Pierced (12 page)

Somehow, that just makes me laugh harder until I am leaning against the wall of the shower stall holding my sides; the whole situation is so absurd it’s hilarious. How in the world has someone such as myself ended in up Lucian’s Quinn’s shower being washed by him, after having what can only be called dirty sex on his kitchen counter? It really is too much to take in. I barely know the man, and he’s washing my hoo-ha, as Rose calls it, after just having licked it thoroughly. The sensible Lia Adams has left the building and in her place is a…tramp? Me, a tramp? That’s unreal. Most people have colon cleanings more than I have sex. Why him, though? We are worlds apart in every way, but I feel so damn comfortable with him. He is familiar, and when I’m dying to have him inside me, I just want to be with him. He begins to look worried as he continues to study me. “Sorry, I just lost it there for a minute. I…I’m just not used to someone washing me.” He smirks before grabbing my arm and pulling me forward.

“Let’s finish the job then.” I can only blame what happens next on my complete absorption in all things Lucian. As he twirls me around to face the wall, I laugh until I hear his harsh inhalation. Oh, fuck. Oh, my God, how could I have forgotten my back? As I attempt to jerk around, he holds me immobile. “What the fuck is this?” he asks too quietly. I shrink as far away from him as I can. I feel the need to apologize as if I have deceived him somehow.

“It’s just a scar,” I say instead, dropping my head in shame. Like Jackson, he won’t want me anymore. I am marked…ugly. “Please, let me go, Luc.” I hate that my voice wobbles as I beg him to release me. When instead I feel his hand softly gliding over my marred flesh, I jolt as if I can still feel the hot brand of the iron; no one has touched me there since that day.

“Lia…baby, how did you get this?” Before I can answer, he adds quietly, “It almost looks like an iron.” Whereas just a moment ago, I was laughing, I now feel tears start to flow, blending in with the water from the shower. I want to disappear, to escape the embarrassment beating down on me. How could I have forgotten? How could I have let him see my back? His grip on me has loosened as he stands looking at my back, and I take advantage of it, wrenching myself free and stumbling from the shower. I have to get away; I need to cover myself from his prying eyes. Not bothering with a towel, I try to pull my shirt on over my wet skin.

Lucian jumps out of the shower, taking in my struggle to dress in one glance. Without saying anything, he takes the shirt from my hand and wraps me instead in a fluffy bath towel. He puts another towel around his waist and then just stands, looking at me.

Picking imaginary lint from the towel, I say, “It is an iron; at least, it was.” He curses low under his breath but doesn’t move.

“Who?” he asks. Lying seems pointless; he doesn’t know me or my family, and I’m unlikely to see him again after this.

“My stepfather.” When his face goes molten and he throws his fist at the wall, I jump, stunned.

“Fucking hell!” he snarls. My teeth are chattering as I start to shake. His eyes widen as he takes in my reaction; he looks instantly contrite. He slowly approaches me, pulling me gently against his chest. “I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you. That’s probably the last thing you need to see.” He works for a moment to get his breathing under control as he slowly strokes my back. “It just makes me sick to think of some bastard laying his hand on you, or any woman, for that matter. When did this happen? The scar doesn’t look recent, but it’s burned so deeply into your skin.”

“It…was five years ago. Before I left home.” In the warmth of his arms, I find myself clinging to his strength. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

Lucian pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Lia, you don’t have anything to be sorry about, and I’m an asshole if I made you think that. Honey, I know I don’t have any right to ask you this, but did he…were you, fuck, did he rape you?”

“No,” I whisper. “After a while, he didn’t want me that way.” I drop my head back to his chest, soaking up the comfort he offers.

“Thank fuck,” he sighs, holding me closer for another moment. We stand that way for another few minutes. I sense he wants to question me further, but he doesn’t, and I’m grateful; I don’t want more of my past ugliness spilled onto him. We both start dressing, and he helps me into my shirt. His cellphone seems to be alternating between texts and ringing, and I know he needs to go. He quickly leads me through the apartment and quietly answers my questions. The place is mostly clean, and I can’t imagine having more than an hour of work to do here. As I walk him to the door, he rubs my arm, saying, “You know this isn’t necessary. I don’t need you to be my housekeeper. I would much prefer hiring someone and having you concentrate on your schoolwork. Hell, if I could keep my damn hands off you, the office would be a much better place for you to learn something beneficial.”

My first smile since the revelation in the bathroom stretches across my face. Despite my scar, he still wants me. I release a breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. “I don’t mind, Luc. I’ve never been given anything for free, and I don’t intend to start now. I would love to witness the inner workings of your company, but not if it would be a distraction for you.” Giving him a teasing grin, I add, “Since you don’t seem to be a slob, this should be an easy job with a flexible schedule for school.” He still looked undecided, so I push him gently toward the door. “Go to work and make some millions or whatever brilliant thing you do there. I’ve got countertops to clean.”

He throws his head back, laughing at my reference to his counters and our earlier activities. “All right, point taken. I had better go before Sam stops calling and comes up here to drag me out.” We both look uncertain for a moment. Should I kiss him goodbye? Thankfully, he takes the decision from my hands and drops a quick kiss on my lips. Thank God; if it had been the forehead, self-doubt would have reared its ugly head again to choke me. “Lock the door behind me,” he orders, and then he is gone.

After I lock the door, I turn to survey his home. Floor-to-ceiling windows make up the living and dining room areas. Two cream-colored leather sofas provide comfortable, but modern, seating areas in front of a large fireplace. The adjacent dining room has seating for eight around a long, mahogany table. Rich hardwood floors flow into the kitchen I briefly glimpsed this morning. I figure this was a good place to start my new duties. As with the rest of the apartment, it appears mostly clean. I empty the coffee maker, cleaning it before resetting it for Lucian. I find some granite cleaner under the cabinet and wipe down all the surfaces. I know I am blushing as I remember what we had been doing on the kitchen island just a short time ago.

Lucian has a restaurant-grade stainless steel stove I take a moment to familiarize myself with. I don’t know if cooking is part of my job description, but I think it would be nice to have a meal for him this evening. I can always leave it in the refrigerator if he doesn’t arrive home before I leave.

After finishing in the kitchen, I head to the laundry room. I wash the items in the basket, but assume from the dry-cleaning bags in his closet that he must have his suits professionally cleaned. That is a huge relief since I have no desire to ruin something so obviously expensive.

His bedroom is large but relaxing. The walls are painted a tan color with the darker brown bedding that’s a perfect complement. The hardwoods are here, as well, with rugs on each side of the bed. There is nothing worse than putting your feet on cold floors first thing in the morning, and apparently Lucian feels the same. I quickly make his bed, stopping only to appreciate the soft sheets; the thread count is probably off the charts on these babies. The bed smells of Lucian, and I have to fight the urge to lie down and snuggle into the sheets.

The bathroom is next on my agenda, and I pause for a moment there. Discomfort floods through me at the memory of Lucian touching my scar. I was moved that he was so angry on my behalf, embarrassed he knows what had happened to me at the hands of my stepfather, and curious as to his strong reaction; his anger had been palpable when he struck the wall. Running my hands over the area, I feel a small indention. Had it been my pain that he’d felt or had it brought back memories of his past?

I know next to nothing about Lucian even though we have been intimate. With the standard third-date rule, do you ever really know anyone before you sleep with them? I have a longer relationship with the guidance counselor at St. Claire’s than I have with Lucian. Surely, such a successful person is a Google dream. I vow to find out more about the man who I am not only sleeping with, but also working for. I don’t want to be one of those people they interview after their boyfriend shoots up his workplace, and she’s just standing there like a deer in the headlights. My motto is ‘knowledge is power, and it’s time to gain some; I need to know more about Lucian before whatever is between us goes further.

Lucian

“Good morning, Sam.” I greet my driver and friend as I slide in the back of the Mercedes. Asheville is hardly Los Angeles, and I could easily drive myself to the office each day, but I am too much of a multitasker to concentrate on one thing. I like starting my day from the comfort of the backseat; normally, I return calls, answer emails, and study the stock market. I also enjoy having Sam around. He knows my schedule better than I do, and I have begun to rely on his reminders. Cindy generally leaves this part of the day to him. I suspect Cindy and Sam discuss more than work and my schedule each day, but to each his own.

Today, I find myself unable to concentrate on my normal routine. I can’t get the image of Lia’s scarred back out of my mind. I had downplayed what I saw there. The outline of a fucking iron was as plain as day. The scar was deep, red and puckered. If it happened five years ago, how horrific must it have been then? Scars might never go away, but they generally fade with time. That the burn had been excruciatingly painful was obvious. I barely know this girl, but I want to fucking kill on her behalf. How dare someone do that to her!

Things had blurred for a moment, and I had been in another time, another place, and with another woman. Was I destined to relive every painful moment of my past again? Some invisible force had been pulling me toward her since the moment we met.

Sam drops me at the front of Quinn Software, and I make my way up to my office, greeting employees as I pass. I’m grateful to find Cindy isn’t at her desk; the need for relief is gnawing at my guts, and it would be torture to be waylaid. I shut and lock my door behind me before walking swiftly to my desk. In moments, the side drawer is unlocked, and I am opening the small case that contains my Heaven and Hell. With unsteady hands, I lay out everything I need; the process helps to center me. I work it as I would any job. Shoddy work is foreign to me, even in this. Soon, I’m ready and as I snort the first white line, it’s there. The clearing of my senses, the instant clarity, and as always, playing around the edge, is the rage at my inability to leave the crutch behind. This has been my answer to dealing with a life that has, at times, resembled a horror movie. I don’t know any other way. There are times when I have been almost free of it, but I’m always brought back by a woman, only the face has changed this time.

I’m fully functional on cocaine, possibly even better; I have never considered myself an addict, even though most would disagree. It would be more socially acceptable if I were in therapy taking an array of prescription medications to deal with all that is fucked-up in my head. Antianxiety medication is as common as Tylenol in this stress-overloaded world, but it has never been my answer. At first, it was simply availability. Cocaine was easy to acquire, and I had friends who used it regularly. When my world imploded, I was encouraged to snort a few lines to help me deal. I have survived on cocaine; hell, I have thrived professionally on it. Personally, the weakness eats at me. It’s my best friend at times and the worst fucking enemy I have ever faced.

These days, Sam makes sure my supply is replenished when needed. He has a nephew who keeps me well-supplied for a price. I don’t ask questions anymore. I give him the money, and he takes care of the rest. The only thing I have stipulated is that he never tells Cindy. I don’t want her involved, and if I am honest, I hate to disappoint her. Aidan, on the other hand, knows most of my secrets, and the coke is no exception. It’s not a big deal to us; we’ve seen and done worse.

When Cindy knocks at my door a few moments later, I wipe my nose and walk over to unlock it. My public face is firmly in place. Cindy would never suspect the only difference between me and the bum on the corner is a higher-priced monkey on my back.