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Holy shit.
“And even when it was over, my world stayed in focus because of her. And it stayed that way until I met you.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Tentatively, he smoothes a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.
“You turned my world on its head.” He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are raw. “My world was ordered, calm and controlled, then you
came into my life with your smart mouth, your i
was nothing.”
Oh, my.
“I fell in love,” he whispers.
I stop breathing. He caresses my cheek.
“So did I,” I murmur with the little breath I have left.
His eyes soften. “I know,” he mouths.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Hallelujah! I smile shyly at him. “Finally,” I whisper.
He nods. “And it’s put everything into perspective for me. When I was younger, Elena was the center of my world. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
And she did a lot for me. She stopped my drinking. Made me work hard at school . . . You know, she gave me a coping mechanism I hadn’t had before, allowed
me to experience things that I never thought I could.”
“Touch,” I whisper.
He nods. “After a fashion.”
I frown, wondering what he means.
He hesitates at my reaction.
He hesitates at my reaction.
Tell me! I will him.
“If you grow up with a wholly negative self-image, thinking you’re some kind of reject, an unlovable savage, you think you deserve to be beaten.”
Christian . . . you are none of those things.
He pauses and runs his hand through his hair. “Ana, it’s much easier to wear your pain on the outside . . .” Again, it’s a confession.
Oh.
“She cha
It was only recently that I saw our relationship for what it was. You know . . . on my birthday.”
I shudder as the unwelcome memory of Elena and Christian verbally eviscerating each other at Christian’s birthday party surfaces unwelcome in my mind.
“For her that side of our relationship was about sex and control and a lonely woman finding some kind of comfort with her boy toy.”
“But you like control,” I whisper.
“Yes. I do. I always will, Ana. It’s who I am. I surrendered it for a brief while. Let someone make all my decisions for me. I couldn’t do it myself—I wasn’t in a
fit state. But through my submission to her, I found myself and found the strength to take charge of my life . . . take control and make my own decisions.”
“Become a Dom?”
“Yes.”
“Your decision?”
“Yes.”
“Dropping out of Harvard?”
“My decision, and it was the best decision I ever made. Until I met you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” His lips quirk up in a soft smile. “The best decision I ever made was marrying you.”
Oh my. “Not starting your company?”
He shakes his head.
“Not learning to fly?”
He shakes his head. “You,” he mouths. He caresses my cheek with his knuckles. “She knew,” he whispers.
I frown. “She knew what?”
“That I was head over heels in love with you. She encouraged me to go down to Georgia to see you, and I’m glad she did. She thought you’d freak out and
leave. Which you did.”
I pale. I’d rather not think about that.
“She thought I needed all the trappings of the lifestyle I enjoyed.”
“The Dom?” I whisper.
He nods. “It enabled me to keep everyone at arm’s length, gave me control, and kept me detached, or so I thought. I’m sure you’ve worked out why,” he adds
softly.
“Your birth mom?”
“I didn’t want to be hurt again. And then you left me.” His words are barely audible. “And I was a mess.”
Oh, no.
“I’ve avoided intimacy for so long—I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re doing fine,” I murmur. I trace his lips with my index finger. He purses them into a kiss. You’re talking to me.
“Do you miss it?” I whisper.
“Miss it?”
“That lifestyle.”
“Yes, I do.”
Oh!
“But only insofar as I miss the control it brings. And frankly, your stupid stunt”—he stops—“that saved my sister,” he whispers, his words full of relief, awe, and
disbelief. “That’s how I know.”
“Know?”
“Really know that you love me.”
I frown. “You do?”
“Yes. Because you risked so much . . . for me, for my family.”
My frown deepens. He reaches over and traces his finger over the middle of my brow above my nose.
“You have a V here when you frown,” he murmurs. “It’s very soft to kiss. I can behave so badly . . . and yet you’re still here.”
“Why are you surprised I’m still here? I told you I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“Because of the way that I behaved when you told me you were pregnant.” He runs his finger down my cheek. “You were right. I am an adolescent.”
Oh shit . . . I did say that. My subconscious glares at me. His doctor said that!
“Christian, I said some awful things.” He puts his index finger over my lips.
“Hush. I deserved to hear them. Besides this is my bedtime story.” He rolls onto his back again.
“When you told me you were pregnant—” He stops. “I’d thought it would be just you and me for a while. I’d considered children, but only in the abstract. I had
this vague idea we’d have a child sometime in the future.”
Just one? No . . . Not an only child. Not like me. Perhaps now’s not the best time to bring that up.
“You are still so young, and I know you’re quietly ambitious.”
Ambitious? Me?
“Well, you pulled the rug from under me. Christ, was that unexpected. Never in a million years, when I asked you what was wrong, did I expect you to be
pregnant.” He sighs. “I was so mad. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. And it took me back, that feeling of nothing being in my control. I had to get out.
I went to see Fly
“Ironic,” I whisper. Christian smirks in agreement.
“So I walked and walked and walked, and I just . . . found myself at the salon. Elena was leaving. She was surprised to see me. And, truth be told, I was
surprised to find myself there. She could tell I was mad and asked me if I wanted a drink.”
Oh shit. We’ve cut to the chase. My heart doubles in speed. Do I really want to know this? My subconscious glares at me, a plucked eyebrow raised in warning.
Oh shit. We’ve cut to the chase. My heart doubles in speed. Do I really want to know this? My subconscious glares at me, a plucked eyebrow raised in warning.
“We went to a quiet bar I know and had a bottle of wine. She apologized for the way she behaved the last time she saw us. She’s hurt that my mom will have
nothing to do with her any more—it’s narrowed her social circle—but she understands. We talked about the business, which is doing fine, in spite of the
recession . . . I mentioned that you wanted kids.”
I frown. “I thought you let her know I was pregnant.”
He regards me, his face guileless. “No, I didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
He shrugs. “I never got the chance.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I couldn’t find you the next morning, Ana. And when I did, you were so mad at me . . .”
Oh, yes. “I was.”
“Anyway, at some point in the evening—about halfway through the second bottle—she leaned over to touch me. And I froze,” he whispers, throwing his arm
over his eyes.
My scalp tingles. What’s this?
“She saw that I recoiled from her. It shocked both of us.” His voice is low, too low.
Christian look at me! I tug at his arm and he lowers it, turning to gaze into my eyes. Shit. His face is pale, his eyes wide.