Sweet Backlash (13 page)

Melony took the suit bag. Unprepared
for the weight, she almost dropped it. "Good Lord."

"Let me get that for you," offered
Chip, meeting her at the door and taking the bag. "It's
heavy.

"No kidding." She turned to the older
man. "Thanks for doing this. It was so thoughtful of
you."

"Yeah, thanks, man," Chip said
dryly.

Frank pointed at the suitcases. "Where
do you want these?"

"Don't worry about it. My slave will
do all the work," she said with a smile.

"Any errands you want me to run?" the
biker asked. "I've got the pick-up if you need me to go to the
store."

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his
cheek, cringing internally. "You're so wonderful. No wonder Velma
loves you so much. I'm going to use a trip to the grocery store as
a training session. I'll make him follow all my commands, then he
has to cook dinner tonight." She winked.

"You're a good girl," Frank
said.

Chip had his back to them, unpacking
and hanging his suits, but she imagined him making a funny face.
She fought laughter. "Thanks,
Dad
," she teased.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Well, if you're
all set here, I'm going to head over to the bar. I'm meeting some
buddies for drinks." He patted her shoulder and walked
out.

"Thanks again," she said before
closing the door. She shook her head, glad he had gone so
easily.

Chip joined her. "It's good to have
clothes." He squatted down and checked the contents of the
cases.

Melony chuckled. "Boy, do you
ever."

He grinned, and her heart went
pitter-patter. "Let me get dressed and we'll go to the store. Are
you really going to boss me around?"

"No. I just told him that to make him
feel good about leaving."

He pulled a pair of jeans and a red
polo shirt from one suitcase, underwear and socks from another, and
tennis shoes and a small, brown leather case from a third then
disappeared into the bathroom. She went to her own room and used
the master bathroom. Before leaving, she caught her reflection in
the mirror and stopped short.

She looked different. Something in her
eyes looked brighter, her mouth looked softer. She actually liked
the loose curl, admiring how it made her seem more feminine. With a
critical eye, she considered how she could make herself prettier
for Chip. She opened her make-up drawer and chose clear lip-gloss
and a bit of dark brown mascara. Satisfied, she went to wait for
him in the kitchen.

When she passed his bathroom, she
heard the hum of an electric razor. She hoped he found his wallet
and car keys, which she had removed from his pants pocket before
giving them to the cleaners. While he napped in the chair, she had
taken them from her nightstand and placed them on the bathroom
vanity, under his hanging toothbrush.

She went through the cabinets and
refrigerator, jotting a few items to get from the grocery store.
Behind her, Chip cleared his throat and she turned on her heel. He
stole her breath. A red shirt brought out the darkness of his eyes,
the slight tan of his skin, and allowed a hint of chest hair to
show at his unbuttoned V. His jeans made his hips and thighs look
downright delicious. His face, clean-shaven and fresh, enthralled
her. She forgot to inhale and didn't want to take her eyes from
him.

His lips moved.

Did he say something?

"Melony? Are you okay?" His lips
shifted into a smirk.

"Uh, yeah. I'm really good. How are
you?" She sounded like a moron.

He laughed. "I'm fine. Come on. Let's
go see what kind of trouble we can find at the store." Reaching
past her, his face coming nose to nose with hers, he took the list
from the counter. He didn't step away. His eyes met hers, and with
a serious expression that made her insides quiver, he lowered his
lips to hers. Gentle and wrought with an unspoken meaning, the kiss
moved her to tremble with sorrow.

She put her hand on his shoulder and
broke away, fighting for control. He offered her a quick smile then
took her hand and led her to the door. On the way out, she
collected her keys from her coat pocket, grabbed the collar and
leash, and lifted her purse off a hook on the rack. She couldn't
have him, so this madness needed to stop before it broke her
heart.

"You surprised me," Chip said,
clutching two bags of groceries and admiring Melony's ass while she
unlocked the door.

"Did I?" She pushed open and held the
door for him.

"Yeah." He went in and set the bags on
the kitchen island. "I didn't think you were old enough to buy
wine. When you offered to go next door and get some from the liquor
store while the cashier bagged our things, I thought you were
joking."

"Seriously?" she asked, hanging her
purse on the rack and coming to help him unpack the
food.

"I honestly thought you were about
nineteen." Why couldn't he take his eyes off her? Those shiny lips
positively begged him to kiss her. Imagining them around his cock
again had him straining against his jeans.

"I'm twenty-six." She retrieved two
wine glasses and a corkscrew.

"Really." Somehow, that changed
everything.

This weekend no longer had the appeal
of a passing diversion. With her level of maturity and sense of
adventure, she began to peak his interest. He couldn't ignore his
curiosity about what the boxes contained, either. Before he could
make the decision to pursue her in earnest, he needed to learn a
few things.

"Twenty-six, huh? Ever been married?"
he asked.

She issued a sound of disbelief.
"Please. I've never even been engaged."

Such a fun and beautiful woman? He
removed the wine cork and handed her the bottle. "Have you had any
kids?"

"No. You?" She pushed a half filled
glass of red wine along the counter toward him and took a sip of
her own.

"No. I've been busy with my studies
and career. I made the decision right out of high school that I
wouldn't get seriously involved with anyone until I had my career
in a good place." He finished pulling food out of bags and balled
the plastic to shove into the trashcan.

"That worked out for ya, did it?
Sounds pretty lonely." She leaned over the counter and examined the
roast. "Pans are in the drawer under the oven."

Chip chose a deep sauté pan, set it on
the stove, and poured a light olive oil into the bottom. "I was too
busy to be lonely."

"So what are you making?" She picked
up a red bell pepper and turned it in her hands.

"I don't know that it has a name. My
sisters and their husbands came unannounced to visit me shortly
after I started practicing in Boston, and I threw some things
together that I had in the kitchen. It was a big success, and they
ask for it whenever they visit." On a cutting board, he used the
side of her carving knife to break cloves free from a bulb of
garlic. He tossed them into the oil with salt and pepper and set
the burner on low.

"You're confident."

He gave her a cocky grin. "That's what
makes me a great lawyer and a great lover." He exaggerated a
swagger and waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I meant in the kitchen. You're a
confident cook."

He laughed. "I was just kidding. My
mom started me cooking when I turned fourteen. I had to make dinner
once a week. I think it's fun. It gives me a chance to be
creative."

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Sure." He scraped the garlic leavings
into the trash and handed her the knife and board. "Dice an onion
while I wash the vegetables. Tiny—like you'd see on a MacDonald's
hamburger."

"That is tiny."

She washed her hands then picked up an
onion from the counter and began peeling the brown outer layers. He
came over to stand behind her.

Like this," he said quietly in her
ear, taking her wrists in his hands. "Take the knife and cut one
end, not all the way through. Now the other side." Her hair rubbed,
smooth and silky, along his cheek. Her back expanded with every
breath she took. This woman turned him on like nobody he had ever
met. "Okay, now make a slit from end to end and peel off the entire
outer layer in one piece."

She removed the layer and held it up
then set the perfectly prepared onion on the board. "That is so
cool."

"Tell me about it," he said, returning
to the sink. "I learned that on a cooking show." If he did that
again, he wasn't going to make it through dinner before jumping on
her. "Where are your bowls?"

"In the cabinet above your head," she
said, bent to her task.

He took down a large, clear glass bowl
and set it next to the chopping board. Melony looked up, a single
tear rolling down her cheek. "My God, Melony, what's wrong? Did I
do or say something?"

She smiled. "You're so sweet. No, it's
the onion." She wiped the moisture away.

Of course, it was the onion. He was a
nughead. He pretended she had stabbed him in the chest. "The
'you're so sweet' charge. I've been sentenced to nice-guy-dom. I'm
doomed."

She laughed. "You're silly. Do you
want the onion in the bowl?"

"No, I'll put it right in the pan." He
took the knife from her, picked up the board, and scraped the
pieces into the warming oil. "I'll rinse these under cold water so
your eyes won't sting anymore."

"Thanks." Taking a kitchen towel out
of a drawer in the island, she wiped the water off them before
asking, "You want me to cut the peppers, too?"

"Sure. But bigger. Pieces the size of
postage stamps." He found the cooking utensils and chose a wooden
spoon to stir the ingredients in the pan. Suddenly, he imagined
using the spoon on her bare bottom. Shit! Where did that come from?
Uncomfortable, he adjusted his pants before checking on her
progress. "How's it coming over here?"

"You're right. This is really
interesting. I've never been into cooking, but this is fun. That
smells great already." She beamed him a bright smile, the most
honest one he'd seen from her yet. It actually reached her
eyes.

It occurred to him that she didn't
smile much. Keeping his observation to himself, he found a large
bowl made of textured green glass in her cabinet and got started
making a simple salad. "It's amazing sometimes to combine foods you
wouldn't think go together and come up with the most tasty
concoctions. Your chicken salad was really good at lunch. Some of
my most fun memories with friends in college were spent in the
kitchen experimenting with homemade pizzas."

"I'm a pizza fanatic." Her eyes lit
up.

He went still, unable to move.
Suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted to cause that
look in her eyes. He wanted to do or say something that made her
look that way. At him. For him. He blinked. He was losing his mind.
Was he going through some kind of brainwashing?

"Are you okay?" she asked, her
eyebrows raised in concern.

Turning his attention to the lettuce
in his hand, he answered, "I'm fine. Just getting hungry, I
guess."

"Me, too," she said, putting the
chopped peppers in the bowl. "You wanted these in the bowl,
right?"

"Yes, that's good. Do you want to cut
the meat?" He began to wonder if he had gotten into something he
wasn't ready for. He showed her how to cut the meat into one-inch
squares, stirred the garlic and onions, then excused
himself.

In the bathroom, he locked the door
and paced the tile floor. From shower stall to door and back, he
ran his hands through his hair. All afternoon, she had seemed so
normal. So agreeable. Except for her panic when she thought he
would look in a box, she acted like his ideal. He couldn't discount
her behavior last night and that morning. With the leather, and the
whip, and the cuffs, and the whole 'do as I say, slave' attitude.
And Frank. Holy shit!

Did she have multiple personalities?
Somehow, he didn't think so. He had seen her break, show her
weakness during her dominatrix act. He suspected she longed to be a
tough-as-nails bitch who got off on torturing men, but her true
self interfered. Something had happened to her. It threatened to
change her. In fact, he thought maybe she wanted it to change her
so she didn't have to live with fear and anger.

For him, he had to deal with whether
or not he had the gumption to take on all her baggage. Was she
worth it? He just didn't know. He'd only known her twenty-four
hours. It had been a hell of a twenty-four hours, but he couldn't
avoid the fact that not much time had passed.

He could walk out. From a legal
standpoint, he could handle Frank and snuff that threat. He didn't
want to, though. He couldn't figure out why. He used Frank as an
excuse to stay, which made no sense. Yes, he had reached a point in
his life where he could consider beginning to search for a wife.
And plenty of pretty, well-adjusted, normal women searched for
husbands and would probably date him. So why did he
stay?