Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
MONROE
The thunder kept waking me up for the second night in a row, and with each cacophonous boom, I grew more terrified again.
Of what, I wasn’t certain, but it felt ominous.
So, like the previous night, I ran for Shaw, trying to be stealthy and unobtrusive, but as soon as I melted into his chest, his arms were around me.
Comforting me. It felt as if he was waiting for me to join him.
As the daylight now begins to peek through the curtains again, the exhaustion I’ve carried around for years dissipates, and it’s all because of the man cuddling me from behind. For another night, I didn’t wake up with night terrors, nor did I feel as if I were crawling out of my skin.
I slept. I recuperated. And now, I’m ready for the day, whatever that entails.
“You overthink when you should still be sleeping,” Shaw’s gravelly, sleep-filled voice mumbles into the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry if I intruded.” I wanted to be gone before he woke up, but I should have known better. Especially with the way he continues to hold me; only he pulls me closer.
“Don’t ever be sorry with me, darlin’. You can crawl into my bed any night.
” Shaw moves, my body slips backwards, and I stare up at him as he leans over me.
He pushes my thighs apart with one of his own and settles between my legs.
“In fact, for the future, I’m going to insist on you moving into my room. ”
“You are?” I squeak out the words.
His wolfish grin makes my belly flutter, and my insides tremble.
“Yeah. I’m not a fan of you not being in my arms at night anymore. I haven’t slept this well in a long damn time.”
There are times when Shaw is so refreshingly honest with me, and I appreciate it so much. And then there are the times when that honesty is given to me, so I’m truthful right back. This is one of those times.
“Same here.” Watching him through my thick lashes, I can tell he’s pleased with my answer. In a shocking turn of events, I lean forward and initiate a kiss.
Shaw reacts quickly, pushing me farther into the bed with one hand knotted in my hair and the other squeezing my hip; he doesn’t hesitate to take the lead on my impulsive action.
His length grows between my legs, and without thought, I lift my hips, applying pressure where we both desperately seek it.
Wrapping my arms around his back, I clasp him tight to my chest, allowing our thudding hearts to beat back the steady accusations of all my failures in my head. Slowly, so flipping slowly, my mother’s voice is drowned out by my own wishes and cravings.
Dragging my nails down Shaw’s back as he steals the little breath I possess, my fingers slip beneath his boxers, squeezing the firm globes of his backside in my palms. I'd imagined he was built tough, filled with a masculinity I’ve never paid attention to before, but to have it in the palm of my hands—literally—makes my heart skip a beat.
Wanting, needing, hungering for him to lose his precious control with me.
I don’t know where the thoughts come from, but they feel right. They’re the most real thing I’ve had the pleasure of imagining.
“If we don’t stop now”—he pulls away, breathless—“I may not be able to later.”
I open my mouth to beg him not to stop, longing for everything with him, but my logical mind kicks in, asking if I’m ready to give myself to a man. The answer is as simple as it is complicated.
“I’m a one-time, forever kind of girl, Shaw.” I know how little sense that makes; it sounds contradictory. But he understands anyway.
“I realize that,” he assures.
“I’ve only ever dreamed of giving myself to the man I marry.” My voice cracks a little at the end because that dream occurred before I was turned into a Barbie doll. I haven’t thought about it in years, and if I’m being truthful, I don’t know how I feel anymore.
“Knew that too.” His eyes soften. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want, Monroe.” I nod. “Come on, let’s hit the showers.” Shaw climbs off, gripping my hand and pulling me along behind him.
“Together?” I gasp as we enter his bathroom. It’s functional, rustic in a way. The shower is huge. Rivaling some I’ve seen in hotels.
“Together,” he confirms and turns on the water before coming over to me and yanking my shirt up and over my head. I’m so shocked I don’t react. “Damn,” he groans while hooking his thumbs in my shorts and dragging them and my thong down my legs before removing his own clothing.
Surprised, I can only follow along as he pulls me into the stall with him. Warm water caresses my back, and Shaw’s hands rest on my hips before he lowers his head and presses me against the cool tile wall.
“I understand that you don’t know what you want yet, Monroe.” He whispers the words against my lips. “But I do. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here. Waiting and willing to give you everything your heart desires.”
How can he be so sure?
My time with Shaw seems to fly by. He’s methodical and calculated, yet not. He always seems to plan out his next move before making it, then just when I think he’s about to do one thing, he does the opposite.
Like now, it’s pouring rain outside, and it doesn't look like it’s letting up any time soon, but because I was depressed about not getting to spend time with Marilyn as she cried into the sky, Shaw moved the outdoor umbrella and heater to an area where I could sit with her in a lounge chair.
She’s quiet as she watches me read an old mystery paperback from Shaw’s office, but she seems content.
I know I am. Even now, I can feel the man's gaze observing me from the confines of his office. I haven’t gathered the courage to ask him what he does in there yet because I wasn’t sure it was my business, but the more he hints at a future between us, the more curious I become.
Ringing in my pocket draws my attention, and without looking at the call display, I answer, “Hello?”
“Marilyn Monroe, it’s been forever, and you haven’t even checked in with me.
Could you be any more self-centered? I’ve spent my life making sure you have everything you could possibly need, and you couldn’t be bothered to let me know whether you were safe from that brute of a man? ” I cringe at my mother’s voice.
I didn’t expect to hear from her. Especially after Shaw shut off all locations and tracking on my phone when I arrived, and she hadn’t called complaining about getting the boot from his ranch.
“Hello, Mother. How are you?” I reply with the expected response because the words I want to expel are too cruel to say out loud to the woman who gave me life.
“Angry, Marilyn. I am angry,” she huffs, and I can picture her with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of vodka in the other.
“This was your idea.” I point out the obvious and can almost feel her getting ready to blow a gasket.
“Listen, you ungrateful little bitch. I made you, and I can break you.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve set out to do with this little stunt?” I’m as shocked as she is by the words I’m courageously speaking. “You did hire someone to pretend to threaten and stalk me, didn’t you?” Now, more than ever, I believe it to be true. Even if it shreds my heart.
“How could you say such a thing!” Her outrage doesn’t mask the truth. “That filthy cowboy is filling your head with all kinds of lies. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, you’re not,” I groan. “I’m not coming back to California.”
Silence greets my declaration. I’m going to regret this.
“Why, you snot-nosed brat, you damn well are. You have obligations and contracts to fulfill, and so help me, you’ll come willingly or by force.”
I believe that threat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shaw storming his way over, and I know things are about to escalate. Instead, I turn the phone towards my face, peel off the bandage, and tear at the healing skin until it bleeds. I snap a photo and send it to her.
“I’m not coming back, and you’ll see why. You’ve made it so I’ll scar my own body to avoid another moment in your presence, Mother. I’m done. I quit. You’re fired. Whatever. But you and me? We’re no more.”
Lifting the phone over my head, Shaw grabs it, and I stand, walking out into the rain, not wanting to hear him lay into her.
I’ll never understand my mother’s hatred towards me. She’s supposed to love me, cherish me, but she constantly treats me as though I don’t matter, and for so many years, I’ve tried to change it. To be good enough.
But I’m not.
And now I know I never will be.
It’s a truth I’ll have to learn to live with. Even if I don’t know how.
As Mari calls out, I empathize with her sorrow. The deep sense of loss of someone who was supposed to be a profound influence in your life is suffocating.