But as content as this knowledge makes me, when he does decide to speak, he asks exactly the question I don’t want to answer. “How did your father die?”
My heart warms, and at the same time lurches at his interest in my past. There are so many conversations I’d love to have with this man, but this is not one of them. I hope against all hope he’s in a generous mood when I speak. “Please don’t ask me to talk about my father.”
But I should have known better. Derek gets his way. It is a simple fact of life for him. The narrowing eyes tell me instantly that joining me in the bath was perhaps generous, but letting his question go is asking too much. He continues to appraise me with his head cocked to the side, waiting.
When it is clear he’ll wait an eternity if he has to, I give in, and I open up. “He was killed.” My voice is quiet, and my face feels tight.
The memories start to hit my heart like a meteor shower raining down, and the muscles in my face start to twitch and contort. I don’t want to do this, but as he speaks, it is clear he does, and we will. “And your mother? Where is she?” The eyes are penetrating, but his voice is gentle and caring.
He knows I’m uncomfortable, but he isn’t going to back down. He wants to know my secrets, and I should be happy for the interest, but why this secret? The desperation and fear must be evident on my face as he reaches gently for my leg and caresses my ankle intimately. Derek doesn’t do caresses. He doesn’t do intimacy, and yet I’m learning very quickly he does it so perfectly. I melt at his touch as the dark warmth of his eyes meets what is likely panic in my own.
My next answer comes as a whisper. “She’s dead too.”
“How?” He watches me calmly.
His hand is still on my ankle, and I wish for his touch to leave me. I can’t deny his touch, and these memories are too painful.
“Please don’t.” I’m begging even though I know I’ll tell him everything he wants to know for this touch.
He pulls my ankle gently toward his hip as my body glides smoothly toward him. Once he’s pulled me up to straddle his hips, and my face is mere inches from his, he speaks again. “How?”
If I’d thought I’d been whispering before, my voice is barely audible when I speak next. “She was killed too.”
“Where were you?” His eyes are wide with interest and perhaps a bit of shock. His hand holds me gently at the small of my back.
“Watching.” I croak out the answer as my eyes flit away as quickly as I can move them.
His eyes widen considerably as the shock sets in, but he remains calm and quiet. He doesn’t push further. He appraises me with his ever-watchful gaze, swallowing over a lump in his throat, but he says nothing. I’m close to his body, so close, and I want nothing else but to enjoy this closeness, but I can’t. I’m frozen in my vulnerability. He’s so close to my secret, so dangerously close. With each passing second he allows me to keep my silence, I relax a bit further. His hands move to my hips, holding me firmly to his groin. I’m frozen and breathing more shallowly than I ought to, and as I continue to look at him, he runs his hands gently up my back. Another caress. Since when does he caress? Like everything, he’s exceptional at it.
His hands run up and down, always returning to my hips, and then they fall to my bottom. Clutching each cheek, he squeezes and pulls me hard to him. It’s intimate, but not overtly sexual, and I wonder again where this sudden softness has come from. I want to reach for him, but I can’t. Or maybe I won’t. Would he stop me? I want to wrap my arms around him, pull my chest to his, but can I do that?
As I continue to look at him, and he continues to gently rub my bottom, I ask. He’s asked so much of me, why can’t I ask something from him as well? “Can I touch you?” I can’t disguise the hopefulness in my voice, and I’m sure it shows clearly in my wide-open eyes as well.
He regards me intently. Again, his jaw clenches and releases in his consternation. Eventually, he nods, and as he continues to gaze at me, I run my thumb gently and slowly down his neck. When my hand reaches his chest, my other joins it, and I run them around his sides, enfolding him in my arms. As I pull myself to his chest, and my head slowly sinks to his shoulder, I continue to watch his eyes. They are watching me as well, intrigued. In the last moment I see them before my head drops to his shoulder, they flutter closed as he exhales the deep breath he’s kept captive since feeling my touch.
I’m tense and nervous against his chest, but when he doesn’t push me away and his breathing deepens and calms, I start to relax into his body. He slowly starts to caress me again, and my nervous tension releases entirely. I listen with my ear to his chest as his heart beats strongly and surely. I revel in the closeness, and in my contented state, I decide to test the waters. I usually know when I’m playing with fire, and I’m usually powerless to stop my mouth from pushing further. This time is no exception, but he’s asked me to give him so many of my own secrets. Doesn’t he owe me just one of his own?
I pull my body reluctantly from him and inhale a deep breath. “Why do you and Mr. Grayson hate one another so much?” I almost instantly regret asking the question as his face hardens. My regret at having spoken is also quite usual as well…
But, I hold his eyes steady nevertheless, and, eventually, he lets out a deep relenting breath. “A disagreement about one of the women that worked here.”
I’m suddenly hit with a pang of jealousy. “Were you attracted to her?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer. My heart is gripped by an incredibly painful vise that threatens to break me in two. I know what this pain means, and I don’t welcome it. It means I care. Not a good idea, as Liz made clear.
His face is puzzled, amused even, as he shakes his head. “No, not in the least.”
“Well, you must have cared for her if she caused such a disagreement…” My tone is almost accusatory, and I chastise the weakness in my voice even as the words are spoken.
He smirks. “Very much, but not in the way you assume.” His smirk lasts as he slowly pulls my body back down to his. It’s the last of his secrets he’s going to give me, and he’s making this point very clear.
I’m once again planted firmly to his chest, and it isn’t until the water cools to uncomfortable and a chill takes over my body that he pulls the drain.
When we’re dried and our towels dropped to the side of the bathtub, he again takes my hand and leads me back out of the bathroom. He stops us at the bed, and my body warms with desire for him again. He runs a gentle hand down my arm as he leans down to my ear from behind me, his cock gently tickling my back.
“Do you want me again?” His voice is warm and seductive.
I nod without hesitation as I turn to him. A slight smirk, bordering on a smile, crosses his mouth, and he leaves me to crawl onto the bed. He lies in the middle of the bed looking up at me. My pathetic jealously is instantly forgotten as I kneel next to him. The look in his eyes is for me, and not for some woman that meant something to him long ago in a different time.
I’m waiting patiently for him to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, he strokes his cock gently while I watch. After a couple of strokes, he holds himself erect by his shaft. I look to his eyes, but he still refuses to speak. So I lean my mouth down to him, but this isn’t what he wants. He stills me by a gentle hand on my shoulder and a slight shake of the head. He reaches between my legs and runs his index finger the length of my wet slit before he rubs my moisture over the engorged head of his cock, and now I understand. He wants me to fuck him.