The Proviso (36 page)

He flinched.

“Giselle,” Sebastian rumbled.
Giselle
. Not
Giz
. She gulped at the edge in his voice. “Don’t you start
in on Knox. He didn’t have to go to Kenard at all, but he did. For
you. Then Kenard did what he was supposed to do and pursued you.
You
are the one who threw it back in his face. So Knox
stepped in again to make this work. For you.” He stood and leaned
across the table, got in her face, stabbed his index finger into
the tabletop right in front of her. She reared back, her eyes
wide.

“You’re an adult,” he snarled. “You knew what you
had to do to get all this squared away and you weren’t willing to
do it because he turned your tidy little hypocritical and
self-righteous Molly Mormon world upside down. So now you’re pissed
he won’t give you everything you
assumed
he’d give you and
you’re scared he’ll break your heart. Well, what about
his
heart? He’s not a manwhore. What about what
he
gave
you
? That was no less valuable than your virginity. You’re
using this as an excuse not to follow through because being with a
man you can’t emasculate scares the shit out of you and you’d never
marry a man you could emasculate or you would’ve by now.”

Sebastian slowly sat and Giselle closed her eyes and
swallowed, uncaring that tears rolled down her cheeks and dampened
her tee shirt. She sniffled and looked away, feeling the
implications of every word Sebastian spoke deep in her soul— His
disappointment in her, his anger on Bryce’s and Knox’s behalf. “I’m
sorry,” she whispered, but she didn’t know for what, really, or to
whom she said it.

Knox remained silent for a long while. When he
spoke, his voice was hoarse. “It would be a mistake for you to let
him go, Giselle. He’s a good man and he’s been in love with you for
a long time.”

Another minute of silence passed before she wiped
her eyes.

“And,” he added, “he wouldn’t be so pissed off if he
really didn’t believe anymore. Think about that a while.”

Give him time. Love him.

She heard it as clearly as if he had said it.

She nodded and slowly stood to pick up her Glock.
“Night.”

After closing her door, she turned her lights up
only enough to see what she was doing and put her gun in its spot
on her night stand. She took off her clothes, slow, easy, the way
Bryce had done it when they’d returned from the Ford exhibit.

Soft seduction, slow and easy, languid,
long-lasting. Candles. Soft music. Oils. Massage. Quiet
conversation. Hushed laughter. Cherries and strawberries and warm,
melted chocolate, for which they had found a variety of uses.
They’d slept nearly twelve hours after that, both completely worn
out, too sore and raw for any more.

She couldn’t look at her bed without remembering
what she’d done to him there, what he’d done to her, that he’d
taken her wherever he wanted to go. Just because he could.

Once she stepped into the hot shower, she was beset
by the memory of what Bryce had done to her here, too.

He doesn’t need your protection.

Sebastian was right. Bryce Kenard didn’t need
protection. He could protect
her
. Much bigger, much stronger
than most men, he could lift all one-sixty of her with ease. She
nearly melted when she thought of that magnificent body of his,
burnt, shredded, sliced, wounded, with that incredible musculature
underlying his skin. He had those eyes, that face . . .

He did intimidate her, that was true. The way he
could lift and manipulate her body: And it would do whatever he
wanted it to, like a rag doll.

That didn’t frighten her; it aroused her. Being
intimidated aroused her. Being taken aroused her. Being weaker
aroused her.

Leave it on.

Being stripped down to her skin, understood for
herself and wanted
because
of it, not
in spite
of
it—it was better than she’d ever hoped for.

. . . he turned your tidy little hypocritical and
self-righteous Molly Mormon world upside down.

Don’t confuse remorse with betrayal, Giselle . . .
You’re not sorry you fucked him before he married you.

She sighed. Of course the two of them would distill
her issues to their essence and stake her in the heart with
them.

Be careful what you wish for, Miss Cox . . . you
might get it.

Ares. The god of war, of violence and bloodlust.

He was angry, bitter, and deeply hurt, his soul as
scarred as his body—a soul that had started out dark and savage
anyway.

. . . being with a man you can’t emasculate scares
the shit out of you . . .

Yes, Giselle feared him. She feared his eventual
disappointment or resentment if she couldn’t deliver what he really
needed. She feared he would someday go back to the church, regret
having lain with her, having broken his covenants with her and for
her, having given up that part of himself that had always striven
to be faithful, righteous, and pure.

Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn’t have
children. She didn’t think a child’s fragile soul could handle all
that underlying rage. Knox said Bryce had been a wonderful father
and she believed that. She had no doubts he would continue in that
vein, but children could sense things and then they assumed and
extrapolated other things from those sensations that usually bore
no resemblance to the truth.

Giselle got out of the shower and dried herself off,
looking at her naked body in the mirror. Bruises everywhere, bites.
She hummed to herself as she tried to figure out how he’d given her
each one and relived the entire weekend.

I want them to look and know that woman is
mine
.

She was his. He’d marked her. She liked that he’d
marked her.

He had fared no better. She’d marked him similarly,
once high on the inside of his thigh and once just over his
shoulder blade. She’d grabbed the upper hand with him once by
virtue of a surprise attack—

—and a couple of very strong scarves.

She smiled when she remembered his surprised, hearty
laughter at awakening to find himself bound, blindfolded, and at
her mercy. “Oh, it’s like that for you, is it?” he’d asked
wryly.

“So . . . who’s the alpha again?”

“I don’t need rope.”

Then she sobered. At thirty-six, it would only be a
matter of time before age betrayed her and then what would he
think? Giselle was no great beauty and never had been. The Dunham
women didn’t age as well as they’d have liked, but what woman did,
really? Once Bryce met Giselle’s mother and the rest of her aunts,
he would know everything he needed to know about how Giselle would
look in fifteen years.

Giselle would probably start packing the weight back
on again. Her hips would spread out again—and not in that sexy
fertility goddess way. Her breasts would sag, though probably not
as quickly since she wouldn’t have children. She’d go gray. She had
started to find streaks of gray in her hair a couple of years ago.
They had since multiplied, but as long as people continued to
mistake them for the cleverest of blonde highlights, she could
delay her surrender to Miss Clairol.

She turned all the lights out and rolled into her
bed, covering up with the duvet that still had traces of chocolate.
She couldn’t bring herself to launder it because it smelled like
Bryce. She buried her nose in it and breathed deeply, then used it
to mop up the tears that began to fall.

Yes, she feared him. On looking into a future with
Bryce Kenard, whose soul had shattered long ago, she felt real
fear: The fear of proving inadequate to the task of being
that
wolf’s mate. What had she told Justice McKinley not
five days ago?

You have to be willing to fail.

Giselle didn’t know if she could live with that
depth of failure.

* * * * *

34:
PINK SLIP

Sebastian had completely exposed weaknesses Eilis
didn’t know she had. Thus, she was very careful not to be at her
window over Cubicleville the next morning, even though she wanted
to watch him come in the door, watch how he talked to people.

The lunch room was underneath her mezzanine office
suite. She had made it her business to take her breakfast of a
bagel and fat-free cream cheese to work and eat there so she could
watch him without being seen.

A little after eight, he walked in, and the people
he talked to yesterday greeted him by his first name; he remembered
every one of theirs. He very deliberately stopped and talked to
different people today, even going so far as to enter the cubicle
paths. He passed out of her sight when he did that.

He emerged a while later and she heard snatches of
conversation as he drew closer.

“Hi. I’m Sebastian Taight. Who are you and what do
you do?” Oh so direct, which was par for his course, but then, no
one seemed to take offense. Firm handshake, warm smile on the
employee’s part.

That person, whose name and job description were a
mystery to Eilis, told Sebastian everything about himself except
his social security number and his job description.

“Yes, but what do you do?” Sebastian asked after
this recitation.

“Well, a whole bunch of stuff.”

“Like what?”

“I run reports and stuff.”

“What kind of reports?”

“Customer databases and other stuff.”

“Do you like your job?”

The man’s face dimmed, but only for a split second.
If Eilis noticed it, Sebastian definitely would. “Sure. HRP’s a
great place to work.”

Eilis felt a sharp pain behind her sternum. He was
lying through his teeth. He stayed because he had bills to pay and
probably a family to provide health insurance for.

“Glad to hear it,” Sebastian said, shook the man’s
hand and called him by name.

He only stopped in two more cubicles with the same
routine. The last was Karen Cheng’s, the ad executive who had some
questionable ideas about marketing, but did what Eilis asked and
did it well.

Karen wasn’t an inexperienced executive straight out
of college; Eilis would put her in her late thirties with an
impressive portfolio. She was short and rather roundish, like an
apple. Her bad perm did nothing to improve her nondescript brownish
hair. Her glasses did her no favors, but didn’t do anything against
her, because her face was pretty in an exotic way.

Sebastian ran through the same routine, but unlike
the others, Karen stood to speak to him, shook his hand firmly and
with complete detachment. “What do you do?” he asked her.

“I am supposedly in charge of marketing,” she said
coolly and Eilis could see the surprise in Sebastian’s face. Eilis
began to get a bad feeling.

“Supposedly?”

“Yes. I have ideas. I have good ideas. They don’t
meet the approval of my supervisor.”

Eilis’s gut clenched and her throat stopped up.
She
was Karen’s supervisor.

“I see,” Sebastian said after a slight pause. “Do
you like it here?”

“No. I’m creative. I want to create. I’m not allowed
to do that.”

Eilis swallowed. Hard.

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because I have a child with leukemia and I need the
benefits. When she dies, I’m leaving.”

Eilis put a hand to her mouth and barely fought back
tears.
When
. Not
if
.

Sebastian tilted his head and looked at Karen for a
moment and then said, “Please come upstairs with me.” Those who had
gathered around gasped and scattered immediately. Karen gulped, but
she didn’t hesitate. Proudly, she went up the stairs with
Sebastian, who was careful to climb at her pace and level. Eilis
knew Karen thought she’d be fired, and truthfully, Eilis didn’t
have a clue if she would or wouldn’t be. Sebastian could do exactly
what he wanted to do.

But she was obviously at her tipping point and when
asked directly, she couldn’t lie, couldn’t keep the bitterness out
of her voice.

It was another hour before Eilis had the nerve to go
upstairs. Sebastian and Karen were nowhere to be found. “Louise,
where’s Mr. Taight?”

“In the conference room with Karen. I hope he
doesn’t fire her. That poor daughter of hers . . . ”

Louise knew. Eilis didn’t.

They were in there all day long, and except for the
moment a pizza delivery man showed up with a veritable feast, the
doors didn’t open. The restrooms on this floor had an entrance
directly from the conference room, so neither came out for potty
breaks, either.

“I don’t think he’d order pizza for someone he’s
going to fire, do you?”

“Louise,” Eilis said, “I honestly don’t know what to
think about that man.”

To her shame, at that moment, the only thing she
could really think about was the smell of that pizza wafting
throughout the suite. Her stomach gurgled and she went to her
office for a rice cake. Well, two.

At 4:15, the doors opened and Karen walked out. She
didn’t seem to notice Eilis and Eilis could only see Karen wipe her
face.

Eilis went into the conference room to find
Sebastian cleaning up the pizza and pop. She looked longingly at
the leftovers he’d thrown away, but then snapped herself out of it
with some difficulty because her stomach grumbled. He didn’t
acknowledge her presence.

She spoke hesitantly. “Did you—?” She couldn’t bring
herself to say the F-word.

“No,” he said shortly. “I didn’t fire her.”

“She was crying.”

Sebastian turned on her then, his face stone cold.
Her stomach roiled and she thought she might puke. He reached
behind him and picked up two of those engineer’s pads he liked.
Every page was written on and the writing fluffed up the pads until
the two of them together were about three inches thick.

“I picked her brain, Eilis. I picked her brain,
which is something her
supervisor
—” Eilis flinched.
“—should’ve done the minute she was hired. She was crying because
she was so grateful that someone
finally
listened to
her.