His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (13 page)

I said, “Would you like something to drink? I have some wine, or I could make us some coffee.”

He said, “No ... yes, actually. A glass of water. Tap is fine.”

I smiled and said okay. When I returned and handed him his drink, he took one small sip then set the glass on the side table.

I went back to the sofa.

Gibson glanced around the room. I winced inwardly, knowing how unimpressive my apartment was. It was clean, had fresh paint, but I’d never decorated the place in any way. Except for the furniture, it was pretty bare.

I said, “As you can see, I’m not a big decorator.”

He asked, “How long have you lived here?”

“Not quite a year.”

“Since you haven’t done much to it, I assume you’re not attached to the place.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It suits me pretty well. And it’s close to work, about a fifteen or twenty minute drive, depending on traffic.”

He propped his ankle on his other knee, and said, “A short commute is important to you?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

He said, “I’ve found a longer commute can be relaxing, give you a chance to think about your day before it starts.”

I smiled. “Sure, if you’re a rich guy who has a driver and doesn’t have to personally duke it out with the other ninety-nine percenters on the roads.”

He gave a little nod. Plucked at his pant leg a few times. “Yes, having a driver is an advantage. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“I can only guess that I would.”

Silence.

I sat in wonder. What was up with Gibson? I’d never known him to go in for all this small talk. I considered taking off my shirt and jump-starting the thing, but thought that might be a bit much.

Gibson looked up at the ceiling. Then back to me. He asked, “Do you like your job?”

“Well, since you might be my boss pretty soon, I’d be an idiot if I answered anything other than I love my job and wouldn’t ever want to lose it.”

He said, “But say that I’m not going to be your boss. How would you answer then?”

What was he up to? If it was something wily, I wasn’t falling for it. I said, “I’d answer the same.”

“I see.”

He suddenly stood up, paced around the room. He was acting agitated, nervous perhaps. About a booty call? Didn’t seem likely.

He noticed one of the few framed photographs I had arranged on a bookcase and picked it up for a closer look. “Is this you as a child?”

“Yep. Me and my grandparents. That was taken at their farm when I was visiting there.”

“Do you still visit them?”

“No. They died not too long after that picture was taken.”

“I’m sorry.” He set the frame down and scanned the other photos.

He asked, “What about your parents? Are they still ...”

“Yes. They’re alive. But I don’t see them. We only speak on holidays, sometimes.”

“Problems?”

“You could say that.”

He nodded. “Family can be difficult.”

I immediately thought of Michael and his mother, and chose to keep my mouth shut about Gibson’s comment regarding family.

He asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. Only child.”

He walked around the room some more, then said, “I suppose you have friends that live nearby, that you go out with regularly.”

I’d had enough. I asked, “Gibson, what’s with the twenty questions routine?”

He didn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure he heard me. He walked over to the sofa and sat down on the other end. He looked at the floor. Then he looked at me.

He said, in something of a rush, “It’s no good. I can’t fight it anymore.”

I thought, is he drunk? No, he wasn’t drunk. His eyes were too clear, he walked too steadily. He likely wasn’t even tipsy, regardless of the bourbon I smelled on him.

He said, “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been crazy about you since the first moment I saw you. I know you felt it, too. I’ve been around and around on this thing, and I’ve tried to do the smart thing, but I can’t keep it up.”

He took a big breath, then said, “I want you, Nonnie Crawford, more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”

I was stunned. Floored. Speechless. Dumbfounded. There weren’t enough words in the dictionary to appropriately describe what I felt at that moment. This had to be some kind of prank. Was Gibson Reeves punking me?

I realized that he was still talking. I said, “Wait. What?”

He said, “I think about you all the time. Want you, always. I hated that you were with Michael Weston, afraid of the damage he might cause. I can’t risk losing you again to someone else, so I have to speak out now, even if it’s too soon, and against my better judgment.”

Say what? I didn’t get a chance to verbalize my thought, though.

He continued, “I want you to move in with me, on my estate. You can have your own space, of course, there’s plenty of empty rooms. Take your pick. But at night, you’ll sleep with me, naturally. You’ll be my submissive. I’ll train you.”

My mind was whirling. He wasn’t punking me. He meant everything he was saying, I could tell. He wasn’t speaking all that emotionally, really, but his expression was definitely less controlled than normal. I knew. He meant every word he said.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

“I’m breaking my own rules here,” he said, “making an exception with you. I’ve always preferred experienced subs, closer to my own age, and I never train my own. I think you, in particular, will be challenging because of your youth and your association with Weston. I know I should send you for training at Private Residence, but ... I can’t wait for you that long.”

I sat straighter in my seat. Hold up now. I thought my blood pressure might be starting to rise.

He wasn’t finished yet. Oh joy. He said, “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for going with Weston. I know how he is, how he lures women into his bed. I can’t ever blame you for that, no matter how much I wish it never happened. We all make mistakes. Mine was in not snapping you up right away, thinking I needed to test you for something I knew was inside you from the first.”

Oh yeah, my blood pressure was definitely rising. And a powerful heat was creeping up my neck, under my chin.

“Also,” he added, “I want you to know that you should feel free to quit your job. It can’t be that challenging to you, a largely clerical position like that. I’ll provide you with everything you need or want. You can take your time, figure out what you really want to do. Choose any open position you want in all of Roundtree Holdings.”

I didn’t focus on anything he said past “a largely clerical position.”

And he still wasn’t finished. “About your friends. You won’t be able to see them often at first, of course, because of your training, but eventually you’ll have more free time to spend with them. You can invite them out to the estate. We’ll work out a schedule that will be good for both of us. I would never want to deprive you of your friendships.”

Golly, I thought, that sure was nice of him.

He leaned forward, took my hands in his own, breathed deeply and said, “So, beautiful Nonnie. Move in with me. Tonight. We’ll pack up whatever you want and get you out of this place that you are too good for. My car’s outside. Come away with me.”

He looked at me.

I thought, was he finished finally?

The heat that had been simmering on my neck had now risen up to cover my entire face. I did my best to maintain a placid expression, but inside I was raging.

So many things I wanted to say to the man expectantly waiting for my answer. So many things. Too many things. I kept it simple.

I said, “No, thank you.”

He stared at me. Blinked. Blinked again.

He said, “That’s ... all you’ve got to say. No thank you.”

I shrugged.

He released my hands and pulled away from me. “I don’t understand. I think I deserve an explanation. If there’s some misunderstanding, something that’s holding you back, tell me and I’ll clear it up.”

I said, “There’s no misunderstanding. I understood you perfectly. You want me to move in with you. I’ve declined your offer. Simple.”

That stumped him. Served him right.

I said, “So if we’re finished here ...”

I made to stand up, but Gibson clapped a hand on my knee. I sat back down and couldn’t hold back a glower.

He said, “I’m not leaving yet. You say it’s simple, but that’s outrageous. I just told you how much I care about you, how much I want to do for you, with you. I can’t be satisfied with a ‘no-thank-you’ answer.”

I didn’t reply.

He said, “You can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me. I know you want me. You can’t fake what happened in your office the other day. It was spectacular. You can’t fake that.”

“I wasn’t faking anything. But you don’t have to like someone to have sex with them.”

He looked completely taken aback. Every last scrap of his cool demeanor, gone. “You don’t like me. Is that what you’re saying? You used me for sex, even though you don’t like me.”

“I didn’t use you. It was a fling. How could I have thought otherwise, Gibson? Until tonight, I had no idea you thought about me as anyone other than someone you wanted to fuck. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure of that much, you’re so closed off.”

He flinched.

I said, “I don’t want this to get ugly or nasty. Let’s just ... I don’t know. Forget about it.”

He snapped at me. “No. Be nasty. Better that than cold indifference.”

That was too much. I let out a harsh laugh. “You’re accusing me of being cold. You are seriously a piece of work.”

He said, his voice like the grinding of stone on stone. “Go on. What else have you got against me? Tell me why I deserve what you’re doing. What have I done that’s turned you against me?”

“What haven’t you done? You say you want me, but that you don’t want to want me. You ask me to move in with you like you’re doing me some kind of high and mighty favor. I guess I’m supposed to jump at the chance to be your grateful, bowing slave.”

I was only getting started. I said, “I should’ve been thrilled, I suppose, that you’re gracious enough to allow me some scheduled free time with my friends, when it’s convenient for you, of course. And you were so kind as to insult my home, my job, my experience, my age. What about me didn’t you insult? God, I can’t imagine why that might put me off you.”

He said, “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re twisting what I said.”

“The hell I am. And don’t get me started on what you said about me and Michael.”

Gibson asked, “What about him? I don’t see that I said anything so wrong.”

I was on a roll now. He wanted it, I’d give it to him. “I didn’t choose Michael over you because he’s handsome and charming, although he’s definitely both. Even if he weren’t those things, he would have won by default because of what you did to me that night at the Frederick Hotel.”

Gibson visibly winced.

I said, “You completely humiliated me. I’ve never been more embarrassed. I still can’t think about it very long without feeling sick to my stomach.”

He said, “I know I made a mistake that night. I tried to apologize. You said you were okay.”

I snapped, “What else was I supposed to say? Think about it, Gibson. You made me feel like the biggest fool on the planet. Should I have degraded myself further by telling you all about it? Should I have expected you to delay your oh-so-important meeting to comfort an idiot like me? Come on. You can’t possibly have expected that.”

“You’re right. You’re right. I didn’t think it through ... I was too ...,” he ran a hand through his hair, squeezed the back of his neck, “... it doesn’t matter now. I see it. I understand everything now. You don’t have to say anything else.”

I said, “Yes I do. I’m not finished. That was why I picked Michael over you, yes. But the thing is, I couldn’t completely hate you for it. I should have, but I didn’t. Probably it was because I was still attracted to you, physically.”

I continued, “I didn’t start to actively dislike you until Michael told me all about you, and the horrible way you’ve treated him and his mother.”

Gibson said, “So it is about Weston, then.”

“I hate how you say his name with that sneer in your voice. Every time you run him down, every time you imply that I’m some stupid twit for choosing him over you, it only reminds me of how cold and uncaring you are. Of how you abandoned your family ...”

He looked like I had struck him. He cut me off. “That’s enough. I don’t need to hear anymore.”

His expression went flat, devoid of all emotion. He instantly appeared exactly the way he normally did, detached, inscrutable.

And polite. He said evenly, “I understand now. I apologize for everything. I obviously misread how things are and all of the blame for that is my own.”

Gibson stood up, straight and proud, and said, “You’re a lovely person, and I wish you only the best in the future.”

He headed to the door. I jumped up and followed behind him. I should have said something, but what?