Agony clenched her chest tight, fear clogging her throat, but finally she managed to say, “I had a big lunch. That’s why I didn’t want to go out to dinner. And why I ordered a salad. That’s all. I’m sorry.”
“Right, the lunch with the mysterious friend you won’t tell me anything about.” Jealousy mixed with the rage in his voice. “You know, for a fiction writer, you’re a terrible liar.”
When the waiter returned with her steak, she ate every damned piece of it, though it tasted like ash on her tongue. Her entire world was falling apart, and the one person she wanted to turn to was the one she had to keep in the dark. Even if by some miracle Chase didn’t hate her at the end of all this, she was pretty sure she was going to hate herself.
CHASE FOUGHT THE urge to scream. “You will do no such thing, Elizabeth. Don’t be ridiculous. You are not paying for the celebratory dinner you didn’t want to eat in the restaurant you didn’t want to come to.”
She tried to reach across the table and snatch the bill from his hand, and he almost lost his mind. They’d finished dinner in absolute silence, and not the comfortable kind either. She’d completely shut down, locking him out. For two days he’d been doing everything he could to breach her defenses, and she wouldn’t let him in. Christ. This was worse than their three days of total separation. At least then he’d had the hope that she would break and scream at him, get it out of her system, forgive him, ask for his forgiveness in return, and they would be able to move on. Now he didn’t have a clue how to fix whatever had broken between them since Sunday. He hated it.
He tried to soften his voice and prompted, “Sweetheart, please.”
“You can’t pay for everything all the time,” she complained. “You know you’re really bordering on hard-limit territory tonight. Can’t I do anything for myself anymore?”
Her words were like a punch in the gut. Instantly, he backed off. Was that what had caused her to shove him away so forcefully? She seemed to be picking a fight with him at every turn. Maybe he’d pushed too hard? But he’d thought they were communicating well. That she was enjoying her times of submission outside the strict confines of a scene. He was pretty sure she was reveling in his attentions. Right up until three days ago.
She lowered her eyes as the waiter reappeared. The poor man looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Not that he could blame the man. When the waiter disappeared with the check, Chase placed his hand palm up on the table between them, a silent offering. He held his breath, waiting for Liz to decide what she wanted. After what felt like an eternity, she slid her hand into his.
“Is that what’s been bothering you so much?”
She bit her lip. “I think so,” she whispered, raising her gaze to meet his. Her eyes pleaded with him. But he didn’t know if he could believe her. Something was going on that she didn’t want him to know about, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
The waiter returned, and without releasing Liz’s hand, Chase stood. He tugged her along with him. She followed silently, and they garnered several concerned looks. Thank God no one intervened, though he probably looked like a pissed-off abusive spouse. He refused to have the rest of this conversation with her in public, but as soon as they were safely ensconced in his car, he turned and leveled an even stare at her.
“Okay. We’ve obviously fucked everything up again. So…spill.”
She pressed her lips together. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes, and his heart broke. He was failing her, damn it. And that was unacceptable. He reached across the console and wrapped his arms around her. Without further prompting, she climbed into his lap. She nuzzled close to his neck, and the splash of tears fell onto his shirt collar.
“Shh. Sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything is going to be all right.”
She shook against him, her body consumed with sobs. Between sniffles and hiccups, she kept repeating one word:
sorry
. He soothed her for a few minutes until she exhausted herself. This was some serious subdrop. But they’d barely scened yesterday. Or the day before. Friday had been their last full scene.
She slumped against him, sniffed, and sighed. “I-I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me,” she said, her voice a low whine.
“I know, sweetheart. I think you’re having some severe subdrop.”
She looked up at him and stiffened, yelping. Her eyes went wide, and a knock sounded on his window. Grumbling, he rolled down the window and looked up into the concerned face of whom he assumed was the restaurant’s manager. At least it wasn’t the cops.
“Everything okay in there, ma’am?” he asked Liz.
“Oh, God,” she groaned and burrowed into Chase’s shoulder.
He stroked her hair. “I’ve got this, sweetheart.”
He tried to summon a smile but was pretty sure it was more a baring of teeth. “Yes, we’re fine. Just a bit emotional tonight. The both of us.” He wanted to say more to Liz. Had to apologize for pushing her too hard. For demanding too much of her. For using her as his only solace while his world was torn apart at the seams. He’d brought her to the breaking point, and it was his job to help put her back together.
“Chase,” she mumbled, stirring on his lap. She lifted her makeup-streaked, exhausted face to him. “I…” She shook her head. Whatever she wanted to tell him, she didn’t seem able to say. But he couldn’t worry about that now. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, then let it out in a sigh.
“Look, I appreciate your concern, I really do,” Chase said to the man in the suit at the door. “But I have to take her home. Now.”
“Sir, I think I need to hear from the lady that she’s okay.”
“I do
not
have the fucking emotional capacity to deal with this bullshit right now,” Liz snapped. The manager started, as if she’d smacked him. “Open the door and help me out before this guy calls the cops. We’ll be here all night.”
Like hell they would. Chase moved quickly to reply, popping open the door and helping her get on her feet. She swayed, and he held her steady, all the while berating himself for not realizing sooner the toll he was taking on her.
“I’m fine. Like he said, just a little emotional.”
“And the scene in the restaurant?” the manager asked.
A wicked smile curved her lips. “That was me being a brat and picking a fight so my Dom would take me home and punish me,” she said with conviction.
The man stammered.
“Satisfied?” she demanded.
She’d flipped the switch again, hopping right from a total mess to the amazingly strong woman he was falling completely in love with. Now all he had to do was show her and stop taking advantage of her.
At the manager’s continued silence, Liz finished, “Great. I’m going home now. Ta.”
She swatted Chase’s hand away, slammed his door closed, and stomped her way around the car and back into her seat. When her door was closed and the manager walked away, she slumped back against the leather. “What the hell is subdrop?”
Shit. Sometimes he forgot he had to introduce her to many of the aspects of this new lifestyle. “It’s what just happened, I think. When a sub or a Dom is pushed too hard, past their emotional breaking point, or when they don’t have enough aftercare or a scene brings some things to light or stirs up something that isn’t dealt with immediately, sometimes the fallout can come hours, even days later. Sweetheart, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. Between the pressure to finish the book on time and the emotional and physical demands I’ve been putting on you, not to mention the stress I’ve been adding to you from my own shit, it’s no wonder you’re crashing.” He’d failed her so badly he wanted to hold her and cry right along with her. But he couldn’t. She needed him to be strong for her. To guide her through this emotional minefield and see to her well-being.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch in there.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you home. You need a hot bath and rest, maybe a massage and a good snuggle.”
He pulled out of the restaurant’s lot and headed for his house.
“And what about my punishment?” she asked.
He glanced at her, and her face was wary. He didn’t think he’d ever hated himself more. “Oh, sweetheart, no. There will be none of that for tonight. If anything, I’m the one who should be punished.”
She reached over and snagged his hand, twining their fingers together. His heart clenched. Her trust humbled him.
I love you.
The words stuck in his throat. She couldn’t handle any more emotional baggage now. There would be time to tell her later. As long as she didn’t run the other way the minute their deal expired.
Chase spent the rest of the night pampering her, trying to see to her every need, and getting her to talk about how she was feeling. All the while, he prayed he hadn’t damaged their relationship beyond repair.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chase wanted to punch something. Preferably something soft that would break under his knuckles. Like a senator’s face, perchance. The K Club was officially closed, the building to be auctioned off next month.
And the only thing he thought he’d had going for him—his relationship with Liz—seemed to have disintegrated in a matter of days. After the blowup at the restaurant two days ago, things between them had settled some, but nothing was the same. He felt like he was walking on eggshells, playing it safe, being careful not to shake her up. She needed time to rest, to digest all the changes in herself, in her life, that he’d imposed on her.
But their end date was nearing, and she was pulling even further away from him. As if, since she’d decided she wasn’t going to be in it for the long haul, she might as well cut herself off now.
Last week she’d been fine. But then she hadn’t known he was soon going to lose everything. It was
killing
him to know that his failures weren’t only going to destroy his business, but take away the one chance he still had of happiness.
The bar around him roared with life, laughter, and the thrum of desire. He felt hollow inside.
“Hey, man, have you heard a fucking word I’ve said?”
He blinked, shaking his head until it cleared enough to bring Dusty’s face into focus. “Nah, D. Sorry.” He took a deep swill of his Scotch, letting the burn wash over him and hoping it would bring some kind of feeling—anything, really—along with it. But it didn’t.
“I know things have gone to hell in a handbasket, but we can’t give up yet.” For almost a week, Dusty had been telling Chase the fight wasn’t over, when they both knew it was. What the hell was up with his partner that he didn’t realize that? D grabbed his chin and forced eye contact. Chase’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Never had Dusty touched him in anything other than a respectful or brotherly manner. The iron grip on his chin stunned him into listening carefully to his friend’s next words. “You have to snap out of this bullshit. Right now. Are you a Dom or a mouse, damn it? This is fucking pathetic and you know it. Did you let Liz take your balls off when she topped you?”
Chase wrenched his face from D’s grip and slammed his fist down on the counter. “Back off!”
Dusty smiled. “Not completely neutered after all, I see.”
Chase poked him in the chest with his index finger, but Dusty barely swayed on his bar stool. “You need a reality check. Things have not ‘gone to hell in a handbasket.’ They’re over. We’re
done
. After we clear out the warehouse and sell off what we can, I’m using the money to move back east. To help my parents. And my sister. They need me. And it’s not like I’m doing anybody any good here. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. No knight in shining armor or magic wand that is going to help us. The fight is over. We did everything we could, and we lost. That’s the end of it. So shut the fuck up about how we shouldn’t give up hope and how it’s not over till the fat lady sings and all that other crap you’ve been slinging for the past week.”
“And what about Liz?” Dusty’s voice was clear, his eyes hard as he stared at Chase, not backing down. The simple question was like a knee to the balls. “You just going to end things with her and go running home to your mama? Your whole life goes to hell and you’re going to throw away the one thing that might actually be going right? You’re a stupid fuck, aren’t you?”
Chase grabbed the front of Dusty’s shirt and yanked him closer. In a low, deadly voice, he said, “If things were going so well with her, I would ask her to go with me, you pain in the ass. And before you pass judgment on my decision to end things, did you ever think you might stop and ask how
I
felt about
my
submissive instead of using your wonderful powers of mind reading to tell me how I should handle my relationship?” All the anger he’d been trying to keep at bay boiled over, spilling its hatred onto Dusty. Everything he hadn’t been able to do or say to those assholes at the bank or to Senator Johnson, hell, even to Liz, burst from him. Dusty didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of this kind of toxicity. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Dusty’s face fell; his shoulders slumped. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t know things were like that between you guys. Last I heard…” He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Yeah, I know. Things were good. Shit, things were fantastic, and then all of a sudden, boom. She’s evasive; she’s lying to me. She had a complete breakdown the other night after purposely provoking me in public. She was a mess. Hell, I was a mess. It was awful. When I fell apart last week, she put me back together again. I mean, she let me read her book. She fucking
dedicated
it to me. That’s a huge deal, right? Letting me read it, isn’t it?”
Dusty nodded.
“And it was great. Her book was fantastic, and I could see some things she’d pulled from real life to use, stuff about me, about her. But I can’t even talk to her about it. Nothing feels right between us, and I have no freaking clue what to do except let her go.” He poured his heart out. Voicing the concerns aloud, admitting such a whopping defeat made the Scotch lurch in his stomach, threatening to come back up. He swallowed convulsively.
“You care about her, yes?”
“That’s not even the word for it, man. I think I love this girl. I mean, like, want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-her love her.” He took a shaky breath as the bar wobbled around him. He hadn’t meant to say it. Liz deserved to know the truth before he shared it with anyone else, but he hadn’t been able to tell her when he was so certain she was running away from him. Again. The only reason she hadn’t ended their relationship already had to be because she was sticking to their deal. In another four days, that would be over, and she would leave him. Forever.