Improper English (26 page)

Only he wasn’t dangling.

“Oh, Christ,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and rusty. I smiled the smile of supreme power and licked my lower lip while leaning into him. His body twitched once; then he let his head fall back as he groaned and grabbed at the carpet beneath him. I turned my head and ran my tongue up the long length of him.

“Christ, Alix, you’re going to kill me if you…” I swirled my tongue around the sensitive underside, and his hips arched up beneath me as he sucked in probably half the air in the room. “Ah, sweet Jesus. Uncle!
Uncle!”

“Mmm, not good enough. You can still speak.” I closed my hand around the base of him and stroked upwards. A tremor shook him as I found a rhythm he liked.

“Let’s see if this does the job.” I flicked my tongue across the very tip of him, then took his heated length
into my mouth and let my tongue go wild. Alex came unglued and began to babble.

I smiled to myself. I
told
him he was going to be incoherent! It’s always nice to be proved right.

Sir Christopher rushed forward, his eyes blazing and his hair standing on end as he threw himself at the dastardly coward who had struck Black Demon a blow to the side of the head.

“You spleeny, fen-sucked varlet!”

Steel clashed with steel as the brave warrior lunged at the Indigo Knight.

“You pox-hearted maltworm!”

How dare the bastard attack an innocent horse? Sir Christopher could have sobbed with agony when he saw that horrible blank look return to brave Demon’s eyes. So short a time! So short a time had the noble steed regained his sight, and now that foul, dog-hearted younker had returned Demon to his sightless state.

“You churlish base-court ratsbane! I shall gut you like the beslubbering milk-livered stinkweed you are and feed your entrails to the toads! Prepare to die!”

“What do you think of it so far?”

Alex remained quiet, lying on his side, our legs twined together just as his fingers were twined through my hair, idly twisting strands as he listened to me read to him. I looked up from where I was sprawled halfway across his chest and met his frown.

“What? Why are you frowning at me like that?”

His emerald gaze skittered away from mine as he disentangled his hand and flipped back the curtain. “It’s getting late. I’d best be going.”

I pushed my manuscript pages aside and tightened my grip on his bare chest. “No. Not until you tell me why you frowned when I asked you what you thought of my new story.”

Alex tried to slither out from underneath me, but I clung like a determined limpet. After our passionate, if intercourse-free, episode the previous night, we had continued the détente by returning to my flat so I could whip up a little dinner. With my willpower and good intentions flown out the window in the face of my desire for him, I asked Alex to stay the night even if we couldn’t indulge in our usual pastimes. He agreed, and I used the remaining hours before bedtime planning all of the things I would say to him, and a goodly number of the ones he would say to me. I spent a lovely fifteen minutes lying in his arms, savoring the feeling of just being with him, of being able to touch and stroke and feel him, but best of all, I savored the anticipation of our chance to talk, truly talk, to explain exactly why we weren’t going to work things out, and make him see reason…but then I fell asleep. By the time I woke up the following morning, there was only time for me to read him a couple
of pages of my new story before he had to get ready for work.

“So?” I prodded him. “What do you think?”

He sighed one of his patented Saint Alex the Martyr sighs and let me push him back onto the pillows. “Let me ask you a question instead.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was this? “OK, I guess. Shoot.”

He put both hands on my shoulders and kissed the tip of my nose. “Why does it matter what I think of your story?”

“Well…” Dammit, he had me there! I couldn’t tell him that his opinion mattered greatly, because that would be tantamount to admitting that he was still vital to me, and thus we were still a couple and still had a future. We weren’t and we didn’t. And yet I had to tell him something. “Uh…I’m just curious as to whether you think it’s better than the first story.”

He smoothed back a strand of my hair that was caught on my lip. “And if I told you I thought your story lacked insight into the heroine’s reasons for her actions, what would you do?”

I kissed his fingers and slid off his chest. “I’d probably go back and make sure I added insight to the story.”

“Will you show the story to your friends? To Isabella?”

Isabella was still a bit of a sore point with me, but I supposed I would if she expressed any interest. I thought it best I keep those thoughts to myself, however, lest I give Alex more grounds to fling charges of jealousy at me. “Sure, if she wants to hear it, I’ll read some of it to her.”

“And if she says she thinks the dialogue is weak?”

I shrugged and pulled on my fuzzy bathrobe. “I’d probably punch it up a bit. Why are you asking me these questions?”

Alex continued to lie on the bed, his hands behind his head as he watched me toddle to the kitchen for the coffee grinder. “I was just curious why you cling to destructive patterns.”

I dropped the bag of coffee. “I what?”

He sat up and pushed the sheets off his long, long legs. I dragged my eyes off the good parts of him and kept them firmly on his face. I wasn’t about to be distracted by his gorgeous body, not when I sensed an argument coming on.

“Alix, if you have one failing in life, it’s that you lack courage.”

I threw down the hand towel I was holding and stomped over to where he was heading for the bathroom. I blocked the door, hands on my hips, scowl on my brow. “In the last few days I have been called selfish, self-centered, and jealous. Now I’m a coward as well?”

He pushed my hands off my hips, grasped me firmly, and tried to hoist me out of his way. I dug my toes into the orange shag carpet and stayed put.

“I didn’t say you were a coward, I said you lacked courage. And you do.”

I slapped the flat of my hand against his chest. He didn’t budge. “Explain that if you will, Detective Inspector Judgmental!”

He tried to shift me again. I grabbed on to the door frame with both hands and refused to be moved.

“Alix, I need to use the toilet.” He looked down pointedly at that part of his anatomy that was often a barometer of such things. I looked down as well, pursing my
lips, then reached out and wrapped my hand around him.

He growled a warning. I smirked and stepped aside. “Oh, OK, go ahead. But you have to explain yourself as soon as you’re finished in there!”

It took him twenty minutes, but only because he made use of my shower, my spare toothbrush, and even the razor I use to shave my armpits. He voiced loud opinions about the state of the blade, none of which I paid any attention to as I poked him in the chest.

“OK, you’ve used the facilities. Now explain that nasty little crack you made.”

He started to steer me over to the ladderback chair, then swerved and pushed me down onto the chaise, squatting next to me with my hands in his.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean what I said as an insult.”

I snorted and tugged on my hands. His fingers tightened around them.

“No, I’m not going to let go of your hands, not until I’ve said what I want to say, and I’d like you to promise that you’ll hear me out without interruption.”

“Why? Is it going to be so bad you don’t think I can listen without objecting to what you want to say?”

“Just promise me you’ll give me a fair hearing.” His eyes, those lovely eyes, watched me warily. I gnawed a bit on my lower lip until I noticed he was watching my mouth with an avidity that started familiar fires inside me. I didn’t have time for those fires anymore. I clamped down on my lips and nodded, crossing my arms and lifting my chin in preparation for what I was sure was going to be yet another detailed examination of my shortcomings.

I wasn’t disappointed.

“Alix, when I said you lacked courage, I didn’t mean you were a coward. During the last month that we’ve known each other, I’ve come to recognize that you have a significant problem with your self-image.” I opened my mouth to dispute that dastardly opinion, but he squeezed my hands in warning. I gave him a good glare instead. “I suspect your feelings of inadequacy stem from your early home life and your relationship with your mother, reinforced later by the negative experiences you’ve had with the men who’ve shared your life.”

I ground my teeth at him. He might have a degree in psychology, but did that give him any right to dissect my psyche? His thumbs stroked feathery little circles on the tops of my hands, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the horrible, hurtful things he was saying.

“When I first met you, I assumed you must be aware of how you perpetuated failure by repeating the same patterns of destructive behavior. It seemed to me that you had taken the necessary steps to break that pattern—first by leaving your family circle and coming halfway around the world by yourself, then by setting yourself a goal that was well within your ability to achieve. But it soon became apparent that you were unaware of the source of your past unhappiness. I had hoped that our relationship and your success at finishing a project would break the cycle of failure that you’ve used as an excuse for surrendering whenever life becomes difficult, but your determination to see rejection around every corner has eliminated that hope.”

Fury like no fury I’ve ever experienced filled me at his words. I snatched my hands from him and shoved him. Hard. He fell backwards onto his butt. I jumped off the chaise and ran to the door, throwing it open.

“Out. Get out of here.” My voice was low and ugly, laden with all of the hatred I felt for him at that moment.

“Alix, you promised you’d hear me out.” He slowly got to his feet, holding out his hands, palms up.

“Get out of my flat.” I never once took my eyes from his, wanting him to see the pain and anger and every other emotion that roiled around inside me.

He shook his head and walked up to me, placing his hands on my arms. I shook them off. He took a hold of me again, his fingers hard on my arms. “No, Alix. You’re not going to run from this again. You can throw me out if you want, but you’re going to have to face the truth first.”

“I am not going to listen to you anymore!” I ground out, my voice starting to rise with the panic that swamped me.

He shook me, but without any real force. “You repeat the same pattern when any chance at happiness presents itself, Alix, whether it’s a relationship with a man or a job. You set yourself up for failure, then use that as an excuse to quit when things become difficult. Life doesn’t work that way. You have to fight for what you want.”

“GET…OUT…OF…MY…FLAT!”
I bellowed, mindless of the open door, mindless of the tears streaming down my face, mindless of the look of sorrow and anger that mingled in Alex’s eyes.

“You said you loved me. Aren’t I worth fighting for? Aren’t
we
worth the effort to stay together? Or is your love for me nothing but cheap lust, nothing but a shallow, meaningless little fling? I see the results of that every day, Alix. I thought we had something more than just sex.”

I wanted to hit him. I’ve never wanted to strike another
person before in my life, not even my mother when she made me angry enough to spit, but, God help me, my hand itched to slap Alex, to hurt him, to make him go away and leave me alone and, above all, to make him stop looking at me with those emerald eyes that saw right through to my soul.

“No, it’s not just lust. I did love you. I still do, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I want you to leave, Alex. I don’t want to see you again. It’s over between us. You can believe whatever you want about me, but believe this—we are finished.”

“Ah, sweetheart, you may be willing to give up on us so easily, but I’m not.” He stepped forward to touch me, but I stumbled away.

I went to the phone. I had a grip on my turbulent emotions once again, and even managed to speak without shrieking. If my voice was raw and made up of sharp, cutting tones, I couldn’t help it. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police.”

He blinked at me in disbelief.

I picked up the phone and dialed 999, the emergency number that would connect me with the police, my eyes never flickering from his.

He raised his hands in defeat and let them fall as I put the receiver back on the cradle. “You win. I’ll leave. But I want you to know this: No one can take happiness away from you, they can only put obstacles in your path. How you overcome those obstacles determines how happy your life will be.” He took two steps toward me but stopped when I backed up, still clutching the phone to my chest. “Alix, you’re a smart, witty, attractive woman. You don’t need me or any other man to make you a success, you can do that on your own. You have everything
you need within you to be whatever you want—a famous novelist, a world traveler, or even a brain surgeon if that’s what you want. All you have to do is let yourself have that success.”

He raised a hand as if he was going to touch me, then curled his fingers up into a fist and without another word turned and left. I shuffled forward to close the door in case he tried to come back.

I don’t remember much about the next few hours. They seemed to stream by while I was in a fugue, but after a few hours had passed, basic bodily urges began to poke through my abstraction, and I discovered myself sitting at a chair at my tiny table with an untouched cup of coffee in front of me. My stomach was rumbling loudly, I had to go to the bathroom, and my hands were stiff and painful from gripping the table. I massaged my fingers while I took care of necessary business, but was conscious the whole time of an extraordinary sense of fragility about myself. I felt as if I were made of a delicate, eggshell-thin porcelain. At the slightest touch I would shatter, my body crumbling into a fine, chalky dust.

Slowly, as if it traveled from a great distance, awareness returned to me, and with it pain so deep I did not at first think I would survive it. I curled up into a little ball on the bed, but the sheets still held Alex’s spicy scent, so I ended up in a corner of the room clutching a floor pillow.

Lying in a fetal position soon lost its charm, so as the pain began to ebb back to a level of acceptability, I uncurled myself and sat up to consider the wreckage of my life. Out of the disorganized chaos of my thoughts, recognizable patterns began to form. I hugged the pillow to
my chest to deaden the pain and thought about what Isabella had said. I thought about the things Alex had said as well, although the memory of his words almost sent me back into a fetal ball. I thought about the warmth and concern that Bert and Ray—even Philippe—had shown me. I thought about my mother and my exhusband and every horrible job I’d ever had. I even thought about the Cheeto-rubbers. I looked at my life from every possible angle, but there was no escaping the conclusion:

I had failed in everything I’d attempted. Failed jobs, failed relationships, failed bids for attention and love—they all swirled together into one dense lump of souleating blackness that resided within me.