Chapter 13
I spent the afternoon evaluating the tasks left in the dungeon, coming up with a timeline for finishing up my work down there—and I couldn’t see how I could possibly be done until January…
and that wasn’t even accounting for the time I’d be away.
Now that Sinclair and I had reached this understanding, I was also going to ask to spend some time with my father during the holidays as well.
But I wasn’t going to hit him with any of that all at once.
Instead, even though I’d seen him on Saturday and we’d talked during my week away, I had missed him terribly—and I’d mourned the loss of our relationship more than once for different reasons.
And, even though it had only been a matter of days, it felt like I hadn’t been in his bed in ages.
That, I knew, was probably behind us and so I was still sad—and yet I yearned to bask in the sunlight of his face.
For I knew Sinclair Whittier now, far better than I suspected most people did.
He had let me in enough that I could see the scars of his heart, how rejection and loneliness had shaped him, twisted him, but deep inside he was layered…
not only loving but capable of receiving love.
Of deserving love.
What was inside was a part of himself that few knew or saw—perhaps Edna was the only other person on the planet who knew that about the man.
He’d even hidden his real self from his family.
And that fact, in another way, made me even sadder…
that few knew the real person beneath the walls he’d erected.
On some level, though, I suspected that our encounter had changed him—and maybe that would open him up to being able to love and be loved by someone else someday.
Even though the thought filled me with anguish, on another level it comforted me…
even as I knew I would never love another man, no matter how long I lived.
I went up to my room after working and took a quick shower before touching up my makeup and hair and donning an outfit that had been in my closet at home that I hadn’t worn since February: a black turtleneck and slim gray skirt with knee-high boots.
It was the sort of clothing that belonged in my world but felt like it could also fit in a place of business.
I’d bought it my senior year in high school for a presentation I had to give for my capstone project and wore to college classes on occasion.
That and my blazer were the clothes that always made me feel more professional—and, since it seemed as though Sinclair and I were returning to our previous relationship, it felt like the right thing to wear.
But I pulled my hair up so I would also look pretty.
When I arrived in the dining room, he wasn’t there yet.
I sat down, but I felt nervous, on edge.
For a moment, I considered popping in the kitchen to ask Edna if she needed help, but I suspected I’d just get in the way.
Instead, I stood and crossed the room to look outside.
I’d only been gone a week and yet the changes outside were dramatic.
The leaves on the tree in the yard that I could see from the dining room had turned a bright yellow, as if shocked that the evenings were growing cooler.
And, although it wasn’t dark out yet, it was evident that the days were growing shorter.
The flowers that had been in bloom earlier in the year had disappeared, and all the plants seemed to be fading to a lighter green in preparation for the colder weather ahead.
I didn’t hear Sinclair enter the room at first until he cleared his throat.
When I turned, he was walking toward me—but his face reflected what was in my heart: a mixture of joy at being together again tinged with the knowledge that none of this would last.
But it didn’t stop him from pulling me into an embrace…
which I reciprocated, even while wondering what Edna would think if she walked in.
When he pulled back, he said, “It’s good to have you back.”
I wanted him to kiss me.
Having him so close, feeling his strong arms around me, smelling the cologne he wore that reminded me of touching his bare skin, seeing his blue eyes so close that they were my entire world made me want to pretend that nothing else in the world existed.
But, when we moved to our usual chairs, I was reminded that there was plenty else I needed to worry about.
Although he didn’t say it, I knew this was his first time eating in the dining room since I’d left.
I would never accuse the two sisters cleaning crew of not being good at their jobs, but I could see the thinnest line of dust right up against the table runner next to my water goblet.
My heart nearly broke as I imagined him eating a lonely dinner every night at the kitchen table.
Before I’d come along, he either hadn’t minded or hadn’t noticed the aloneness—and, perhaps, he filled it with random women from time to time.
I’d be foolish to think he didn’t, remembering the evidence of one female in particular and discussion of another.
Edna came in with her cart, delivering beautiful salads for each of us—and I felt a pang of guilt.
I’d only served my father two salads the entire time I’d been home.
Granted, his appetite just wasn’t as good as I would have liked, but I should have tried to get him to eat more raw vegetables.
Because he was eating more (evidenced by his earlier text message assuring me he’d eaten lunch), I’d be sure to throw more vegetables into the foods I made for him next time.
I pushed it out of my mind as Edna spoke.
“It sure is nice to have you back, Lise.”
Smiling, I said, “Thank you. It’s good to be here.”
The way Edna looked at Sinclair made me wonder…
did she already know that he and I had crossed the line a while back?
Considering what I knew of Edna—and how well she knew Sinclair—I wouldn’t have been completely surprised.
Maybe he’d even confessed to her when I’d been gone.
And that reminded me…
I too had a confession of sorts to make.
I hadn’t told him about his mother’s final journal when he’d been in Winchester—mainly because there had been so much else to deal with.
But it was one of the things I’d packed in my suitcase earlier that morning.
Instead of returning it to the east wing, I needed to deliver it to Sinclair.
More than that, I needed to tell him exactly what his mother had said.
Even if his father had been too bullheaded to see the truth, Sinclair needed to know.
But here and now didn’t seem right.
As much as I loved and trusted Edna, that information was for Sinclair alone…
so I’d have to tell him later when she wasn’t around.
If he wanted to share the news with her, that would be his choice.
We’d barely begun eating when Sinclair asked, “How was your father doing when you left this morning?”
“It’s unbelievable how much better he is. Even though it’s early, I’m inclined to say that infusion was successful.”
“What’s different?”
“Mostly, it’s his energy and motivation. He was ready to tackle the world when I left.”
Sinclair stabbed a grape tomato with his fork.
“I hope he continues feeling better.”
Even though we’d just seen each other just two days before, things felt different.
Was it because we were back here but we knew it was now a temporary arrangement?
I had to find a way to push through somehow.
Even if we could never be together, we had a solid foundation now…
or, at least, it felt that way to me.
So, after what seemed like hours of interminable silence punctuated with the occasional sound of a fork touching a plate, I asked a question of him I’d never asked before.
“How has work been going?”
He tilted his head as if amused by my question—but the grin that barely showed on his face told me he appreciated it.
“Fairly well, actually. I finally have a full staff again. After I fired Danny, I let other staff apply for his job—and then I had to fill that position. I suppose that’s something else I should thank you for.”
My voice sounded even more shocked to my ears than I’d expected.
“What?”
“I don’t know when I would have let Danny go if he hadn’t forced himself on you. So I guess thanking you for that is inappropriate…but I guess what I’m trying to say is your misfortune brought his behavior to light in a way that I couldn’t ignore it. And now that he’s gone, the office has a different feel. And people are more productive, so much so that I can’t pass it off.”
“Don’t feel guilty about that, Sinclair. As I told you before, he didn’t hurt me. If he had, that would be another story.”
“Yes, but we’ve also established you wouldn’t have been in that position had I not put you there—and I will never forgive myself for that.” Before I could contradict him, he said, “We’ve just started working on a project today that I think will make you happy.”
“ Me? ”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Sinclair grinned, setting his fork on his now-empty plate.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Although I didn’t like having to wait for a surprise, I loved how he was being playful—as if he were dropping all pretense, any affectation he might have ever had.
He knew he could be his real, authentic self with me.
And it nearly made me cry through my smile.
Fortunately, Edna appeared with her cart again.
When she removed Sinclair’s salad plate, I said, “I’m done too.”
There were still a few leaves left, but I didn’t want Sinclair to have to wait for me to finish.
Edna asked, “Are you sure, dear?”
“Yes. Thanks.” I knew my smile would tell her I was sincere.
Soon, she had set on the table two lovely plates—chicken breasts with some sort of white sauce, creamy mashed potatoes with chives, and steamed asparagus.
It looked and smelled divine, and it was so lovely to not have to cook for a day.
As much as I loved my father and didn’t hate cooking, it wasn’t my favorite thing—but Edna was so good at it.
And, breaking decorum, I told her so.
“This looks delicious, Edna.”
“Oh, thank you. I hope you enjoy it.”
Even Sinclair joined in.
“I have no doubt we will.” And, before Edna even had to ask if we wanted anything else like she often did when she was getting ready to leave for the day, he added, “Have a good night. See you in the morning.”
We ate in silence for a bit, merely commenting on how the food really did taste wonderful.
It was only after I thought I heard the large door at the end of the main hallway close behind her that Sinclair spoke again.
“I wanted to talk to you about a…delicate matter.”
The way he said it spoke volumes—he hadn’t wanted Edna to overhear any of what he was about to say.
“Okay.”
“About our arrangement before we left. I want you to know I don’t expect you to share my bed with me anymore.”
Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.
Although we couldn’t spend our lives together, I had hoped to spend a few more intimate moments with him…
creating memories I could sear into my brain so he could live a lifetime in my gray matter, even if not beside me.
“What if I want to?”
Swallowing, he set both his fork and knife on his plate with deliberate precision, seeming to question what I’d said.
“Do you mean that?”
Although an overwhelming bashfulness threatened to overtake my tongue, I forced it to move…
to say what I’d been thinking.
To be honest with him about the way I felt.
“I do. I’ve missed being with you.”
He took my hand, his eyes searching mine.
It was as if he had so much on his mind but wasn’t sure if he could trust himself.
Finally, he managed to say, “I’ve missed being with you too.”
His words filled me with a heady mixture of emotions, including boldness.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
Reading me like a book, Sinclair stood, one side of his lips turned up slightly.
Before he could pull out my chair, I stood up as well, and he held out his hand to take mine again.
Pulling me close, he kissed me passionately, reminding me of just how right he felt.
I expected him to sweep me up in his arms, much like he’d done the first time, the night I gave my virginity to him.
And, for a moment, when his lips left mine, I was certain he was considering it.
But then he turned around, closing the doors to the dining room before walking past me to cross the room to the windows.
For a moment, I stared at the doors, never having seen them shut.
They were beautiful, a rich mahogany that matched the table with an intricate design unlike any doors at the home I shared with my father.
But when I turned, Sinclair was pulling the drapes closed across the windows with such force that I feared he’d yank them down to the floor.
But I knew his intent—and my body responded.
I was all but tingling from head to toe as I awaited his touch.
Although I still felt a tiny bit of worry that Edna might come back or that Greg, looking for Sinclair, might peek in, I knew better.
Closed doors in the mansion were only opened after a knock and an invitation—unless you had a key and snuck in.
It seemed that I was the only one who did that.
I all but ran to Sinclair at the other end of the table, realizing that I didn’t care who knew about our clandestine relationship anymore.
And if he was worried about anyone else figuring it out, it wasn’t on his mind now either.
But the mansion was usually quiet this time of evening, with Edna having gone home and Greg and his wife keeping to themselves on the third floor.
Because I still hadn’t met his wife, I was almost beginning to wonder if she actually lived here, but I rarely saw Greg either.
Sinclair took me into his arms and when we kissed this time, it felt as if he were holding nothing back—as if he could consume me in an instant.
And I too felt the same hunger, as if we’d been kept apart for months or even years.
I began unbuttoning his shirt and he removed his hands from my waist to take off his tie.
But our lips crashed again as I pulled the bottom of his shirt out of his pants so I could finish unbuttoning it.
As soon as it was off, I ran my fingers along his abs up to his chest, relishing the firmness of his muscles and how they seemed to respond to my touch.
And then I was inspired.
There were so many things sexual that I hadn’t yet had the pleasure to do—and I wanted to do as many of them as I could with Sinclair while I still have the opportunity.
Although a good many books I read were tame, some of the romance stories I’d devoured had been steamy—but I’d tried to avoid many of that sort because if they made me feel hot and bothered, there’d been nothing I could do about it, not having a chance with any of the males back in Winchester.
There’d been one book in particular, though, that had fascinated me and even just thinking about it now ramped up my desire.
In it, the heroine had described how much she loved giving blowjobs, the way she loved how a hard cock in her mouth tasted, how it gave her power over her lover…
how he would lose control because of her expertise.
While I knew there was no way I could be an expert, having never tried it before, I wanted to give it a shot…
and I wanted to show my love in a way I never had before.
So I began unbuckling his belt as he held my face in his hands and kissed me as if this would be the last time.
And maybe it was…
but I couldn’t think about that right now.
Our tongues tangled as I pulled the belt apart and found the button on his slacks.
As if he felt the need to catch up, he removed his hands from my face and began pulling my shirt up.
After I unzipped his pants, I let go so he could pull the shirt over my head and off my arms, but I wanted to make sure my earrings didn’t get yanked off with the turtleneck, so I took over.
When our eyes met again, Sinclair had a slightly amused expression, but he again seemed like he had something to say—so I raised my eyebrows and smiled, but it wasn’t enough.
He still said nothing.
This time, when we kissed again and I felt his fingers on the back of my bra, I pulled away a bit.
I didn’t want to be completely naked…
not yet, at any rate.
I still felt vulnerable in the dining room and wanted to be at least partly clothed for now.
I began kissing down his chest, loving how his skin tasted and how his flesh seemed to respond to my lips.
As I lowered myself to my knees, I had to hike my skirt a bit—and, once I got there, I pulled his boxer briefs down just enough, causing his pants to slide down his legs.
I’d never looked at his cock up close like this before, and just the thought made my panties wet.
Although Sinclair had used every inch of himself to make me feel better than I ever had in my life, this part of him was the main tool in his arsenal.
It had stretched me, filled me like it was made for me—and it was this rigid state that affirmed his need for me.
And, with that thought, I tentatively licked the tip—where there was already liquid oozing out.
Even in this spacious room, I could hear how his breathing changed—how he sucked in a breath at the touch of my tongue.
It made me feel even bolder.
As I wrapped my mouth around the head of his dick, I remembered how his own tongue had brought me to climax more than once.
And I hoped to do the same thing for him.
It wasn’t long before I pulled him in as far as I could, still unable to take him all the way into my mouth, but I soon established a rhythm that felt much like making love.
His hands in my hair made it feel as if we were joining in another way.
As I continued, I could feel his cock throbbing, each rigid vein refusing to yield to my tongue.
Sinclair’s grip on my hair tightened—and then he spoke.
“Lise, your sweet lips are like heaven, but I don’t want to come in your mouth.” Before I could object, he added, “I want to look in your eyes while we go there together.”
My pussy clenched against itself, wanting exactly what he was offering—so I stood, taking his hands as he helped me to my feet.
I was reluctant to leave his cock but mollified knowing I would feel it again soon.
And this time, Sinclair didn’t waste a second.
As his mouth ravished mine, he found the button and zipper on the back of my skirt, and it whisked to the floor as if by his command.
Then he lifted me up and lay me on the dining room table.
It was wide enough for my upper body and long enough that I was nowhere near the centerpiece.
We’d never dined on this end but I remembered that dinner party months ago, filled with strangers from his day-to-day work, including that cretinous Danny who’d been ogling me from the start.
He would have been sitting where my head lay.
And I smiled, glad that tonight’s memory would overpower that one.
Sinclair raked his tongue down my chest as his hands slid underneath me, and I raised myself so he could unclasp my bra.
As soon as he did, he flung it off me and his mouth consumed my naked breast, making every nerve on my body beg for his attention.
And then he trailed his mouth down my belly before ripping the panties off my legs.
Then he pulled my body down the table toward him, and as my back dragged the runner with it, I feared yanking down the centerpiece.
So I lifted myself up some until he’d pulled me into position so that my ass was near the edge of the table, and I felt grateful that I was just out of view of the mirror because I didn’t want to see myself.
As he leaned over me, his eyes were so dark, his brow so intent that I thought he’d never looked so handsome.
And, for tonight, at least, he was mine.
When he kissed me again, he slid one hand down to my thigh, his fingers quickly finding the spot that was aching for his touch, throbbing to the beat of my heart.
But then he thrust himself into me, causing me to cry out with unexpected pleasure, relieved that I could feel him again, so deep that he was like a part of me.
Over and over, he lunged into me, hitting me in just the right spot as the seated position allowed me to gaze at his handsome face.
But it eventually became too much and I gave into the waves of pleasure rocking my brain.
As the orgasm finished and I relaxed, Sinclair drove himself into me one more time and then pulled himself out, pressing into me, his cock releasing its seed on my belly.
I let out a breath, a little panicked at first as I realized he hadn’t been wearing a condom—but then I relaxed.
This—an unplanned-for sexual encounter—was why I’d been taking birth control in the first place.
But he hadn’t known that, which was why he wasn’t taking any chances.
But why was some stupid part of my brain wishing I wasn’t on birth control?
Why did part of me decide I wanted to have his baby?
That could never happen…
and I was glad that at least, in the light of day, I’d been smart enough to know that, even if my vulnerable sexed self was clueless.