you come and hear you lose it.”
“You did,” I whisper.
“But I was right. Once could never be enough.”
Another slow kiss that pushes every sensible thought from my head. I have no coherent reply, so I just kiss him back.
“Twice wasn’t enough,” he confesses and I know he’s right. “And that makes me want to do it all over again.”
“No complaints,” I manage before I’m drowning in another of his bone-melting kisses.
He smiles down at me when he finally lifts his head. It must be a million degrees in my bedroom and time has stopped. There’s only Luke and his oh-so-blue eyes, his little knowing smile and his tangled dark hair, his lashes sweeping down as he surveys me with satisfaction.
“I thought you were gorgeous then, but right now…” He lowers himself down, interlacing our hands and stretching mine over my head. I swallow when he whispers in my ear, his whiskers grazing my skin and his breath making me shiver. “With your hair all tangled and your skin flushed, your eyes shining…” He kisses me, all slow seductive heat. “You’re blowing my mind, Daph,” he concludes, his voice so husky that my heart squeezes tight.
We stare at each other for a long hot moment, then I deliberately smile to break the spell. I roll my hips beneath his and feel him get harder. “Is that your mind all the way down there?”
He grins slowly, hungrily, the wolf at my door, his eyes glowing with a heat that warms me all the way to my toes. I twine my arms around his neck and pull him closer for a kiss that takes no prisoners and demands everything he’s got.
It’s hot and hungry and a little rough, demanding and impatient. Luke moans then feasts upon my mouth, surrendering to sensation all over again. It’s exactly what I wanted, what I needed, what I yearned to have, so I wrap my legs around his waist, loving how sharply he catches his breath.
Fortunately, noon is hours away.
The next time I wake up, it’s almost eleven and I’m alone in bed. I stretch and yawn, acknowledging that I have precisely zero regrets.
We didn’t use up all of Cameron’s condom supply, but there’s a respectable dent in the inventory. I sweep the rest into the top drawer of the nightstand and head for the shower. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. I look happy—no, I look sated. Relaxed.
Everyone will know with a glance what I’ve been doing and I don’t care.
In the shower, I remind myself that I can’t expect more from Luke than I did from Justin. If Mr. straight-and-narrow, who had incidentally put a ring on my finger and written our wedding date in his calendar, couldn’t be expected to be exclusively mine, then I can’t anticipate that my bad-boy rock-star lover will be. In fact, I don’t expect Luke to stick around. He said he wasn’t going to. He might not even say goodbye.
He came to Empire, after all, to arrange for this diner to open and Sylvia to return. The wheels are in motion. Will he even stay to see the result? If so, will he linger after that?
No, it’s even money that he’s already gone.
I tell myself that it’s okay and I almost believe it.
I choose jeans and a blouse. Not quite business-casual but it is Friday and I have to unpack the car when Merrie arrives. The diner can’t be a clean place, either. Maybe I’ll stay and help her get started on the cleaning.
When I go down the stairs, I notice two things.
My favorite black bra is tossed over the back of the couch.
And Luke, barefoot in his jeans, is making coffee in my kitchen.
I like the sight of him there. I like it a lot.
And the coffee smells great.
“I never expected you to have domestic inclinations,” I say and he chuckles. I put my arms around his waist in the kitchen and he turns, giving me a very thorough good-morning kiss. Still minty-fresh, or maybe again.
“I have skills beyond expectation,” he says. “Hidden depths.” He lifts a brow. “I like coffee. And I can be trained, with the proper encouragement.”
“What encouragement is that?”
“I don’t think you need any tips from me in that department. I found bagels in the freezer.” I get a questioning glance and I nod, seeing that he already has one in the toaster. There are bananas in the bowl on the counter and I get the cream cheese in the fridge. By the time the coffee is ready, we have breakfast laid out on the counter, and we eat contentedly for a few moments.
“You look like a cat in the sun,” I say. “Or the one who got the cream.”
“I wonder why.” He wiggles his brows and I laugh at him, just the way he’s expecting me to. It’s warm and easy and comfortable, but I tell myself not to get used to it. “Did Meredith say when she was coming?”
I shake my head. “I told her to call me when she’s close.”
“Today, though?”
“That’s what she said.”
He nods, considering his bagel as if it holds the mysteries to the universe. He looks up suddenly, pinning me to the spot with a perceptive look. “So, when are you going to tell me the whole story about Justin?”
I do not drop my mug, and I’ll count that as a win. “I told you already.”
Luke shakes his head slowly. “No. You told me that he messed around on you after you were engaged.”
“Isn’t that the important bit?”
“I don’t think so. How did you end up with him? What drew you to him?” He sips his coffee watching me. “What convinced you that he was the guy for you, Daph? I have a hard time believing that you misjudged anyone that badly.”
I feel my eyes narrow. “You think I chose him knowing he’d be a douche?”
“Maybe you didn’t really want to get married and do all that traditional stuff. Maybe he was the best option available, or the one you thought was good enough.”
I put down my mug hard. “Do you think I would get engaged to just any guy? I loved him.”
His gaze flicks over me. “Why?”
I’m outraged by the question, but I can see that Luke is genuinely curious. He’s not being a prick, not on purpose anyway. He’s just asking a tough question, one a whole lot like the one Rafe asked me once upon a time.
Why Justin?
And I’m floundering, because all the answers that come to mind are pat. They could be somebody else’s answers, not mine.
Why Justin?
I get up and pour the rest of my coffee down the sink.
“Getting chilly in here,” Luke says, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “I should head out.”
“No, wait,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. That new tattoo is under my fingers and I trace it with a fingertip. I couldn’t see it clearly the night before, and to be honest, I wasn’t looking. Now I see that it’s a tangle of lines that covers his left forearm from elbow to wrist, a tendril trailing over the back of his hand. It looks like part of a whole, an image partially veiled from view. It makes me think of the moon behind clouds, of Celtic ruins, of druids and carvings in stone. There’s something fluid about it, and mesmerizing, and I look closer.
Yes, it’s part of a labyrinth.
“Daedalus created the labyrinth to trap the minotaur, the monster of Thebes that devoured the children of Athens.” Luke is speaking softly. “Theseus killed the monster and escaped the labyrinth, with the help of Ariadne and her thread.”
“Which he followed to find his way back out,” I remember, seeing a spider in his tattoo as well as a spindle of thread and a distaff. There’s a small bull near his wrist, and its tail is what appears on the back of his hand. There’s a sword worthy of a hero, too.
“And since the Middle Ages, the labyrinth has been a path for introspection and study, a meditative path for introspection.”
“They’re in churches.”
Luke nods. “Taylor and I visited the one at Chartres. He was fascinated by labyrinths and the notion of looking deeper inside yourself to improve.”
And I understand the new tattoo. “This is for Taylor.”
“He had a tattoo of the labyrinth at Chartres, right over his heart.” He smiles crookedly, watching my finger. “He used to say that he’d know the woman who was for him, because she’d not only recognize it but know how to navigate her way through it. It would be their common ground.”
I nod, thinking of Justin, wondering about common ground. It feels heavy and hard to face this truth, harder even than acknowledging that I wasn’t really surprised to learn about Heather. “He was really good-looking,” I admit. “Smart enough and successful enough. He came from money and had a certain flair. Everyone admired him and I just got in line. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.” I shrug. “He pursued me. He said all the right things.” I sigh. “I believed him.”
Luke is watching me but remains silent.
“My dad liked him.” I wince. “My mom didn’t. So maybe there was a bit of rebellion there, too, or at least a desire to prove that I could make my own choices. You’re supposed to go away to university, fall in love, get married, get a job and make a new life. It’s on the schedule and part of the plan. Maybe he was just in the right place at the right time. Maybe I was for him, too, because he was persistent. Nice.”
“Nice,” Luke echoes, making his view of that clear.
“And then there was all the wedding stuff. It’s so easy to get caught up in that, to want that ritual and fuss. Princess for a day. It becomes a goal in itself.”
“The dress.”
“The dress, the flowers, the venue, the bridal party, the invitations, the honeymoon. It’s an epic extravaganza, at least our wedding would have been, and I wouldn’t be the first person who was more interested in the idea of the wedding than the marriage.”
“Ouch,” Luke says, raising a brow.
“Of course, you wouldn’t take a back seat to anything.”
“The whole point is that you’re binding your lives together. Shouldn’t the other person or your love be the focus of everything?”
I have to cede this. “Of course, but there’s so much to do, and he left it all to me. I didn’t have time for everything.”
I get a look for that. “Do not tell me that you’re blaming yourself for him messing around.”
“No,” I say, but I wonder if on some level I did. Hmm. Something to consider later. “It was easy to be with Justin.” I take a breath. “He always looked good and had the answer. He wasn’t very demanding.”
“You’re not making a persuasive case for this life-changing romance, Daph.”
“But that was it. He wasn’t so exciting that I felt out of control. It felt steady. Predictable. The stuff of long stable marriages.” I take another deep breath and meet Luke’s gaze, admitting what I never wanted to say out loud. “Safe.”
He looks floored. “And that’s what you wanted? To be safe ?”
“It felt like the responsible choice.”
“Sounds boring, in all honesty.”
“It was boring,” I admit, feeling like a traitor even now. It takes me a minute to confess the next bit but once I do, I feel better. “In a way, it was a relief not to have to go through with it.”
“And you still have the dress,” he notes. “Or don’t you?”
I gesture to the spare bedroom upstairs. “A complete waste of money and effort. Three fittings. Silk.” I sigh, my heart squeezing as I remember the Great Hunt. That’s what we called it. The quest for the perfect dress. It was the last thing my mom and I did together, although neither of us knew it at the time.
We had such fun.
Even though she didn’t like Justin. I avoid the memory of the one time she spoke her mind, not wanting to dwell on the fact that I was warned. I’m too busy remembering how she looked in different shops, how she tried on hats everywhere, how we both knew that this dress was the right dress.
She cried when she saw me in it and my tears are welling now.
“So, why keep it?” Luke asks. His voice is gentler, so he’s noticed my tears. “Going to use it next time? Or keeping it in case you change your mind?”
“No!” I never thought of this and it probably shows. “It was expensive. It’s my dream dress.”
It’s a little piece of my mom.
“But what exactly is the dream, Daph?”
I blink. “To be happy?” It’s more than that, so much more. To be cherished, to be trusted, to have a haven in your marriage and a surety against all the uncertainties of the world. To know that you’re not alone, that someone will have your back and stand at your side, lift you up when you’re down—and that you’ll do the same for him.
Exactly what Justin was never going to do.
My mom warned me and I didn’t listen. I turn away from Luke because a tear is going to break free.
“By marrying some guy you find boring to be with? That doesn’t sound worthy of you.”
Part of the seduction was the fantasy, I know. The vision of myself floating down the aisle in that dress, en route to happily-ever-after forevermore. The wedding was going to solve everything, set my place in the world, establish the boundaries of my world. Getting married meant one less thing to think about, one less thing to manage, one less worry to have. It probably meant a whole suite of new worries, but I hadn’t gotten that far. It was a decreed step forward and I had been taking it.
Justin appeared to be a good choice of spouse. He was handsome, fit, courteous, successful—and I thought he was reliable. Did I love him? Sort of. Certainly not madly or deeply. I’ve proven that I can easily live without him. He’s proven that he was never going to defend anyone’s interests but his own. He never gave me butterflies the way Luke does, nor did he give me the kind of orgasms Luke has prompted.
But he was safe.
And safe, I realize, was what I always wanted to be. I wanted security more than adventure, contentment more than passionate love, certainty over uncertainty. Despite my mom’s misgivings about Justin, I was prepared to compromise to be sure of my place in the world.
What a terrible reason to get married.
That I could ever think that, that I still yearn for that kind of haven, should be proof enough that Luke is exactly the wrong person for me. One night was fine—actually, it was great—but I can’t let myself be seduced into hoping for more. I will be, if he sticks around. And the result is inevitable. If—when?—Luke breaks my heart, I might never recover.
It’s inevitable that he will.
I meet his gaze, knowing he’s been watching me, wondering how much he’s seen.
“You’re right. You do need to go, and I need to get to work.”
“And I’m getting frostbite again,” he rumbles, his eyes narrowing. He looks stubborn and I have to admire that he’s ready to fight for what he wants—even if I know he’s wrong. “Talk to me, Daph.”
I’m already heading for the door, jingling my keys. “This can’t work. It’ll never work.”
“I think it worked pretty brilliantly last night.” He stops beside me where I’m standing at the door and grabs his jacket. His lashes do that thing, sweeping down to hide his thoughts, and I wish I knew what was going on in his heart and mind.
“One and done,” I say briskly. “Now we know and can move on.”
“It’s not that simple, Daph,” he growls, stepping past me onto the porch.
“It is,” I insist. “It has to be.”
He nods, looking across the lawn. “Did Justin do everything you told him to do? Except, you know, for the messing around part?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Just makes me wonder if that was part of his appeal. Some women like men who do what they’re told, like trained puppies.” He gives me a look so hot that it sears my soul. “While others prefer to feel alive, to be surprised, to celebrate every damn day.” His gaze sweeps over me and leaves me simmering. “Did you ever find out why your mom didn’t like him?”
I shrug. I don’t have to offer up that confession and I won’t. Even thinking of saying it out loud feels like a betrayal of her memory, a breach of trust. She confided in me, said she had to say it but she wouldn’t mention it again.
My mom was a great judge of character. I ache at the memory of her gentle words. I want only the best for you and maybe no man is good enough. I want you to be cherished, the way your father has always cherished me, not chosen because the two of you look good together. A man concerned with appearances might not continue to believe you’re the best choice, not when you’re older and it shows, not when he doesn’t love you for who you really are. I’m afraid, sweetheart, that he’s going to hurt you…
Now I am going to cry. It’s raining a bit this morning, the air filled with mist and fog rising from the ground. I feel like the weather is echoing my feelings.
Luke, though, has turned away from my silence. He flips up his collar and strides away, his steps so long that I’ll never catch up to him. His back is straight, his posture stiff. I watch him go, noticing how the rain beads in his hair, how it glistens on the shoulders of his leather jacket, an emptiness inside me that might never be filled.
Why are the right things always so hard to do?
I tell myself not to even try to catch up to him or call after him, then remember the car is full of Merrie’s stuff. By the time I back out of my driveway, Luke has vanished into the woods behind the United Church.
I remind myself to be glad. I tell myself to be proud that I’ve done the sensible thing.
But I can’t help feeling like I’ve let something precious slip away. I have the definite sense that my mom would be disappointed in me.
She’d know that I’ve sent Luke away because I’m afraid.
No wonder it doesn’t feel good.