HurtMeHealMe Page 6

  A little burst of air puffed out from between Caitlin’s parted lips. “Yes,” she found herself whispering in answer.

  Caitlin was caught in the mesmerizing depths of his eyes, then she blinked, realizing what she’d said.

  “I mean, no. I mean…ah, I…I don’t have one of those—but it’s a great idea. I should definitely have one of those. I can make one to order. If you want?” Oh cripes, she sounded like such a cretin.

  “I want.” He smiled. “You gotta pen and paper where I can write down the information, so you can get it all printed up?”

  “Ah, sure.” Caitlin handed over a printed form and gestured for him to sit at the table. After he gracefully folded his long frame into a seat, she sat in the adjacent chair. He looked at her with a crooked, boyish grin and her heart almost melted on the spot. She watched as he wrote in neat, clear script, Will you be my lover? Then in the box to provide who the card was from, he wrote Paul Nelson. Then he placed the tip of the pen in the box marked “To”, looked up and asked, “So what’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Caitlin Bennett,” she managed to choke out, surprised he could hear it over the thundering of her heart. “Bennett, two n’s, two t’s.”

  His mouth quirked up. “Well now, Caitlin Bennett, two n’s, two t’s, we’ve howdyed, but we ain’t shook.” He took her hand in his. “I’m real pleased to finally meetcha.”

  Caitlin couldn’t respond because Paul the sexy Texan Nelson was moving her hand toward his mouth. But instead of placing a kiss on the back of her hand as she had expected, he turned it and placed a slow, sensuous, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her wrist, all the while his eyes staying locked on hers.

  He lingered and his warm breath heated her blood at the same time that gooseflesh broke out on her skin. She shivered.

  “Have dinner with me,” he all but growled against the now super-sensitized skin on her inner arm.

  Everything south of her eyebrows clenched. Oh boy, this guy was dangerous to her health. She had to lighten things up a little.

  “Oh, you’re in luck. I already have one of those Will you have dinner with me? cards printed up.”

  He looked at her for a moment and then barked out a laugh. He sat back in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling.

  God, he was gorgeous when he laughed.

  He clenched his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “So you mean I gotta fill in another form?” He sighed. “You know, I really hate paperwork.”

  He threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “Look, I’ll buy the damn card. Heck, I’ll buy the whole lot of them—one of every type.” He scrunched up his face. “Except that Let’s be friends one, I ain’t buyin’ that. But how ’bout you put me outta my misery and answer my question. Will you have dinner with me?”

  Caitlin smiled. “Yes.” Her voice sounded breathy.

  He tilted his head. “You know, I really like the way you say that.”

  “What? Yes?”

  “Uh-huh. When you say it, it’s filled with so much promise.”

  Caitlin bit her cheeks. “Well, I promise…”

  He leaned forward expectantly.

  “When we go out for dinner, I promise—to eat like a horse. I am, like, so hungry right now.” She said the last sentence in a pure California Valley girl accent.

  Paul laughed again, a real genuine laugh that came from deep within his chest. That husky, rumbly sound warmed her somehow. Made her want to get closer to him, and not just in a sexual way. She had thoughts of sitting with this man and telling him corny jokes, just so she could hear that sound. Watch his eyes dance with humor. See that mischievous, boyish grin that just lit up his whole face.

  “You know, I like me a woman who does things with gusto.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Eatin’ being—one of them things.”

  Chapter Six

  Paul sat across from Caitlin in a cozy booth at the back of the restaurant, totally entranced. He could hardly bear to take his eyes off her for a moment.

  Her skin glowed in the warm light of the flickering candles. The little black slip of a dress—held up by two thin straps of ribbon—bared a smooth expanse of pale flesh, and that keyhole cutout in the middle of her cleavage gave him a tantalizing view of the inner curves of her breasts. Curves he hungered to get his lips on. Her luminous chocolate eyes mesmerized him; it was as if he could read every emotion in their depths. They sparkled with intelligence and humor, often devilment, and sometimes a pure innocence that intrigued him. But he also caught glimpses of sadness and such stark longing, he felt gut punched. She would cover it up quickly though, and usually resort to humor.

  She was intelligent and funny and at times infernally frustrating, the way she would skillfully evade answering some of his questions. She had secrets. And he vowed to himself he would discover every single one of them. Eventually.

  Paul leaned across the table and placed a forkful of buttery lobster between Caitlin’s parted, glossy pink lips. He tried for the sake of his own sanity to not let his thoughts wander to something else he’d love to slide into that tantalizing, luscious mouth. He failed. Miserably.

  When the tip of her pink tongue peeked out to lick a drop of sauce from her bottom lip, he was sure he would be totally undone.

  “I’m not very good at this,” she giggled. A breathy, little-girl giggle. He hadn’t heard her make that sound before and it made him smile. And get harder. A feat he would have sworn impossible.

  “You’re not very good at what?”

  “Um, this feeding-each-other thing,” she said, chagrined, circling her fork in between them for emphasis.

  He laughed, thinking about a few minutes before when she’d poked her fork into his chin while trying to give him a bite of chicken. He put his hand over the spot. “Am I bleeding?” he asked.

  She grimaced. “No.”

  “Well then, no harm, no foul.”

  She smiled, but the apology was still there in her eyes.

  “So what, are you not good at sharing your food or something? You usually a selfish little thing, only child and all?”

  “No,” she said indignantly. “It’s just I’ve never shared food like this. I’ve never been out on a date like this before.” She gasped and snapped her mouth shut, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

  “What do you mean, ‘a date like this’?” he asked quizzically.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” She stabbed another piece of chicken and sawed through it so rigorously he thought she was going to cut right through to the tablecloth.

  “I want you to tell me what you mean. You’ve been evading my questions for long enough, sweetheart.” Paul put on the face he usually reserved for the bedroom. His Dom face—all stern and serious. The “don’t mess with me” could be clearly heard in his voice when he spoke. “Tell me what you mean, Caitlin. I want to hear your explanation. And I’d like to hear it now.”

  Her knife and fork clattered to her plate. There were subtle changes in her body, but Paul was attuned to her every movement and detected them easily. She straightened her spine, which in turn thrust her breasts out, and she lowered her eyes. Her breathing changed to rapid, shallow breaths. He could see the pulse throbbing frantically at the base of her throat.

  Shit.

  This girl responded immediately to the command in his voice. No doubt about it, she was a well-trained submissive. A searing stab of jealousy—a previously unknown feeling for Paul—suddenly overwhelmed him. Someone else had trained this girl and done god knows what with her. He’d never been concerned with the sexual history of the women in his life. If women came to him properly trained, he appreciated it. But this girl? He wished he could have been her first.

  “Look at me.”

  She looked up at him with wide eyes, innocent and inquiring. He felt that feeling again, that pain in his gut.

  He reached out and stroked her arm, up and down in a soothing motion. He spoke quietly now, like he used to speak to his horses, gentling them when
they were spooked. “Relax, sweetheart, just tell me. You can tell me anything. Do you trust me?”

  A sheen of tears glazed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  God, the way she said that word. Whenever she said it—and especially in that husky whisper—it was his favorite word in the whole English language.

  Paul placed his hand palm up on the table. Caitlin tentatively placed her hand in his. He started stroking small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “Go on, I’m listening,” he urged.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. “Um—I’ve never been on a date before.”

  Paul just blinked for a few moments. “What, you mean—never?”

  She shook her head. “Never.”

  “How in the heck did that happen?”

  She cleared her throat, looking self-conscious and obviously uncomfortable. “I was in an all-girls boarding school that was run by nuns most of my life, so,” she shrugged, “you know, not much chance of meeting boys.”

  “But what about in the holidays when you went home? Surely there were boys who were clamoring to date you?” He would have clamored after her. Hell, he was clamoring right now.

  Her cheeks colored and she looked at the table. “My father never brought me home for the holidays. I mean, he did a couple of times. And those times I was kind of stuck at home with the housekeeper.”

  Paul frowned. “What about your momma?”

  “Um, she died when I was six years old—in childbirth. We lost her and my sister at the same time. My dad packed me off to boarding school a couple of weeks after that.”

  She looked so small and fragile when she said it. His heart ached for her. He could only guess at the hurt and confusion of the little girl who’d lost her momma and baby sister and whose daddy didn’t want her. Coming from a large, loving family, Paul knew how important it was to have people who cared for you.

  He looked into Caitlin’s sorrowful eyes and pictured her as a child. He couldn’t imagine not wanting to wrap that little girl in cotton wool, to give her everything she wanted, to protect her from anything that would hurt her or make her sad. Her father must have been some kind of coldhearted bastard, that he could treat her that way. Paul wanted to hurt the fucker. Badly.

  “What about after you finished school?”

  “My father got sick during my final year at school. It was cancer. He told me after I completed my finals he wanted me to come home to live with him.” She grimaced. “I was so happy to be needed, happy that he finally wanted to spend time with me. I thought we could mend our relationship, you know, become close. But I found out pretty quickly that all he wanted was a nurse. Someone who wouldn’t quit like all the others did. Someone who would put up with his belligerent behavior.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “I ended up looking after him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for over a year. But no matter how much I tried, nothing I ever did was good enough.”

  Caitlin sighed heavily. “I know I’m a terrible person, but at the end I was wishing he would just—go.” She bit her bottom lip and her whole face crumpled as she tried to stifle a sob.

  Paul had to force himself to stay in his seat. All he wanted to do was drag her into his arms and hold her. But if he did that, it would lead to other things. Good things. Very, very good things. But now was definitely not the time. He gripped her hand more firmly instead.

  “It’s okay, darlin’, you obviously did everything you could. You gave up a whole year of your life to look after him. If the old tyrant didn’t appreciate what you did for him, that’s his problem. It’s not on you.”

  She managed a small, rueful smile.

  “So what happened after that?” He had to keep her talking, now that he’d finally gotten her to open up.

  “During that time, I lost touch with my friends and I never had the opportunity to meet any new people. But I did become friends with Ivan. He was an old friend of my father’s. He lived here in Boston and was too busy with his work to visit Seattle. He called often to speak to my father, but after a little while, he started calling me every day. When things were difficult and I was lonely and depressed, he would talk to me for hours and counsel me and help me get through each day. I felt like he was my only friend in the whole world. And when it was all over, he told me I should leave Seattle and move to Boston to be near him. He said he would help me find a school and a place to live and he’d be there to assist me whenever I needed it.

  “And so I did exactly what he suggested. I was naïve and alone and it seemed like Ivan was my savior, you know? He was so wise, and I felt like I owed him so much.” She screwed up her face. “I had a serious case of hero-worship and I think I was half in love with him already.”

  “So where is this Ivan person right now?” Paul asked, afraid to breathe waiting for her answer, hoping she’d say he’d decided to practice law somewhere in Nigeria and wasn’t expected back until the end of time.

  “Um, he died of a heart attack seven months ago.”

  “Oh shit. I mean—shoot. I’m…I’m sorry.”

  She smiled sadly and nodded her head.

  “So, how old was he? You said he was a friend of your father’s.”

  “He was fifty-six.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  Paul tried valiantly not to react. Ivan the cradle-snatching bastard. Preying on a lost and lonely young girl. Shame he couldn’t hurt him, seeing the fucker was already dead.

  Caitlin looked at him, her face taut with tension. “Paul, can we please not talk about Ivan anymore?”

  “Why is that, darlin’?” He knew he shouldn’t ask the next question, but he had to know. “Did you really love him?” He held his breath again, praying the answer was a resounding no. Sometimes when a person died, their loved ones would remember them as some kind of perfect, saintly creature. If Caitlin was still pining for her great, wise, old hero Ivan, how could he compete with that?

  She laughed once, without a trace of humor. “No. I felt a lot of things for Ivan—but no, I’ve realized that I didn’t really love him.”

  Hallelujah and praise the Lord. “Then why? Why don’t you want to talk about him?”

  “He wasn’t a,” she gulped and looked down at the tabletop, “nice man. I don’t want to think about him anymore.”

  He wasn’t a nice man? Paul had a feeling she was a master of understatement. What the hell did that fucker do to her? He wouldn’t push her now. But he would damn well find out, if it was the last thing he did.

  “So what were you doing at Dante’s Purgatory when I saw you there?” Paul asked.

  She shrugged. “Just investigating, I guess. I’ve never been to a place like that before.”

  Before Paul could ask the next question, she turned the tables on him like she’d been doing earlier in the evening.

  “So, um, what kind of…things are you into?” She looked embarrassed to have asked the question, her cheeks colored a deep red.

  She was such a curious little thing. He stifled a smile and watched her for a moment while she squirmed in her seat.

  “Let’s see now. I like control—sexually speaking, that is. I’m not one of those twenty-four-seven master types, but when it comes to sex I definitely have my dominant shoes on.”

  She smiled shyly and looked up at him through a veil of thick black lashes. “Big black ones with lots of buckles, I suppose?”

  Paul threw back his head and laughed. “You got it, babe. Except for the buckles. I’m more of a lace-up kinda guy. I do enjoy tyin’ things up.”

  She laughed. The red on her cheeks was fading to a deep-pink blush. God, she was so utterly gorgeous.

  She bit her bottom lip. A nervous gesture that made him want to do a little biting of his own. “So you like bondage.” It was a statement more than a question.

  “Yeah. I actually specialize in Kinbaku.” At her blank look, he added, “It’s more commonly known as Shibari. Have you hear
d of it?”

  “Oh yes. That’s an ancient form of Japanese rope bondage, right?”

  “Yes. It’s very detailed and elegant and—beautiful. I get a lot of pleasure seeing a woman bound intricately in my ropes.” He tilted his head, running his gaze over the shiny tresses falling over her shoulders and the smooth ivory skin at the tops of her breasts and down her slender arms. “You know, with your fair skin and dark hair, you would look exquisitely beautiful bound from your breasts to your feet in deep-red rope.” He was almost blinded by a sudden vision of Caitlin wrapped in strips of blood-red satin. Maybe he could try a variation on the old traditions just for her.

  Caitlin’s lips parted and her breath sped up, the tantalizing swells of her breasts rising and falling rapidly. She looked into his eyes and electricity immediately arced between them. That electricity sizzled somewhere near the base of Paul’s skull and jolted down his spine. This woman spoke to him on a level he hadn’t experienced before, a chemical level or perhaps even a molecular one. It was as if his body subconsciously recognized her.

  And if he were a caveman, it would be at this exact point that Paul would stand, pick up his woman, throw her over his shoulder and take her to his cave. Where he would strip her, lick her, suck her, fuck her, come inside her, mark her as his, and tie her up and keep her there for the rest of her natural life.

  These strange, primal, possessive urges were confusing as all get out. They were also exciting and more than a little frightening. But whatever the hell was happening, Paul was not in the mood to question it. He just stared into Caitlin’s eyes, searching, enquiring silently, Do you recognize me? And somehow he just fell into her, completely losing himself, gazing into those soulful depths for what felt like an eternity.