Chapter 12
Moira
I’ve avoided
talking to Zach for three days now. It’s not been hard, since
he’s not talking to me. I’ve offered to take him places
but he’s declined, stating that he had some books he wanted to
read. He’s sequestered himself in his room and comes out at
meal times, eating silently and acknowledging any questions I might
have with short, one-word answers.
I know I shocked him
when I wouldn’t do as he demanded the other day. God, I wanted
so badly for him to fuck me from behind like he ordered, but
something inside of me refused to bend. Zach is shying away from the
intimacy involved in sex, trying to hold on tight to his control. I
have a feeling that losing his discipline may be too much for Zach to
bear at this moment, and I don’t want him to do something he’s
not comfortable with.
Yet, I can’t
be the one that bends to his every whim either. I’m not built
that way. Not for the long term anyway.
I’ll never
regret for a moment giving in to him that first time. Letting him pin
me to the floor in a glorious display of superior dominion. It’s
something I had been naughtily dreaming of since the day I first laid
eyes on him. I know Zach’s inherent nature is to dominate, to
force submission, and even the second time we had sex, he had to
assert his will on me.
Once the dam was
broken within me, I knew there was no going back. I couldn’t
undo what we had done, and I don’t want to. I also want to do
it again, and again, and again with him. But I have an inherent
nature too, and I desire having a two-way street when it comes to my
sexuality. I like to give, and I want him to receive, but Zach has to
want that too. And unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like he wants
that at all.
I’m also a
woman—let’s not forget that. And it about killed me when
Zach walked away from me the other night, even as I still had
sparkles of pleasure coursing through me. Any fantasies of Zach
pulling me in his arms and stroking my hair with tenderness were
quashed right there.
So I’m not
sure where that leaves us. My feelings are tied up, but I also have
to keep my eye on the prize. And that’s making sure Zach has a
healthy adjustment here in this new world he’s facing. I can’t
do that if we’re both tied up in knots over the uncertainty of
where we stand with each other. The only problem is, I don’t
know how to approach any of this with Zach, so I’ve kept my
silence and bided my time.
Unfortunately, time
is up. Randall Cannon is eager for us to visit him in Atlanta, and I
can’t put him off any longer.
Walking back to
Zach’s room, I knock softly on the door. “Zach?”
I can hear the creak
of the bed and then footsteps. He opens the door, just a few inches,
and peers out at me.
“You got a
minute to talk?”
“Sure,”
he says, following me out into the living room. He’s wearing a
pair of olive green cargo shorts and nothing else. They ride low on
his lean hips, and I wonder if there will ever be a time that I can
look at him without my mouth going dry.
I sit down on the
couch and he takes the seat at the other end, angling his body toward
me while flipping his arm over the back cushion casually.
“Randall
called this morning. He’s anxious for us to come out so you can
meet. I’d like to book us a flight out of here tomorrow.”
I expect a fight out
of Zach because he has been vocal all along about his distaste of
Randall Cannon. While I think he’s forgiven me for my role in
our transgressions against him, he’s still harboring a world of
bitter feelings against his godfather.
“How long will
we be staying there?”
I shrug my
shoulders. “I’m not sure. Maybe just a few days. I know
he’s eager to get to know you.”
“Yet I don’t
want to get to know him,” he says.
“I know,”
I say with a frustrated sigh. “So, let’s plan on two
days, and then we can come back if you want.”
“Fine,”
Zach says and starts to stand from the couch.
“Wait a
minute,” I say desperately because I can’t stand the cold
shoulder I’ve been getting. I miss the easy humor that had
started appearing within Zach not long ago, and I miss his innocent
curiosity about things. I miss just talking to him, and I’m
dying for something here. “Are you mad at me… because I
wouldn’t do as you asked the other day?”
Zach flops back down
on the cushion and scrubs his hands through his hair. He turns to
look at me, “No, I’m not mad. Frustrated, but not mad.”
“I’m
sorry,” I tell him honestly. “I’m not being
contrary. I just… I’m built differently from the women
you’re used to, and I just can’t submit to your demands
all the time.”
“I know,
Moira,” Zach says quietly… a bit sadly. “I think
that was just a good reminder that I don’t belong in this
place. The way you are… so confident and sure of yourself. You
want certain things, and you know what’s best for you. You
don’t need a man… not really. It’s hard for me to
accept.”
My heart sinks over
his words because I recognize the finality in his tone. I want to
argue and rage against what he’s saying. I want to tell him to
try something new, to give it a chance. But I can’t go there.
It would be me arguing for something that I want personally, not what
is best for Zach. I’m not here to change him, only to help him
understand things. It sounds to me that he understands the way of
things well enough though, and that means I need to leave it alone.
“Look,”
Zach says, standing from the couch again. “I’m going to
go get packed up. Just let me know when we’re leaving, and I’ll
be ready.”
“Okay,”
I murmur, feeling the desperate need to latch onto further
conversation, but realizing in my heart, there isn’t anything
more to say.
The plane trip to
Atlanta is uneventful and after a twenty-minute cab ride, we are
finally pulling into an immensely long driveway bordered by stately
oak trees. It winds along for a good quarter mile, and then we round
a bend, revealing a massive Tudor-style mansion. It sprawls on
forever with steeply pitched roofs, half-timbered panels inlaid with
herringbone brickwork, a sprawling porch that could hold about a
hundred people, and tall, mullioned windows that reflect the early
afternoon sun.
The cabbie pulls up
in a large, circular driveway, and the front door immediately opens
as we get out of the car. I see Randall walking down the front steps,
looking fit in a pair of pressed khaki shorts, a white polo shirt,
and brown loafers. He’s followed by a man in about his forties,
wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt.
“Sam…
get their bags and bring them up to their rooms,” Randall says
to the man, who doesn’t cut us a glance but does as he’s
told.
“There you
are,” Randall says in welcome, and I can feel Zach tense up
beside me. Randall’s eyes drink in every bit of Zach, starting
from his head and working down. When his eyes come back up, I can
tell he’s a bit taken aback at the icy look on Zach’s
face. Randall turns to me, and says, “It’s lovely to see
you again, Moira.”
I shake his hand and
turn to Zach. “Randall… this is Zach Easton.”
Randall beams and
holds his hand out to Zach, who reluctantly but politely takes it.
“Of course, this is Zach. He looks just like he did when he was
a little boy. Welcome, Zach. Welcome to my home, and I want you to
feel like this is your own home.”
Zach grimaces and
doesn’t say a word. Randall releases his hand, and the silence
gets a little awkward.
“Yes…
well, come in. I’m sure you’re tired from your travels.
I’ll have Sam show you to your rooms, and we’ll plan on
doing dinner around seven tonight. Zach… I have a lot of
pictures of your parents I’d love to show you, and of course, I
want to get to know you all over again.”
Zach still doesn’t
respond, so I jump in. “That sounds like a great plan, Randall.
I’m sure we could use a bit of a rest before dinner, right
Zach?”
“Sure,”
is all he says, and we follow Randall into the house.
We step into a
marbled foyer with twin, curving staircases that lead up to the
second floor. The walls are paneled in a rich mahogany and studded
with expensive-looking oil paintings. A large, round table sits in
the middle of the foyer with a fresh flower arrangement of stargazer
lilies that has to stretch upward at least four feet and fills the
air with their heavy perfume.
“Sam…
could you show Zach to his room? I’d like a word with Moira for
a moment.”
Reaching out, I
touch Zach lightly on his elbow. “I’ll stop in to see you
in a little bit, okay?”
He nods and follows
Sam up the staircase.
“Let’s
go into the library,” Randall says, and I follow him into a
room off the foyer that takes my breath away. Three stories tall, the
library is stacked floor to ceiling with shelves of books in the same
dark mahogany wood. Each floor has a balcony that lines each wall,
and a massive spiral staircase winds upward to allow you to climb up
the stacks of books. The furniture is leather, deeply cushioned, and
a deep blue color. A large fireplace takes up one wall, but it’s
empty, given that we are in the middle of summer in the south. An
ornately carved, wooden desk that is curved into almost a horseshoe
design is at one end of the room, with a single laptop sitting on top
of it.
The room reeks of
elegance, but it’s also cozy, as I would expect a library to
be. It totally fits the man, and I remember back to the first time I
met Randall Cannon in his office in downtown Atlanta.
“ Dr. Reed…
Mr. Cannon will see you now,” I heard from the receptionist and
looked up to see her smiling at me.
I stood from the
plush leather chair I was sitting in and followed her down a wide
hallway decorated with sumptuous carpeting, fabric-covered walls, and
artwork that looked like it would belong in The Met.
Hastily wiping my
hands against the wool fabric of my slacks, I took a deep breath.
This meeting was
huge.
It could change
the course of my career, and I was willing to do whatever it took to