KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (3 page)

Even just this once.

She still didn’t speak, but she moved her head to the other side, and I heard her sigh. The sound was nearly mind-changing. To the point where I wanted to bury my face in her until she wailed out my name.

I needed to know a few things first.

“Why are you here, and what the fuck do you want from me?”

Nora—Saturday, September 18, 2010

N
ow he wanted to talk?

My ass in the air. My face in the sheets. Exposed. Nervous. Raw. Bared. Desperate. And if I was honest with myself, a little frightened.

No.
He wanted me to feel vulnerable. If he knew everything—like he always did—why couldn’t he tell I already was?

I exhaled again, this time silently. I didn’t want him to know that I was as affected as I was. That I craved the way he possessed my body. Or that the root of everything was that I had missed him so terribly.

Was this what we were now? Was this who I was to him? Just another woman. The scratch to a fiery itch.

There had been a time when his attention made me nervous, made me insecure. Angry even. But being without it was unbearable.

He’d always been intense. At times, it was like he could see right inside of my transparent flesh, looking for a different girl.

Maybe she was me. Maybe she wasn’t. I didn’t know; I never helped him look.

Reality was, I was there in Oregon after I’d turned him down once again. Same old song and dance.

Still, he let me in.

That gave me hope, but, naked as I was, I didn’t have anywhere to put it.

Giving in and going to him, I’d thought, maybe we could have one night without labels. One night without the shade of our differences cooling everything around us. One night where I was
mostly
me, and he was
mostly
him.

However, I’d heard my tone, it was like I was with someone else, too. I tried to tune everything out and just concentrate on the sex, but it wasn’t working. Not with him. Somehow he always penetrated where no one else could go. Not only sexually, but emotionally—no matter how I’d struggled with it.

Still, he wasn’t himself either. His tone had a strident metallic edge. My will was hinged on telling him to cut the shit and just going with it. Accepting it for what it was.

Tolerance won. Because as frustrated as he made me, the mercury inside me rose. Reagan Warren knew every switch and what it was wired to on my body. He’d flipped them all at one time or another.

Trying to hide the defiance in my voice, I answered, “You said you wanted me here. I don’t want anything from you.”

That was a lie. I hoped he believed it because otherwise, he’d want something in return. More than just me showing up. He was the only person on Earth I’d ever consider giving more to, but it would have been unfair to him.

Look at us.

“I
said
I wanted you to come to my sister’s wedding
with me
, not show up in the middle of the night naked on my hotel bed. You see? Those are two, very different things.” His voice was low, stripped of emotion. Exhausted, yet nowhere near tired. His weakness always uncovered my strength. I used what little power that gave me to forge on.

He’d kissed my skin, and I could still feel the ghost of where his lips touched me.

“I know they are different things, but I changed my mind about coming. I was just
late
.”

Late
. With Reagan, the statement better late than never wasn’t the case. If I’d been able to make the wedding, I would have. It simply wasn’t possible by the time I’d decided to come.

He ran a finger down the pad of my foot, and it tickled, but not enough to jerk away. Then he took my toe in his hand and gripped it, running his thumb over it.

That stupid toe.
Our perfect inside joke, or was it?

His free hand swept up the outside of my other leg, and I felt his breath against my thigh. I’m not sure if it was because of the position I was in, or if it was the familiar jolt of him reacting with my nerves, but I shivered, and I felt my muscles tremble against my skin.

I’m sure he didn’t believe me. Who would fall for that twice?

Only this time it was true.

“You weren’t ever going to go to the wedding. You know it.”

It didn’t look good for me. I didn’t go to weddings; I’d conveniently always had something else going on—but for once I was making an exception. I’d tried.

Only I couldn’t get a flight that would get me to Oregon on time. It was the best I could do.

Now, there he was shutting me out. The scene was more like how I’d always assumed he was with other women. It was similar to stories he’d told me after too much wine in the beginning. Stories I’d scoffed at.

What did I know?

Unpredictably, displayed like I was, I felt far from humiliated, forced, or intimidated, but he couldn’t see my rotting heart.

He wasn’t cruel in the bedroom.
Ever
. That wasn’t his nature. No, he loved pleasing more than anything. That thought gave me comfort, and I submitted to the seduction. It was all I could give him and, honestly, I trusted him. Always had.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I bargained, and I meant it.

I had no more tricks. There was no score. In that moment, giving in to him was the only thing that felt like winning, and I hated it. It would be his flesh inside mine, but hindsight would be fucking me.

There was no way I could make myself happy. It was too late for that. There were no more loopholes—especially if he was behaving that way. He’d always said it was different with me. He felt more with me. Felt everything
with me
. It wrecked me knowing this was the way he was with
them
. A downgrade.

He had been special with me; I’d been special with him, too.

Had I ever told him that? Had I known?

No.
For shame.

Did the blame belong to fear or inexperience this time?

He pulled away from me, and my flesh cooled in response. Then he asked, sounding displaced and fallow, “Where would we even start?”

Was he the same man? The one who chased me? The one who bought me perfume just so he could sample it from
my
skin?

He’d been so powerful and restrained.

He’d
always
had a plan.

He probably wanted the girl with the bum toe who’d read him Cosmopolitan in bed.

Where was that guy who found loopholes in arrangements he’d made himself?

I wanted him back.
I wanted Reggie
.

Then he said something very promising. “I’ll tell you where I’d like to start.”

Reggie—Friday, November 9, 2007

I
’d like to start with: I was aware I’d already looked at my watch. Repeatedly.

Eight twenty-nine.

She was late.

It was a first date, and, honestly, I could have picked from hundreds of other things to do on a Friday night.

I’d arrived at our agreed upon location, a great steakhouse called Bryant’s I’d wanted to revisit anyway. Lauren—
my prospective date
—had said she would be in the neighborhood of the restaurant, and so that’s why I was there waiting on her.

Waiting
was
not
my forte. Never had been.

I didn’t like letting someone have that kind of power over me.

Still, I was sensible. Perhaps there was a reason she was running behind?

Our date was at eight thirty, and when I looked at my watch again, it was precisely that.

I was from the school of thought that imparted, “Fifteen minutes early was on time. On time was late.” Not everyone followed the same principles though, and since she had a beautiful figure and a very sweet smile, I’d wait a while because I’d asked her out for dinner.

I flagged down the waiter, ready to order a drink. Initially, I’d intended to order one when she arrived, but I was moving on.

I was thirsty. Call it a compromise.

He hurriedly walked toward me with an expectant look on his young face. “Sir, what can I get for you?”

“I’ll take an ice-cold Heineken, please.”

He glanced at the still empty seat, and then gave me a sympathetic nod before walking off to place the order.

How long would I wait for her?

How long could I tolerate that
you’re-being-stood-up
face from the server?

If waiting wasn’t my forte, then pity was something far worse.

I was Reggie Warren, youngest junior partner in Price-McClelland history, the fastest growing wealth management firm in the country. A business prodigy. I had a long way to go, but I was headed in the right direction. I wasn’t king of the world, but I was worth being on time for and totally undeserving of anyone’s sympathy.

It was one of the senior partners who’d suggested I start dating. According to Justin Beckham, the company was a very cleanly ran operation. Very straight-laced. The board was seated with good men. From what I was told, they liked a family image, and relied on their honorable reputations in societal circles to help grow their slate-clean presence in an ugly, and recently tarnished, view of the investment business nationwide.

Companies much larger than the one I worked for were going under right and left.

It was ours which had actually managed money properly in the recent economic downturn. There were still chancy deals too good to pass up, but those were limited. Our good name was built on responsibility and security.

Things had fallen apart in our industry for companies who didn’t manage their risks well. It turned out damn near all of them were caught up playing a game they’d help create, and losing at it.

Price-McClelland’s hit was less significant on a revolutionary scale. Most of our larger customers had split their wealth over time, not having too many eggs in one basket. Facts were facts, and those customers knew who they could trust. While other companies scrambled to erase, deal, and come to terms with possible failure, ours prospered.

Customers moved more of their funds to us. They came to trust us, because when money had been in our hands, well, frankly, it stayed there. Better still—it grew.

It was a very reputable corporation. That’s why I’d aggressively sought and acquired a position there. In a very short time, about two years, I’d made a lot of money for everyone. The customers. The company. And me.