Epilogue

 

 

 

“Did you get the new Cavalli? I don’t know what to think. I’m sure it looked wonderful on the runway, but in the flesh…”

I made an acquiescing noise. “A little too fashionable?” I separated my lashes carefully, blinking a few times to scatter the sticky mascara.

“I don’t like to use gaudy, but…yes.” Yvonne tittered. A beat passed, silence interspersed with the dull click of my heels on the hardwood floors. “We miss you here, you know. Is there nothing we can say to make you change your mind?”

“Not right now.”

“How is—Ashley?” She had picked up the name from the papers, something that both annoyed and relieved me of the obligation to come clean. Yvonne and I had reached a truce in the months since I’d left Le Bon Marché, but we would never be friends.

“He’s better, thank you. Recovering, you know…”

“I read his profile on the new Foreign Minister,” Yvonne said, catching me short partway through dabbing lipstick onto my lips.

“Really?” I winced. “And what did you think?” Why did I care?

Yvonne was quiet for a moment. “I think it’s our loss and America’s gain.”

Laughter tangled in my throat. “I’ll be sure to let his editor know.” Ashley had gotten better at sharing his professional upheavals with me since I’d told him about my hang-ups. We were by no means well adjusted, but as far as relationships, we were a work in progress—good and getting better.

“I really wish you’d reconsider,” Yvonne sighed into my ear. “You can’t tell me you feel at home over there…”

“I am American.”

“Half,” she insisted. “Oh, damn. I have to go. The new girl just knocked into a mannequin. There are feathers everywhere.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” I cautioned, although I knew I was wasting my breath. For all her faults, Yvonne was a good people manager. That our relationship had been strained at all was not entirely her cross to bear. It had taken me time and distance to recognize that I was as much to blame, just as it took me time with Carmen and Marissa to understand that they didn’t wish me ill.

I let Yvonne go with a promise to talk again soon and jettisoned my cell to the vanity.

I thought about putting it on silent, but there was always a small chance that Melanie or Lawrence would need me and I didn’t want to be unavailable to either of them—least of all when Mel was due any day now.

I glanced at my watch. Six-fifteen. From the other room, the click-clack of keys had yet to desist. Ashley had worked the whole night through again. At this rate, we wouldn’t see each other for the rest of the week.

Something had to give—and lately, I was happy for that something to be me. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and slipped my Louboutins on with a deft hand. I looked good. The sheer, black lace baby-doll clung to my breasts and hips, hanging a little loosely around the waist. I wished I had a bit more cleavage to fill it, but I wasn’t aspiring to be a pin-up and I had yet to hear Ashley complain.

The heels gave me height I didn’t need but appreciated all the same. I scrubbed a hand through my hair, disheveling the already disheveled ‘do.

A splash of J’adore and I felt ready—or ready enough. My pulse still sped up as I approached Ashley’s closed office door. It wasn’t anxiety as such, but I knew he appreciated peace and quiet when he worked. I aimed to disturb both.

I didn’t stoop to knocking.

The scent of caffeine hit me first. When Ashley had said he wanted to move the espresso machine into the office two weeks after we’d finished unpacking all the boxes, I hadn’t objected. It hadn’t occurred to me, at the time, that it would become his new mistress.

“I know it’s late,” Ashley confessed without looking up from the screen. “I’ll be along shortly…”

“That’d be a shame, especially after I went to all this effort.” I leaned against the door frame as I scraped a heel along the floor. We had no carpets in our new loft. Ashley had suggested we buy some, make the place look and feel cozy, but I liked the austere, industrial look. It reminded me of Melanie’s apartment and the sanctuary we’d found there in our hour of need.

As with most things, we’d struck a compromise. We’d bought a plush rug for the living room and left the rest of the loft bare and grunge-chic. Bare steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling of what had once been an old warehouse. Even the bedroom was all metal and exposed brick. In one particular aspect of our lives, the industrial décor worked perfectly.

No one thought twice about the conspicuous ceiling hooks…

Ashley looked up from the laptop screen and instantly did a double take. My pride simmered when he sat back to watch me properly. “You look great.”

“I’m meeting my other lover in a couple of minutes,” I quipped. “Thought I’d get gussied up.”

“Lucky guy,” Ashley noted, smirking.

“He is. Unfortunately he works so much that sometimes I have to make do all by myself.” I circled the big, ugly mahogany desk he’d bought against my wishes and rested my hands against the edge. “Whenever I catch him, though…he’s all mine.”

Ashley chuckled indulgently, as though he could see right through my game, but his gaze predictably dipped down the V-neck of the negligee to the tops of my breasts. I fervently hoped I wasn’t all red spots, which sometimes happened when I got aroused.

“Close the laptop,” he told me, and I did.

I let my fingers rest on the closed lid as if to prevent him ever opening it again. Jealousy was too tempting, so I schooled my thoughts into a different direction—Ashley’s dark eyes were distraction enough.

“Have you been feeling neglected?”

I couldn’t tell if he was asking honestly or playing along. I shook my head. “I know you have to work.” For us, for our family… It wasn’t as simple as his career and my career anymore. Ever since we’d signed both our names to the lease and decided to make New York our new home, we’d become a unit. I straightened and slowly completed the circuit around the desk. “Consider this a reward rather than a remonstration.”

“I think I will,” Ashley agreed. He left just enough room between his knees and the edge of the desk for me to slither in, my stomach doing backflips as he cast his fingertips along my bare thighs. “How much time do we have?”

“I work at nine.” But the subway in New York was as prompt as in Paris. I needed only half an hour to get to the store.

“Oh,” he scoffed. “Then we have plenty of time.”

‘Plenty’ might have been putting it a little strongly, especially if he intended to caress me at such a glacial pace, but who was I to complain? The partnership we’d forged was never stronger than in our moments of intimacy. I surrendered to the sweet agony of waiting for him to push up the scrap of silk I’d worn solely to turn him on, gratified when he slid his warm hands over my belly.

I might have moaned. I definitely threw my head back and gripped the edge of the desk. Ashley laughed as he tipped forward. The flutter of lips against my navel made my breaths quicken—as did the scrape of his teeth before he pulled away.

Before Ashley, I had no idea that I liked my pleasure with a little pain. Now I knew. I’d grown insatiable since we met. I wanted him constantly, but particularly when I couldn’t have him.

“You’ve missed this,” Ashley rasped, his warm breath stirring the flames inside my belly. My acquiescence was unnecessary. He knew me too well to doubt it. “I think you should go ahead and show me just how much.”

I nearly keened in protest when he withdrew. I had to bite my lip to quench a protest. I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing.

“You want proof?” It was my turn to let my gaze slide down his body. Ashley spread his thighs a little wider in invitation. I smirked. Message received. I pinned a foot on the edge of his seat and pushed, sliding the chair back until it hit the wall.

Ashley’s breath caught with an audible hitch. I knew the limits of my power in the bedroom. I had no desire to push them. But it did feel kind of nice to see him slightly disconcerted as I sank slowly to my knees before him. “Like this?” I teased, knowing that if I delayed long enough, he would take what he wanted and used me however he pleased.

I had been counting on our long period of abstinence to make it even harder for him to resist—I’d simply misjudged my own hunger for him.

Fuck it. I grabbed at his belt with unsteady hands, sliding the buckle free and pulling his zipper down in one smooth, gliding stroke. I wanted his cock in my mouth and his hands in my hair. Waiting him out was not an option.

Ashley palmed my chin just as I made to mouth at him through the fabric of his boxers. A fleeting thought flashed through my mind—I’d misjudged his intentions, or he wasn’t really up for indulging me—but he silenced them with a soft, chaste kiss. He tasted of espresso, but I didn’t mind. I licked into his mouth, our tongues dueling. He held me still for a long moment, heedless of his arousal or my quivering breaths.

“I love that lipstick,” he murmured. “Tastes like cherries.”

“Honeysuckle,” I contradicted. At least that was what I’d read. I sucked my lips into my mouth experimentally, but all I could taste now was Ashley. Fair trade.

He smirked and pulled out his cock. “You know what to do.” Gone was the man who grilled me homemade burgers when I was having a bad day, replaced by a darker version, who thought nothing of fisting a hand in my hair and guiding me down. I went without resisting, pleasure sparking along every vein as I caressed his length with my lips. “That’s it,” Ashley breathed, flexing his fingers to draw my mouth where he needed it most.

Direction was all good and nice, but I liked him forceful. I deliberately avoided lingering where he bid me. Instead, I delivered sharp, lazy flicks of the tongue along the underside of his shaft, never properly satisfying him. Eventually his finely crafted control stretched to the limit and snapped.

When it did, the sting of his reproof was on me.

“Feeling rebellious today, are we?”

I glanced up, as innocent as a politician in court, and fluttered my lashes. I’d dated men who mistook my recalcitrance for a teachable moment. I’d also dated men who were too meek to make me deliver when I floundered. Ashley was nothing like that. Before I could blink, he had my head arched back by the scruff and his tail bone on the edge of the seat, angling just right to work his cock into my open mouth.

“Enough,” he snapped when I made to turn my head, and the reprimand slid deep into my bones, like a key unlocking a door I didn’t even know existed.

He shoved in harshly, hissing out a breath when my teeth accidentally scraped along the underside of his shaft. I knew he didn’t like that—most men didn’t—but he let me adjust rather than berate me for the mistake. Somehow he knew I didn’t do it on purpose.

I barely had time to fill my lungs with breath before he had me take him deep, my nose bumping against his belly. I closed my eyes and told myself not to panic. Ashley would never give me more than I could take. I trusted that. I trusted him.

Sure enough, after a long beat, he eased out with a soft sigh, using my mouth the way I intended him to. I clutched my lacy negligee between strokes, wishing he’d let me blow him in earnest even as I gave myself over to the bizarrely freeing sensation of having no control at all.

Let him fuck my mouth the way it pleased him. Let him rip choice out of my hands. There would be other opportunities to go down on him for my own amusement—maybe even tonight, if I could pry him away from his laptop.

I lost track of time under Ashley’s hands.

He was never gentler than when he was torturing me. Every rough thrust was tempered with a stroke of fingers down my spine or a word of praise. I had a hard time focusing on one without becoming mired in the other. By the time he pulled me off, I was tethered to the sound of his voice, hypnotized and willing to do anything he asked. My gaze sought his.

“Over the desk,” Ashley growled.

I couldn’t obey fast enough. Legs quaking, I rested my elbows on the desk and pinned both hands flat to the glossy wood. I pushed the laptop a little further up the desk so it wouldn’t get smashed. Ashley’s work was important, although occasionally I wanted nothing more than to sever our Internet cable and lock us both in the bedroom.

I figured I was permitted some leeway to be possessive as long as I left the acting on baser urges to Ashley. He was decidedly better at it.

I found myself nearly horizontal on the desk, his breath hot in my ear as he bunched up the fabric of the negligee. Another second or two, and I was certain the flimsy scrap of lace would give way. I was right. The first tear sent a flood of heat roiling through my veins.

“Is this what you want?” Ashley muttered. “When you dress up like a whore, when you come in here, looking to tempt me… Is this how you want to be treated?”

He snaked an arm around my waist, hoisting me back against his broad body. I felt his cock settle between my buttocks and nearly shoved back. That wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted, either. “Yes,” I gritted out. “Yes, fucking—” A sharp cry tore out of my throat as Ashley struck my hip.

I started forward, but forward there was only the unforgiving edge of the desk and behind me there was Ashley—unyielding, uncompromising Ashley, digging his fingers into my hot, stinging flesh. I whimpered.

“You can take it,” he purred and I believed him even though we’d only just started to dip our toes into pain-play and I was still getting used to the idea that it was okay to feel my cunt throb when he spanked me. He kissed my cheek. “You want another?”

“I want you.” It wasn’t a challenge if he asked.

“Pull your panties down.”

I bit my lip. “You do it.”

Ashley rewarded me with another hard smack, both cheeks now throbbing when he leaned in to brush his cock against my tender skin. “I said take them off.”

My defiant streak desisted as I fumbled to tug off my underwear. I was soaked and I was eager for him, and playing games just didn’t seem worthwhile anymore. I should’ve known Ashley would disagree the minute I felt him walk his fingertips down my slit. “Look at you… Wet and ready for me like a little slut.”

Not so little. I jammed my knuckles into the desk, trying hard not to ride his hand. I knew that the moment I gave in, he’d retreat. He liked to make it impossible for me to find satisfaction until he was well and ready to let me have it. He liked taking charge of my orgasms. And I would’ve been lying if I claimed I didn’t get off on him getting me off.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. I didn’t hesitate, though I anticipated the slick, familiar slide of his fingers into my mouth. “That’s it. Suck them like a cock. Show me how talented you are, girl…”

It was girl or sweetheart with him. Sometimes little slut if I misbehaved. Never bitch or cunt. I didn’t like those all that much. Although in fairness he could’ve called me anything as long as he did it in that low, dark voice, like velvet on a bed of needles. I was helplessly in his thrall when he spoke to me like this. Case in point, I sucked his fingers with everything I had, even choking on breath when he removed them.

I parted my thighs in anticipation, shivering as he traced his spit-slick fingertips down my spine. I didn’t need him to finger me, I was ready and very much willing, but I wasn’t going to turn down the offer, either. I adored his hands. We’d spent many a night while Ashley was recovering from his concussion engaging in mutually satisfying manual play. He was one of those rare men who didn’t seem to mind if a fuck didn’t involve his cock in my pussy.

This morning was slightly different.

I didn’t realize it until he anchored one of my knees to the desk and pulled me back into his lap. He slid in easy, effortlessly, the stretch of penetration stirring a groan from deep inside my chest. Then I felt it—his thumb nudging against the tight rosebud of my anus, circling in slick little circles.

“Oh, you son of a bitch…”

Ashley laughed, fucking into me with short, sharp little thrusts. “What was that?” He stroked a hand up my back, folding his fingers around my nape. “Say it again.”

“You’re a son of a bitch,” I choked out. He knew that turned me on. Just the memory of the last time we’d tried anal made my inner muscles clench like a vise around his cock.

At least his breath caught—small mercies.

I had come to the office intent on seducing him and here I was, clinging for dear life as he effortlessly ratcheted up my pleasure with every passing second. I slid a hand under my body and pinched my right nipple as hard as I could. The shard of pain slithered into my bloodstream and sank down into the pit of my stomach, where instead of beating back my impending climax, it only fanned the flames.

Ashley must’ve felt it, too. His casual strokes became a not-so-casual pressure against my tight opening, inching his finger past the clench of muscle as he plowed into me with his cock. This was his way of teaching me a lesson—the kind we both enjoyed and I pretended never to grasp.

It worked every time.

He didn’t have to order me to come and I didn’t think to ask permission. I detonated around him with a guttural, unladylike noise, juddering against the table as my back arched. My body seized taut as I drew out his release alongside my own. One shoe clattered to the ground as I bucked and shuddered apart. I would’ve tipped right out of the other if not for Ashley to catch me and hold me still.

“I’ve got you,” he panted, “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” I choked out.

Ashley nodded against my shoulder, his breath gusting hotly on my skin. He withdrew slowly, tempering my shakes as best he could with the stroke of a gentle hand.

“This is probably the orgasm talking, but, uh…feel free to interrupt me any time.”

“Careful what you wish for,” I mumbled as we slid apart. I didn’t want to move, but pins and needles were beginning to arc down my right leg and I desperately needed a shower if I was going to make it to work on time. I straightened slowly, aching from the waist down. “Hit harder next time.”

“Yeah?” Ashley palmed my hip. “Like this?”

I wasn’t ready for it and the sharp swat evaporated the breath in my lungs.

“I said next time.”

“I’m off duty…” The proposition that hovered in his eyes couldn’t have been easier to discern. He wanted to have another go. My pussy throbbed as the thought settled at the forefront of my mind, but it wasn’t as simple as giving in to Ashley’s desires.

“I have to work,” I grumbled.

“Not for another couple of hours,” he pointed out. But my dithering didn’t leave him cold. He smoothed down the folds of my negligee after a beat, smiling crookedly. “We don’t have to. I’m being greedy.”

“Yes, you are.” I like greedy.

After a moment’s thought, I hopped onto the desk and tipped back onto my elbows. “Vibrator’s in the bottom drawer…” Christening every room in the loft meant that we intentionally forgot one or the other toy all over the place. They came in handy for moments like these, when time was not on our side and we still couldn’t get enough of each other.

Ashley leaned in and caught my mouth in a slow, possessive kiss. I let him lead. There was nothing I liked better than being at his mercy.

 

* * * *

 

It happened rarely enough that a few minutes’ delay in the morning didn’t raise any eyebrows. Still, out of regard for my position as the ‘new girl’, I stayed an hour over my shift to make sure everything was put to rights for tomorrow morning. I didn’t text Ashley to let him know. I figured he was probably sleeping. My workdays were his downtime since we’d moved to New York—he worked better at night, after we fooled around. It was an arrangement I could live with.

My real worry was for Lawrence. I couldn’t gauge tone through his texts and when I crossed busy Fifth Avenue to the coffee shop for our regular meeting, I all but expected to find him gone. He wasn’t.

He looked up when I entered and beamed a wide, toothy grin. “You’ve only been here a couple of months and you’re already angling for a promotion, huh?” He submitted gamely enough to my kissing his cheeks, European-style. “What can I get you?”

“Whatever you’re having,” I answered offhandedly. “But I can get it myself…”

Lawrence was already up, weaving seamlessly through the crowded tables en route to the counter. I was left with his schoolbooks and the dregs of his latte. Heavy tomes with titles like The Accountant’s Handbook and More than Numbers took up most of the narrow wooden table, pages marked with Post-its. I tried not to pry, but my curiosity was piqued.

“Speaking of people angling for a promotion… What’s all this?”

“Oh, I’m just getting stuff together for work tonight.” He flashed me a smile as he returned with the coffee. “I was thinking, at the end of the semester… I might try to go back to school myself.”

“You want to get your accreditation?” I was hopeful. Ever since we’d relocated to New York, Lawrence had become slightly rudderless. He had an apartment not far from where Ashley and I lived, and he was trying to get his life back together, but I knew what grief looked like.

He slid the books into his messenger bag and shook his head. “I kind of want to go into teaching. I know it’s not a lucrative profession, but—”

“You should do it.”

I reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. He had no one else to support him. It was up to me to carve out any and all misgivings in favor of being his unflinching cheerleader. It wasn’t as though either of us had any family we could confide in.

“Maybe,” Lawrence said, folding his hands over the table. “It’s not definite. I’m still thinking…”

“Right. But I think you’d be good at it.”

His smile was tepid. I knew better than to push the point. “So, uh, when do they get here?” he asked, fiddling with a shirt cuff.

I glanced at the quirky cuckoo clock above the cash register. My grandparents would be getting ready for their flight right about now. I had the day off tomorrow to pick them up from the airport. Hornets swarmed in my belly at the thought.

“There’s still time for a change of heart,” I muttered around a scalding sip of coffee.

“Do you think they would?”

I shook my head. I’d had a call from my grandmother earlier in the day to confirm. She was looking forward to seeing me. I didn’t really know what to do with that information.

Lawrence rolled his eyes at me. “Sounds like she misses you. Is that so unusual?”

“For normal people, no, but Grand-mère is more lizard than human. That reminds me—you are still coming to dinner tomorrow night, right?”

I had made reservations at one of Ashley’s favorite restaurants in an attempt to start off the visit on the right foot. It was no guarantee against the whole thing backfiring. My grandparents had proscribed the United States after the funeral. I didn’t expect an overnight change just for my sake, but with Lawrence present, we might avoid another meltdown.

“I’ll be there,” Lawrence said, crossing his heart.

“Thanks.” I hated to admit it, but I breathed a little easier knowing I would have reinforcements. “And don’t be nervous. They’ll love you.”

Lawrence smiled, but his expression was guarded. “I hope so.”

“Worst-case scenario, you can join me in being a disappointment to the family name. Doesn’t get much worse than a shop girl whose name was plastered all over the papers four months ago…” Not for people to whom privacy and dignity were paramount. I fingered the plastic lid of the cup. “Ashley’s making progress with the book.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, trying to gather my thoughts into some semblance of order. I wanted Ashley to write our story both because he seemed to need some way to process it and because I wanted to set the record straight about what had really happened twenty years ago. We had evidence enough to go around—court documents, interviews with the families of the victims, including Barnes, plus my own account and Lawrence’s—but the greater concern was how to handle the things only we knew.

There were many versions of the truth floating around. My father’s had gotten traction in the years before Donna Barnes had resurfaced. Harry Pruitt’s was its own self-serving narrative.

“I haven’t told him,” I murmured, dropping my voice an octave.

“Why not?” Lawrence didn’t sound surprised, just curious. I didn’t blame him. His life was as much a mystery to me as mine was to him. We’d had less than a year to get used to each other and we had so much more to learn.

“Ashley loves me. I don’t know if he’d love me knowing…”

That Pruitt wasn’t my father’s accomplice, that he’d never lifted a finger against a woman until he’d broken my nose on that dirt path in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. His pet victim was his own son and he’d wielded his power over Lawrence through the very woman who had brought us both into this world.

Lawrence didn’t dig any deeper than that. “And the journal?”

“Destroyed,” I replied quickly. “Like I promised.” We’d made a deal the day after Special Agent Velasquez had let us both go.

Mom was gone and so were the women she’d helped Kane abduct and murder. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to dig up the past.

My father could open his big mouth if he wanted to try his hand at being a celebrity. Once Ashley’s book came out, Kane’s story would become a farce. It would be just one more far-fetched attempt on the part of a convicted murderer to scapegoat one of his victims. I doubted he’d take that leap. He had protected his ex-wife for twenty years.

Just like Harry Pruitt.

With her raven hair and her beguiling black eyes, Laure Reynaud must have been some woman. Lawrence and I carried her in our blood—a ticking time bomb, a lodestone that lured good people into our orbit.

We stood together outside the café, our shoulders brushing as we worked up the nerve to part ways.

“See you tomorrow night?” Lawrence asked, audibly hopeful.

“With bells on.” I hugged him tight for just a moment and breathed in his scent. Then we broke free of one another, the gap between us swiftly widening from an inch to a foot. Distance was just an illusion, though. Even an ocean apart, we’d always been bound together, fighters forged in venom and blood.

A fine misting rain dusted the pavement, gusting in from the East Side. I popped my earphones in and queued Wedding Bell Blues on my iPod as I started down the street—toward Ashley and our home—my mother’s easy laugh chiming in my ears.