3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Steph
T he ball in my throat is so big, but I refuse to give in to it. I wanted so badly to break him. To make him feel like absolute shit. To put him in his place. I have no idea why, but I think it’s to do with the fact that I really do like him, and I know that he likes me, but now we’re at this hateful, competitive place, and I want to knock him down for it. It’s his fault that we’re here. He wanted to protect me, and when I refused, he got rattled over it. If he were any other man, I would have fucked him and spit him back out by now, but he’s not. He’s not the same type of ill- bred, co-dependent, insecure asshole that I have known to bed on occasion. Normally those men want nothing to do with me after I fuck them.
But I haven’t fucked Malcolm...yet.
He has the opposite traits of the conquests I seek. Yet, I still want him. And now that he’s acting like he doesn’t want me, for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a challenge in this department. That being said, I feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Especially after having just lost my granny today. Normally, I'm not an emotional person. I hate crying. I hate crying in front of others. And I really really hate the fact that I start crying mere feet away from Malcolm.
The women's washroom isn't close enough. I duck in there and lock myself into a stall, making like my bladder is going to explode, when really, it's my heart. As I hold my breath, squeezing my eyelids shut tight, I manage to fend off the tears, just in time for someone to join me. Peering through the small gap between the wall and the bathroom stall door, I can see that it's a woman. It's not Malcolm. He's not stupid enough, or brave enough, to follow me.
The woman's presence helps me to stave off the tears. I'd never want word to get back to Malcolm that I cried like a baby in the bathroom, alone. After drawing five or six deep breaths and exhaling, the sting in the backs of my eyes has disappeared, the ball in my throat has dissipated, and the quiver in my chin has vanished. I wait until the woman washes her hands and leaves before I do the same. I've already said goodbye to Colton, so I'm free to leave whenever I choose. And depart is exactly what I do.
The day is gone. And although I've made a promise to Moira to stay with her, after my near embarrassing experience just now, I feel like the best thing for me to do is to go home. As I drive, I don't bother to let Moira know where I'm headed. This is a move that I know I'll soon live to regret, but I figure the time that it takes me to process the day's events will also give me resolve as to how I'll explain later to her.
Not ignoring the final deadbolt on my door, I latch it shut tight upon arrival into my unit, even though I know full well that if Callum is foolish enough to come after me, that I would take him down in a heartbeat. There is little that I'm afraid of. I've never feared anybody physically before. And I especially don't fear my own cousin, as cowardly and weak as his move was today.
After I warm up some soup that I'd made and left in the freezer, I sit down to eat it, and as I wipe my mouth, having emptied the bowl, I hear a knock at my door. No guests have been announced. Not by me, not by security downstairs, and nobody has called my cell phone. You would think that with this knowledge, that my heart would be jumping out of my chest. But it's not. Call it intuition, call it naivete, call it whatever you want, but as I look through the peephole, I can see Malcolm's face on the other side of the door, and I wonder if I sensed his presence all along.
Expecting to yell at him for following me, I push the door open abruptly, but my face betrays me. One glance at this beautiful man, this beautiful, enigmatic, mysterious, successful man, and that lump that I worked hard to remove earlier, returns. His eyes search mine. They're telling me that he knows. He knows that I broke down this afternoon. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
He takes a tentative step towards me, and I fall into his arms, letting the tears flow. With an effortless lift, my feet are removed from the marble floor, as he steps inside my apartment, closing the door behind him, latching it shut once again. Any other man would carry me to the bedroom, take advantage of my vulnerability, and I let them, too. But Malcolm doesn't do that. Instead, he wraps his large, burly, beefy arms around me, surrounding me in his own personal care.
Instinctively, I nestle my face into his neck, snaking my arms around him, letting myself do the unthinkable, because no other man has ever given me the grace. Never has a man's heartbeat ever brought me so much comfort. It feels like years of pain are released; a floodgate has been opened effortlessly, and while the fear is still present, something in the bottom of my stomach feels safe. We say nothing. As he holds me tight to him, softly rubbing my back, caressing my skin so tenderly, I wonder what I ever did to deserve such a gift, seeing as I've been such a bitch to him.
With the patience of a saint, he stands there with me, swaying slightly as though soft music plays for us in the background, and it's a mystery to me how this man has such skills. As a woman, I can honestly say that I do not have a maternal bone in my body. Not a cell. I could never even stand to be hugged as a child. I could never comfort anyone, except if it meant helping them in a non-physical way. The connection here trumps any words that he could say to me. And the fact that I do not have to share any, I am truly grateful for.
Finally, I lift my head from his chest, almost lulled to sleep by his tenderness. Yet he still says nothing. I let him scoop me up into his arms and carry me to my bedroom, still cradled against him. Where I would normally expect sex, Malcolm simply lays me on the bed, pulls the covers down, and slides in behind me, spooning me. He expects nothing. Which, for once, is exactly what I need. A strange sense of belonging comes over me. I barely know this man, and yet, I feel in some way like this fits. It’s an odd sensation and one that I’m not used to, but it feels good, and right now I allow myself to feel what I feel, and I don’t let any of the conjecture take over. I just remain in the moment. When I awaken hours later, Malcolm hasn’t moved. He’s still by my side, completely clothed, as am I, but the room is dark and it’s so hot in here I could burst into flames.
Bravely, I undress, leaving just a thin silk nightgown on. He remains asleep while I’m naked for the brief moments as I dress, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see a bead of sweat across his brow. He’s boiling over there. I don’t suppose a Scot would be used to sleeping in anything except the buff. I almost want to wake him, but at the same I don't want to disturb his slumber. He's sleeping so soundly, and if he's anything like me, sleep comes at a premium price. Usually, when I awaken in the night, I think of all the dozens of things that need to be done, and it's rare that I'm able to go back to sleep. But Malcolm looks so peaceful, it looks so welcoming, almost like being starved and then seeing a full cake sitting right there calling your name.
Slithering back under the sheets, Malcolm’s arm wraps around me comfortingly, and it's as if we've been sleeping together for years, the way that he cradles me to his body. I fall asleep in record time, and when I awaken again, this time to my alarm, Malcolm is gone. It's like last night never really happened. At first, I caress the pillow next to me, imagining the pit from his head still there, and I try to talk myself out of the fact that I miss him. I've never missed anyone before. It's a very odd sensation. It makes me uncomfortable. And suddenly I'm angry.
But not just because he's left me. I'm also angry at myself for letting these feelings through. Why I even let that man through the door last night is beyond me. Now I've got all these emotions, and I don't know what to do with them. My mind begins to reel, thinking of all the things that I could have done last night when I couldn't sleep, instead of rejoining him in bed. It's my own fault. I let down my guard for a few hours. What I should have done is go to Declan’s. And that's when I realize the serious folly that I've made.
As I check my phone, I notice that there are no messages, which can only mean one thing: Moira knows that Malcolm stayed here last night. It's the only explanation for why she didn't call and tear my head off for causing her such worry over not coming back to Declan’s as I had promised. How dare he tell her that he stayed with me last night. I'm sure he embellished. All men are guilty of that. No matter how innocent last night was, Malcolm’s side of the story will be much different than mine, I'm sure.
Instead of letting my thoughts fester, I decide that the only solution to this, is to shower and go to Declan’s house, and set the record straight, once and for all. But when I arrive there, I’m met with a surprise.
...And I hate surprises.
Malcolm
The last thing I wanted was for Steph to wake up and feel like she owed me something. Part of me couldn't trust that I would remain as noble as a monk, as I had been last night. It's one thing to comfort an emotional lass, however, it's another thing entirely to wake up next to a beautiful one, possibly sporting morning wood. It's been long enough since I've been next to a lass, and I feel like I'm finally on Steph’s good side, so I didn't want to do anything to spoil it.
Declan was apt enough to pick up on the fact that Steph hadn't returned to his home like she promised, so he had sent me a text message late last night, that I hadn't received until the wee hours of this morning. I'm not a lying man, so I hopped into my truck, and headed over to Declan's house, to clear the air for myself. I’m at one cousin's house or another usually, for coffee each morning. So, it isn't out of character for me to show up at one of their houses, unannounced. I’ve been known to visit one of my brothers’ places, too. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I had breakfast at my own house, if I’m being honest.
Declan’s place is nice but in terrible need of an update inside. He’s been putting it off for ages and I think that he’s finally met someone that may help twist his arm on renovations, as I see a couple of paint swatches on the counter when I arrive. “Where’s Moira?” I ask.
Declan is flipping eggs in a frying pan. “She’s getting ready to go to the funeral home. She’s a little pissed about Steph not coming back here last night.”
“I’m sure that didn’t sully your evening much, though, did it.” I say snidely, not in the mood to take licks from him today.
He gives me a look, reading me like a book. “She didn’t give it up yet, did she.”
Well played, asshole . “Fuck you. It’s not like that.”
“But you want it to be.”
“What’s it to you if I do or not?”
He frowns. “It would get that fucking chip off your shoulder.”
“You think it’s that simple, do you. I get laid and move on again.”
“Well, isn’t it?” He asks as he scoops the eggs onto three plates. His face is impassive. He’s actually asking me. He’s not telling me or trying to be an asshole.
“If it was that simple, I’d have already done it or gone elsewhere to get it.”
“This one’s different then.”
“Wasn’t Moira different? Is that not why you’re still here? Or why she is, anyway.”
A ‘v’ forms between his brows. “What the fuck are we talking about here, man? You were the one that pulled me into your office to tell me that you’ve been seeing this lass, right? It’s not new to me, Malcolm. Stop beating around the bush. You like her. End of discussion.”
He eats a fork full of eggs and gestures for me to take a seat. I sit down and eat, and then Moira appears. She purses her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Morning, lass.”
“Morning, Malcolm. How are you this morning?”
“Just fine.”
Declan interjects. “He didn’t sleep with Steph.” He says. His eyes are dancing. He’s not trying to be an asshole, he’s just dicking around. When I look at him, he smiles, pleased with himself. I let it go and let him have it since he didn’t add insult to injury by making it sound derogatory.
“I gathered that, Declan. I wouldn’t think that a gentleman would leave a lass in bed if he’s had his way with her.”
My tone is self-righteous. I might as well have my nose in the air. “Thank you.”
Moira takes a seat next to Declan, where a plate of eggs has been provided, and she starts to eat. That’s when his phone makes the same noise it makes when it’s indicating that someone has arrived at the front gate. “I’ll give you one guess who that is.” Declan states.
“I’ll wager it’s someone bearing the Harris surname.” I add.
Declan raises an eyebrow. “It’s not one of ours. Oh…it’s…” He smirks but says nothing more. His eyes don’t leave his phone as he grants the visitor access.
“Who is it?” I ask. Not enjoying being toyed with now.
Even Moira looks at him expectantly as he walks to the door and opens it.
When Steph’s face appears, I find myself hanging my head, even though I’m happy to see her.
“Morning, lass.” Declan says.
“Is everything okay?” Moira asks. Concern is registered on her face.
Her gaze moves from mine to Moira’s. Her expression is unreadable. “Nothing happened last night.” She says firmly, as though someone asked as firm.
“We’ve…already covered that.” I tell her.
“You have.” She says as if she can’t believe that I told the truth. Then she changes tack. “And why would you even say anything? It’s none of anyone’s business.”
Moira interjects. “Like I said to Malcolm. It’s the only explanation for him being here and not still with you this morning.” Then she changes the subject. “I’m going to the funeral home. Would you like to come? My mama will be there, too.” She asks as though she’s about to go out for a bite and then shopping.
Steph lifts a hand. “No, thanks.” Her eyes are still on me. Moira looks displeased, shaking her head, dismissing her cousin’s irrational behavior.
“I’ll take you, love.” Declan says.
“No, that’s fine. You’ve got work to do and my family will be there. That’s not exactly the most comfortable way that I want you to make their acquaintance.”
Steph’s eyes don’t leave mine. She’s ready to tear me a new one and I have no idea why. I did a favor last night, staying with her. I didn’t touch her, nor did I allude to any touching. Yet, she seems to be pissed off at me for that.
“Lock up for me, Malcolm.” Declan calls. He can arm his security remotely. Once I was too drunk to leave first thing in the morning. It was Caleb’s birthday. I stayed here until I sobered up and could make it to work. This isn’t our first rodeo. Both seem eager to leave us and yet I’m not eager to be left alone with this lass. She seems a little bipolar to me, at any rate, but I’ll get to the bottom of it soon enough.
The moment the door closes, she rounds on me. “I don’t need you to save my honor, Malcolm.”
“What about my own honor, lass.” I reason, albeit slightly snide. “You think I want to look like a chump in front of my family?”
“Oh, so you’re one of those.” Her voice is equally laced with snark.
“One of what?” My tone is icy.
“A suck up.”
“You think I’m a suck up, do you.” I chuckle mirthlessly.
“Now I do.”
“So, you’d rather I told them that I took advantage of a lass in mourning? Just fresh from the nursing home where her granny was smothered to death, huh.”
Her hands go over her ears. “Stop it!”
“Then what, Steph!” I shout. “One minute you’re calling me a coward and in the same breath you’re calling me an asshole!”
Her teeth grate together. “You are an asshole!”
“And why am I an asshole, Stephanie! Huh! I left you this morning because I knew that if I didn’t, that you would feel like you owed me something! And you don’t, lass! I stayed with you because I wanted to! The same reason why I came looking for you last night! And the same reason why I came here this morning instead of staying at your place and making things awkward for you! Don’t you see that!”
My chest is heaving. Hers is, too. She’s beyond angry and I have no idea why. Her expression is a cross between pissed off and confused, but there’s something else there, that I can’t quite put my finger on. And before I can stop myself, as I watch her gaze briefly go to my lips, I pull her close to me. I expect her to push me away and slap me in the face. But she doesn’t. No silver-tongued insults come out of her mouth, either. I press my cock against the apex of her thighs, testing her. I’m not hard, but I’m also a Harris, and us Harris lads are no slouches south of the belt.
Again, I expect her to slug me for being a pig. Instead, she shoves her chest into mine, making my cock twitch. A small groan escapes from my throat, and she smirks. She likes that. I’d love nothing more than to take her right here, force her skirt down, unzip my dress pants, and fuck her from behind, as she leans over Declan’s cheap mahogany table. I can tell by her pupils that she’s wet. They’re dilated, and her cheeks are pink.
“Is this what you wanted? This whole time, Steph? You just wanted me to fuck you, so that you could tell everyone how much of an asshole I am, right? Just like every other lad that you’ve ever bedded.” My tone is cutting, accusatory. “That’s why you’re so pissed at me, isn’t it. It’s because you’re so fucking afraid. Afraid that because I stayed last night, to comfort you, not to fuck you, that I might actually be a decent guy. That I might actually be different. And that kills you, doesn’t it.”
I hit a nerve. Her nostrils flare. “Fuck you, Malcolm. I really hate you because you’re such a fucking suck up. You’re a pussy.”
As I graze her face with my lips, not close enough to touch her, but close enough to feel the heat from her skin, I murmur. “You keep telling yourself that, lass. But in the meantime, I’m not fucking you or fucking you over, Stephanie.”
Her eyes close, but then they open just as fast again, as she battles with herself on whether or not she’s going to give in. I’m not going to kiss her; I’m not going to do anything more to her. It’s pointless if she’s just going to turn around and bite me in the ass right after. I won’t give in. I won’t let her do this to herself or to us. I know that she’s vulnerable and I can feel it that she hates it that I saw her vulnerable side. That’s a side that likely no other man has ever seen before. I don’t discount that. Either that or she’s just a crazy bitch looking for fresh blood. I won’t give it to her.
My hold around her loosens. The gap between us grows. Her face falls. I know rejection is crushing to a lass, but it’s worth it to prove my point.
“You’re nothing but a cowardly tease, Malcolm.” She says on exhale, appalled.
“I may be that, but I’m not doing it to be an asshole. It’s like fucking a drunk lass, Stephanie. I won’t do it.”
She’s exasperated. “Are you saying I’m nuts? Or just an ugly bitch and you’ve got something better lined up?”
“I think you and I both know that both of those aren’t true.” I say, trying not to point out the fact that my bulge is twice its normal size. Normally, I wouldn’t ignore the throbbing behind my zipper, but I figure I’ve come this far to prove a point.
“Is it?” She asks, placing her hand on my bulge, eyes pinned to mine, searching them like the fucking temptress that she is. My dick is begging for her to add pressure, or better yet, to get down on her knees and suck it, but I hold fast and don’t give in.
I swallow and back away from her, not trusting myself. She seems pleased. “I think we should both go, Steph. Before this gets out of hand.”
She smiles and scoffs. “You really are a pussy.”
I’d rather be a pussy than the guy that slept with the girl at the wrong time and we both lived to regret it. “Fine. Let’s go.” I tell her, annoyed and horny as fuck.
It takes her two seconds to get to the door. She walks out and gets into her car, practically stomping. This is a tantrum. Steph is used to getting what she wants, and I won’t give it to her.
…yet.