Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Stevie
My palms were sweaty. Oh God, my palms were sweaty, and if they were sweaty, what did that mean my armpits looked like?
I resisted the urge to check, and pressed my hands to my dress, then immediately cursed myself and pulled them away, not wanting to ruin the delicate beading.
Instead, I paced.
I paced from one side of the formal sitting room to the other in these stupid strappy heels that made my calves look awesome and my steps ridiculously small.
Still…I looked amazing. I could admit that.
When I’d left Eastshore, I’d taken most of the clothing Garrak had purchased for me. After all, what was he going to do with a pair of size fourteen jeans? And it wasn’t like I was leaving him for good, I just needed to work some shit out.
Point is, I also grabbed this completely gorgeous gown, with the white chiffon and blue beading and small straps. I felt gangly and awkward and also completely gorgeous.
Well, I wanted to look good when I saw Garrak.
He’d be here tonight. He would.
I mean, I felt it in my chest, but I also checked with one of the LeClair brothers’ goons manning the front door. I told him I was here with my—with Trevor Hendricks, and he sent me to wait in this room.
But I wasn’t waiting for Dad. I didn’t want to see Dad. I was waiting for Garrak. Not terribly patiently either.
I’d been back in New Orleans for three days now and had avoided my father—hadn’t even told him I was around. I crashed on friends’ couches, pretending each night that I was totally fine, and yes of course I want another beer and to laugh about old times.
And pretend like I hadn’t spent the entire bus ride from the East Coast crying my eyes out.
God, I was so confused. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do.
But each morning that I woke up without Garrak, something became more clear: I needed him.
Not just missing him, not just wanting him…
I needed him in a way I couldn’t explain.
Maybe it was the Mate Bond he’d talked about, I dunno.
All I knew was that I was slowly going nuts without him, and I needed to be with him.
And if that meant sitting on my ass and being fed bonbons in the bathtub and have orgasm after mind-numbing orgasm…then what in the absolute fuck was I complaining about?
Other women—women I’d grown up with, women like my grandmother—would have given anything for that opportunity.
I liked the bonbons and the endless orgasms, don’t get me wrong. I just… It kinda rankled to know I was agreeing to spend the rest of my life as a glorified pet. I had skills, I had goals, I had…
I had a plan. While I was getting dressed today, I looked myself in the mirror and gave myself a peptalk.
“You can be successful without working. You’ll start a charity. Or you’ll work with kids on the island. You’ll volunteer or something. He can’t object to that, right?”
Right.
Being Garrak’s Mate didn’t mean I would be stuck in a one-bedroom condo for the rest of my life. I could get out and do shit. Right?
I needed him. Needed to be with him. And if we were Mates, maybe one day he’d understand what I’d been trying to tell him—show him all this time.
I needed to be needed, too. I wanted him to need me.
I reached the wall and turned, twisting my ankle in the process. “Shit,” I hissed, grabbing my skirt. “Stupid heels.”
I knew this game, hosted at the LeClair Mansion, would be a Big Fucking Deal, and I’d tried to dress appropriately…but I wasn’t the most graceful or experienced when it came to strappy heels.
Balancing on one foot—and holding onto a table with a flower arrangement on it—I rotated my ankle, making sure nothing was really broken. I winced. It was sore, but nothing bad enough to sit down. If Garrak were here, he would’ve scooped me up and—
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
Garrak took care of me; he couldn’t help it. And I could admit that when something like this happened, I wouldn’t mind him swooping in and pampering me, even if I didn’t really need it.
What if he doesn’t come?
The insidious little thought had been creeping around my head for days.
What if you left, and he realized you were just a fucktoy like his friends had said? What if he thinks you betrayed him on your father’s behalf? What if—
“Stop it,” I hissed to myself, trying to keep my voice down so none of the LeClair goons thought they’d put a crazy lady in the salon. “He’s your Mate.”
Right.
Right, he didn’t love me, he didn’t have to love me. Mating was…a biological thing. We were connected, and maybe one day he’d come to love me the way I’d fallen desperately in love with him. But he would come tonight, and we would have time to figure that out.
Right?
Oh God, I hoped so.
Again resisting the urge to run my sweaty palms down my dress, I resumed pacing.
The door to the foyer was open, and my first indication I wasn’t alone was the click of a man’s heels on the tile. Breathless with hope, I spun around—
And completely deflated when I saw it was my father.
Trevor Hendricks looked good in a suit, and he knew it. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed artfully, and he even wore a gardenia in his lapel.
I hated gardenias.
I also hated the way I drew in on myself, my shoulders hunching, trying to look smaller, as if I could escape his notice.
Of course I couldn’t. The man was striding across the room beaming, his arms open for a hug.
“Stephanie! There’s my favorite girl!”
When he embraced me, I didn’t cringe, but only because I had a lot of practice. “Hi, Dad,” I said dully, knowing I’d only been allowed into the mansion because of his name on the list.
“I’m so glad to see you.” He held me at arm’s length, hands clasped to my upper arms. “Good work on Eastshore Island. I knew I could count on you.” He winked. “And it wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I stared.
How in the hell did he expect me to answer that question? Was I supposed to agree with him? As if he hadn’t sent me off to whore for him in order to cancel one of his debts?
“That monster would not shut up about me paying him back.” Dad released one of my arms and swung his attention to watch the foyer as well as me. “I knew he’d take one look at you and decide there were other things he wanted more than my money.”
I bit my tongue hard to keep from telling him his debt wasn’t absolved. Instead I stared incredulously and Dad, in true Trevor Hendricks fashion, failed to pick up on it. He always did.
He nodded amicably to someone passing by in the foyer, then surprised me by tightening his hold on my arm and yanking me closer. I teetered on my ridiculous heels and managed not to slam into his side as he hissed at me, his tone hard but his expression good-natured in case anyone was watching.
“What the fuck took you so long? We should have been rehearsing for the last week! Your ticket back was—”
“I was busy, Dad,” I interrupted him, refusing to tell him what I’d been doing.
“You cut it close, but at least you’re here.
” His hold tightened until he was squeezing my arm, and I winced, knowing there’d be bruises, just like the last time I saw him.
“We’re using the same signals as last time,” he announced.
“Left eye wink if you think I should fold, right eye for stay, both for raise.”
“Dad, I don’t want—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, whore,” he hissed, shaking me. “Get into that room, be charming, sit where you can see Pierre.”
I barely heard the words. I was focusing on where he was holding me, focused on trying to pull away from him. “Dad, you’re hurting me!”
“Maybe next time you won’t be late,” he spat. “This is the only way a bitch like you will listen. You’re going to help me beat the LeClair brothers and that monster of yours—”
“Get your hands off my Mate.”
The growl was low, but it managed to fill the entire room. I wasn’t the only one who gasped and turned when Garrak stepped inside. My father’s face actually paled, and he yanked me even closer.
“How dare you interrupt—” Dad began, but Garrak was stalking toward us.
“You have two seconds to let her go,” he rumbled, and thank God Dad released me.
When I threw myself forward into Garrak’s arms, he caught me and tucked me up to his side, still glaring at my father.
He’d called me Mate.
He still wanted me.
And I was superficial enough to admit that he looked damned fine in that specially tailored suit, enough to make me remember what was under all that black fabric.
I wrapped one arm around his waist and pressed the other palm to his chest. “I missed you, Garrak,” I whispered, ashamed of how watery my voice sounded. God, I was close to tears, wasn’t I?
He didn’t answer, but his hold on my shoulders tightened for just a moment, a hug that seemed out of place with the way he was glaring. “Missed you too, dkaar,” he murmured. “So much.”
My guilt was a spear in my stomach, and I pressed closer, hoping he felt my regret, my sorrow at all this. “I’m coming home soon, I swear—”
But my father wasn’t going to allow our reunion. He’d recovered his equilibrium and now barked out a harsh howl of laughter. “You didn’t honestly think this was something special, did you? Your little fuckfest?”
Garrak growled from his chest, loosening his hold on me to step toward my father, who—still laughing mockingly—held up his palms and stepped back.
“You’ve been played, orc. That wasn’t an emotional thing, she was just fucking you because she knew I would act on my threat if she didn’t. She doesn’t have feelings for you.”
How I found my voice, I don’t know. Maybe it was the fact that Garrak stood between me and my father, or maybe it was because I’d finally had enough. All I know is that I whispered—okay, yes, whispered, I’d gained some courage, but not that much courage—“Shut up, Dad.”
It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to make him glance at me, one brow raised in surprise. “You’re just a whore who—”
And then he wasn’t saying anything but a sort of aaaagk sound, because Garrak’s hand had closed around his throat.
He’d moved so fast that I might have missed it. One moment he was standing near me, the next, he loomed over my father, his claws dimpling the older man’s throat.
Whereas when he’d grabbed his friend Brakkor by the throat and lifted him off the ground, Garrak had lost control of his rage, this time…
This time, his expression was mild, as if merely interested, just trying to communicate.
He didn’t lift my father from the ground, and I halted with my hand on my Mate’s arm, not even sure if I wanted to stop this.
My father’s face was turning red, but I couldn’t tell if it was lack of oxygen or anger.
“Let me make something very clear,” Garrak said calmly, bending closer. “Stevie is my Mate. Mine. You will never touch her again. You will never threaten her again, and you sure as fuck will never insult her again. If you do, I will make it very hard for you to breathe. Do you understand?”
As threats go, it was mild, but completely believable, especially when Garrak allowed his tusks to gleam in the soft overhead light. My father’s face abruptly paled.
Honestly? I had no idea how to defuse the situation, or even if I wanted to. Maybe Garrak hadn’t intended to diffuse the situation, and had just grabbed my father to make a point or shut him up. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry, because at that moment, there was a throat clearing from the foyer.
“Gentlemen? The Monsieurs LeClair are ready to begin play.”
Garrak dropped his hold on my father as if nothing had happened, and stepped back, straightening his tie and offering me his arm. “Come on, dkaar,” he murmured, and I stepped up to his side. “I haven’t told you tonight how beautiful you look in that gown, have I?”
My throat was tight. How could I pretend I hadn’t hurt him by running away? Still, I tried to keep my tone light so he could focus on the game when I took his arm. “You told me when you bought it for me. But you look positively stunning in that suit, Mate.”
His nostrils flared, and as we walked, he bent lower to whisper to me, “Do you have any idea how much I want you when you call me Mate? I keep thinking that as good as you look in that gown, you’re going to look so much better out of it, love.”
Liquid heat pooled between my thighs, and my stomach clenched in anticipation of his growled promise.
But that was when we reached the study, where the game would be held, and there were a dozen people mingling. I couldn’t kiss him, not the way I wanted to. Not here, not now.
Instead, I smiled softly up at him, up at my future.
“Good luck,” I whispered, knowing that had to be enough.
Because I couldn’t sit here and watch him play, not with my father expecting me to help him cheat.
I already knew I could fuck my father over by winking or blinking at random points, but would that be any more ethical than what he’d made me do before? No. I wanted out of this, and I had to trust that Garrak would understand.
I was trusting him to understand quite a lot about me, actually.