“So what now?” I ask.
“Do you understand now?”
“I think I do.”
“It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No. Actually, I can’t believe I am about to say this.”
“What?”
“I don’t hate her so much anymore.”
“That’s why I like being a Dom, people are much more enjoyable when they do what you tell them to.”
“But you can’t control everyone.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not interested in everyone. Though I’d beg to differ that you can’t control most people.”
“So you think you can control me?”
“No. You and I, we do what we want.” He knows he doesn’t have to control me, I’d willingly follow him off of a cliff.
“But isn’t that what this is all about? Me surrendering?” The word comes out of my mouth as though it weighs 1000 pounds.
“It’s still your choice. You always have a choice. I was just helping you allow yourself to make it. But damn you make it hard. It’s like breaking in a mare. I’ve never wanted someone so badly who has made it so difficult for me to give her what she wants.”
“I can’t believe I just did that…I say, rolling onto my stomach and covering my face with my hands. I just met her.”
“That’s the thing, you didn’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I know what you want. I can sense your limits, I can tell when you want something.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, instinct I guess. Your kisses taste sweeter, your scent, the way you move, the pitch of your voice when you moan. You don’t know you want it, but your body tells me you do.”
“You and your psychic sex panther ways.”
Taylor rolls his eyes. “I just want you to see, this is not about a competition. Even if it was, you’ve won by light years. It’s my responsibility to take you to those places you can’t go yourself. Sometimes it’s scary, but those risks carry the greatest rewards. Lane was never a threat in any way and now you know that from experience, not just words.”
“Sorry, I just get so jealous. I want you all to myself.”
“You have me all to yourself.”
“I know, but even before we met, it’s like I want to go back into time and claim you.”
“You’ve had me since I was four years old, Shy.”
My beautiful little guardian.
“Will we come back here?”
“I think you’d like that.”
“I’m still scared. What will be next?”
“Scared is good, it’s what makes us feel so deeply. I don’t know what’s next, I know when I’m in the moment. No other man will have you though. I’m not interested in sharing you.”
“Does that go both ways?”
“I only want you.”
“What’s the benefit of coming to a club then?”
“Oh there are other ways to use people. Lane barely touched you, and it had a great effect.”
“You made me feel like a queen today.”
“Like I said, it’s my responsibility to make you feel good.”
“You make me feel so bad.”
“Oh, but you are.”
***
The ride home is quiet, but comfortably so. Exhausted from the emotionally loaded day, I want to crawl into bed with Taylor, feel his warm skin enveloping mine. It’s just past 3am when we return the car to the garage and tip toe back into the house. Feeling like two teenagers who stole daddy’s car, we creep through the home, hoping not to get caught. As I try to stifle my giggles, I poke Taylor to try and make him laugh. Of course he’s not ticklish, so he wraps his arms around me, playfully swinging me in a circle. As we make the full turn, Randall is standing at the end of the dark hallway in his robe and pajamas watching us with a smirk.
“Hi,” Taylor says stiffly. “Sorry, did we wake you?”
“No, I was having a tough time sleeping tonight. You two just getting in?”
“Yes,” Taylor responds.
Please don’t notice my hooker boots.
“Looks like you were having some fun.” He finally got a glimpse of the Taylor he was so curious about.
“Yes, it was a long night. We’re tired. We’re heading to go to bed.” I stand there in silence, feeling so busted even though we never needed permission to go out in the first place, being adults and all.
“Well, goodnight or good morning I suppose.”
“Goodnight,” both Taylor and I say in unison.
“Oh Taylor,” Randall says as we are about to enter the bedroom.
“Yeah?”
“Did you enjoy the Rolls?”
Taylor grins, the glimmer of youth illuminates his face. “Yeah, dad. She’s all in one piece; I promise.”
Dad. He knows how to play people so well.
We slide into the bedroom and once the door is closed, we let out muffled laughs.
“Wait, did you really not tell your dad you were taking it?” I whisper. I thought Taylor was sort of joking about that or that his father wouldn’t care.
“Shyla, I wasn’t bullshitting you. He never lets anyone touch his Rolls, even me.”
I shove him. “You always drag me into your shenanigans. Now he thinks I am a terrible influence on you,” I whisper loudly.
“But you are. I wanted to impress the pretty girl who I was taking out tonight,” he says, throwing me over his shoulder. I let out a yelp. “Shhhh! Randall’s gonna ground me,” Taylor says throwing me on the bed. “I am so beat.”
“Me too.”
We both yank off our clothes, and entwine with each other, becoming a crumpled, sleeping pile of limbs on the large wooden canopy bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The ride back from the Holden estate is sunnier and warmer than the ride up.
“I have plans for you,” Taylor says.
“Such as?”
“Oh, you’ll see in time.”
“Why does that make me nervous?”
“Because you know I’m disturbed.”
“Well, at least you’re self-aware.”
“I may have many issues, lacking self awareness was never one of them. I know myself very well.”
“I always thought I did, but apparently, I don’t know anything about myself.”
“You are very self-assured, I just think you are far more complex than you give yourself credit for.”
I ponder the thought for a second, and he’s right. Accepting the job offer, leaving Rick for Taylor, my tendency towards masochism, helping Taylor frame Eric, I guess I am rather complex. And to think I always found myself to be rather dull.
“Maybe complexity is not such a good thing,” I say.
“It’s the best thing.”
My cell phone rings, I pull it out of my jacket pocket and sneak a peek, it’s MacAllister.
Shit.
I ignore the call.
“Who was it?”
“Wrong number.”
“It said Mr. MacAllister. Do you usually preemptively store stranger’s phone numbers on your phone?”
Why the fuck would I save his name on my phone? I suck at top secret investigations.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Why did you lie?”
“It would be easier to just explain that than who it was.”
“We have plenty of time to talk on this drive. We’ll be sitting here for a while.”
Normally, I am pretty good at crafting a quick story, but he has me frazzled, and nothing I can think of seems to make sense other than the truth. So I go with the truth, sort of.
“It’s Kristin’s cousin. He must be looking for her.”
“You refer to her cousin as ‘Mister?’”
“He’s much older.”
Taylor frowns pensively as he looks at the road ahead. I think I may have pulled it off.
“It’s just that, if it was just her cousin, then why would you lie about who he is?”
“I don’t know. I just did, okay?” Going on the defensive has always worked for me in the past.
“Shyla,” Taylor says calmly. “You’re not going to actually try to lie to me here? I am a professional bullshitter and you, well, I know you. I can easily find out who he really is. I would prefer you just tell me.”
He has me cornered, but I can’t reveal the information about his mother like this. I have to do that willingly, he needs to know it was my choice to reveal that. I elect the next option; it will no doubt make him angry, but at least I can avoid opening up the wounds of his childhood. It’s about time I tell him about the texts anyway.
“Taylor, I don’t want you to be mad at me when I tell you this. Please.”
“Oh fuck. What is it?”
“Please promise you won’t.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Fucking tell me.”
I take a deep sigh. “A while back, actually that night when we played corny songs and danced…the night you choked me in your sleep.” Taylor’s diverts his eyes remorsefully. “I got a text from an unknown number, calling me a whore. I didn’t tell you at first because I thought it was a wrong number and we were having fun and your mood changes so easily. Then it started happening more frequently, feeling more personal. Finally, I texted the person back and he or she confirmed that they were directing the messages at me. You were so stressed and so I hired Kristin’s cousin, who is a P.I., to see where they were coming from. By then, all this drama had started, and I didn’t want you to overreact, and then I held onto the information so long, that I didn’t want you to get mad at me because I didn’t tell you in the first place…I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I guess you were so mad at Eric, and at the time I wasn’t convinced he was as bad as you said he was, and I thought that you might get more angry and do something stupid.”
“Who were the texts from?”
“Mr. MacAllister said they were sent from disposable phones, that he couldn’t find the identity of the person so easily. By the time I found that out, it was too late. Eric had already did what he did. So, I never told you because I know you’d be pissed that I didn’t tell you about the messages earlier.”
Taylor sits in silence.
“Say something,” I beg.
He looks straight ahead. “You fucking lied to me. You put me, but more importantly yourself at jeopardy trying to somehow protect Eric from me?”
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intent. I was trying to protect you from doing something that might get you in trouble. You were already so angry with him. It just got all twisted after a while and everything happened so fast.”
“And I sit here always wondering if there was something that I could have done to protect you, all the while you hid the fact that someone was threatening you while we were trying to figure out why the fuck Eric was here?”
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing you could have done. It wouldn’t have mattered if you knew about the texts.”
“Don’t tell me there’s nothing I could have done! You have no fucking idea what I am capable of.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You need to get something straight Shy -- I don’t need to be watched out for, or taken care of. I make the fucking rules. I take care of the problems. Your job is not to spare my feelings, or protect me from myself.”
“I care about you, I was just trying to help.”
“Well you can’t help. You don’t understand what people like me and Eric are capable of.”
“You and Eric are not the same type of people. But I know exactly what you mean, which is why I didn’t want to stoke the flames.”
“Well the flames are blazing now. Your hypocrisy is confounding.”
“What?”
“All you ever want me to do is open up to you, but you selectively keep little nuggets of info to yourself when you unilaterally decide it’s best. It’s bullshit, it’s hypocritical. I expect more from you than that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not. If I didn’t just make you, you would never have told me, would you?”
“That’s not true.”
“How am I supposed to take your word for it?”
“I just wanted to give it some time.”
“It’s been high time.”
“I fucked up. I’m sorry. I should have told you. You’re right.”
Taylor pulls over the car abruptly onto the dirt shoulder of the road and stares me down intensely. “I am Taylor fucking Holden. You do not coddle me. You tell me how it is at all times, good or bad. I take care of things. I do not need any fucking body to protect me. I am the person people should fear.”
His brow is furrowed, his glare frigid. It may appear as a threat directed to me, but I know it’s not. It’s an assurance. Taylor wins. Taylor always takes care of business. If I am to be on his team, I am his responsibility, and it means I tell him everything.
I nod.
“No more lies,” he commands.
“Okay.”
The rest of the drive is silent. Just because I apologized does not mean he’s not still fuming. He’s right, I cannot keep the truth from him, while I maintain some sort of double standard for myself. I must tell him about his mother, but first, I have to find out what MacAllister called about. I must have every last bit of available knowledge before confronting him.
We make a stop for gas and I go into the ladies’ restroom with the cell phone.
“Shyla?”
“Yes, sorry, I have to be quick. I am on a road trip. Any news?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I think I found Lyla Bordeau.”
“What? She’s alive?”
“The postcard was a huge break. I flew out to the town where it was postmarked which is actually in a different state from the postcard itself, in Montana. It’s very small, just a few hundred people. I started going through county records for women who would be her age living in town. I narrowed it down to a few dozen. Swung by a couple of their houses, even spoke to a couple of them. As I was about halfway through the list, I walked right past her on the street. I knew it was her instantly. She has aged remarkably well.”
“Oh my god. Does she know about you?”
“It’s a small town, people knew I was snooping around, but I told everyone I was looking for my adopted sister. So the attention was diverted regarding what I was really looking for. Anyway, I followed her back to her house. Did a little digging, she has a couple of adult children, had a husband who passed away. She seems to have completely moved on. I am going to email you the file. Her alias is Elizabeth Murrow.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“No. I didn’t want to tip her off. She might disappear again.”
I thank MacAllister for his work, and he promises to keep mum about the situation despite the fact that her “death” is a cold case.
“Ready?” Taylor asks flatly as I approach the SUV.
He walks over to the driver’s side as I slide into the passenger seat. I do my best to conceal the complete desperation I feel inside. He was livid about finding out about the texting situation. How will he react to this? I must tell him; there are no longer any excuses, but I am completely unprepared for how he might respond.
I hold my phone tight until a chime alerts me a new email is in my inbox. Taylor won’t even look at me, so this time, I don’t worry about him seeing my screen. Sitting at the top of the inbox is a new email from Mr. MacAllister with the subject: Bordeau File. My finger itches for me to open it, but that is too risky of a proposition with Taylor sitting beside me. I calmly slide the phone back into my pocket doing my best to maintain a blank facial expression. Normally Taylor would notice something is off, but something already is off with us because of our argument, so it acts as a shield for the real emotional roller coaster stirring beneath.
My mother.
This news will affect her immensely as well. On one hand I am sure she will be thrilled to know her friend is alive, yet at the same time, there may be a great sense of betrayal. Mom was so certain Lyla would come back to them, she even started a life in a new place to be easier to find. Instead, Lyla started a whole new life, made new friends, formed a new family. Who is Lyla Bordeau? Who is this woman who has left so many damaged lives in her wake?
Then there’s Randall and his warning. Maybe I am trouble, maybe Taylor and I together are even more trouble. Ever since I met Taylor, I have had a terrible habit of stirring up shit around me. Maybe it wasn’t destiny that lead me to Taylor, at least not in the sunny romantic movie type of way, but an ominous fate. The kind where two lovers are fated for inevitable tragedy despite all the things people have done to prevent such a future. But it doesn’t matter, because despite the warnings, despite the trouble, the danger, all I want is to be with him. I feel alive when I am with him. Even if it hurts, I want to be with Taylor.
I have only known Randall for a few days, but I feel a connection with him. He is another member of the “Taylor Holden has rocked my world club,” of which I am the president. Unfortunately for Randall, that’s not enough. I don’t give a shit about Randall’s reservations, I don’t care if bringing Lyla into the picture fucks with Randall’s world, or the life he believes he built for Taylor. That man impregnated a 16-year old girl, and we all reap what we sow, even if it is 32 years later.
When we arrive to the house, Taylor makes a beeline to the bedroom. He has a four-day business trip tomorrow and has to repack for the trip. I must tell him tonight; I can’t sit with this information for the next four days. Besides, I am already in a shit storm, so I might as well get it all out while it’s raging.
“Taylor?” I say, leaning against the doorway to his bedroom. He is already unpacking his bags.
“Shyla, I don’t want to talk about it any more. You’re sorry, I know. I have to get ready for this trip.”
“I, uh.”
He looks over at me, rolls his eyes, and sighs. The only advantage I have coming into this is that he seems to have an inability to stay angry at me for long. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Quietly, I sit on the bed and watch him pack for a few moments, trying to build the nerve to speak up again. “Taylor.” I attempt to sound forceful, but this time, my voice chokes up, my eyes well. At first, he doesn’t look up, being so focused on the task in front of him, but then he pauses and looks up at me quizzically.
“Shyla? What is it?”
“What am I about to tell you is because I want to. Because I love you, not because you’re mad at me or because of what happened earlier today. I swear it.”
Finally, Taylor stops everything he’s doing and walks over to me, his tall shadow eclipsing the light from the lamp on the nightstand.
“What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
“There’s one other thing I haven’t told you about MacAllister and why I hired him,” I say, reaching for his hand as I take a deep breath before revealing my final secret.