Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Fury pumped through Connor’s veins. His hands itched to tear apart the bastard who’d hurt her. He hated men who preyed on woman. There were so many chicks who would fuck you willingly that it was completely uncalled for to take it from anyone. The evidence of the scars left behind was obvious.

Bridget was a gorgeous, dynamic woman who now sat as if she were about to be executed. That she had a scar like this to deal with enraged him as much for the shame he saw in her eyes as for the psychological damage that slimy bastard had clearly left behind.

Right now, she sat stiff as a board beside him and he was at a complete loss. Should he hug her? Should he leave her be? Take her hand? Kiss her? Scream out his frustration.

‘Bridget.’ He left his arm where it was.

‘Hmm?’ She still plucked at the damn blanket.

‘Look at me, will you?’

She looked at him and there was a wariness in her green eyes that hadn’t been there before. Dropping his arm, he moved back to lean against the tree trunk and couldn’t miss the disappointment and disgust that flashed across her face.

Frankly, it pissed him off. He may be sympathetic, but he’d also been kneed in the nuts and was now floundering in completely untried territory.

‘What was that look for?’

‘What look?’

‘The one you just gave me.’ He was beginning to sound belligerent and he didn’t like that. This woman got under his skin in the worst way.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She was looking everywhere but at him.

‘Yes, you do. You just looked at me like I was a bug and I want to know why. If we’re going to move forward, then I need you to talk to me.’

‘Move forward? What do you mean?’ Her head jerked up and the look of surprise on her face was almost comical.

‘What do you mean “what do I mean”?’ He blew out a rough sigh and held up a hand when she started to speak. ‘Let’s back this up a second before we begin to sound any more like two-year-olds.’ He smiled at her and she smiled back – a little too tentatively for his liking.

‘OK, what I’m saying is that you just shared with me something that had to be horrific and terrifying for you and that, frankly, has obviously left some lasting damage behind.’

She drew breath to speak and he held up his hand to stop her.

‘Let me finish,’ he said. She relaxed back, cocking her head to one side and looking very kittenish in her anticipation of what he’d say next. ‘I am unbelievably sorry that you experienced anything like that. But I am equally insulted that you would think that would change my feelings about you. I also don’t like the look you just gave me, as if I’d confirmed some suspicion you had.’

She flushed, confirming his notion that she’d been thinking exactly that.

‘If I’m being completely honest, I can barely comprehend what it must be like for you to have lived through that. I find myself flailing here because I want to handle this the right way, and frankly, beyond letting you know that I think you are remarkable and tough and strong. I really don’t know what to say, yet those words feel hollow compared to the scars you must carry.’

He took her hand again. ‘I want very much to get to know you, and what you’ve just shared with me doesn’t change that one bit.’

She gave him a tremulous smile and squeezed his hand, but her words did nothing to set his mind at ease. ‘Look. Don’t feel obligated. It’s OK. I don’t want you to be burdened with this. One of us dealing with it is enough. And, to be honest, I can’t deal with another man treating me like a victim.’

‘Why would I treat you like a victim?’ He refused to let go of her hand when she tugged on it while looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

‘Duh, sugar –’ damn, he loved that drawl ‘– I was raped.’

‘That doesn’t make you a victim.’

If her eyes got any bigger they’d pop out of her head. That lip, though, pulled between her teeth like it was, he just wanted to bite it.

‘What does it make me then?’

‘It makes you a woman who was victimised, but it doesn’t make
you
a victim. That’s a mindset. You don’t strike me as a woman who makes excuses for herself and lets others walk all over her. Hell, my nuts can attest to that fact.’

She flushed deeper and looked away from him, but he tipped her face up to his. ‘So now, if you please, why’d you give me that look?’

Green eyes bored into his own for several seconds. It was as if she was trying to read what he was thinking. She must have given up, though, because she took a deep breath and answered.

‘I don’t want the same thing to happen that always does.’

‘Which is?’ he prompted.

‘Men always begin to treat me like I’m fragile. That if they touch me with any vigour, I’ll freak out or break. But at the same time, I can get overwhelmed and shut down. I’m tired of the contradiction. I can’t handle that any more. I’d rather just leave it be right now.’

She looked up at him with those emerald eyes awash with anger and pain and his heart squeezed. She didn’t have to fear that from him. He was more worried that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself enough. He’d never been one for gentle, slow sex. He liked his sex rough, hard, and with a healthy dash of kinky.

‘Bridget, after everything you said, I’m a hell of a lot more worried about pushing you too far too soon.’ He took her hand and brought it to his lips, nipping lightly at her fingertips and enjoying the way her eyes watched what he did. ‘I don’t want to come off like an insensitive ass in light of everything you shared, but from the moment I got you out here by yourself, all I’ve wanted to do was get inside you. I’m not those other guys. I only know that I want to get to know you better, but it would be a complete lie to say I didn’t want to be intimate with you too.’

Wary eyes shot to his but she smiled as she said, ‘I don’t think that makes you insensitive. I want to get to know you too.’ Her voice dropped to a near whisper as she said, ‘Intimately and all.’

He could pretend he was a better guy than he was. He could be all chivalrous and restrain himself, but the truth was he wanted her and she needed to know that she was desirable no matter what had happened to her in the past. It tarnished nothing. If anything, her strength in coping only made her more desirable.

Leaning down, he tugged her closer and brushed her lips with his. They were soft and yielding. He licked the seam and groaned as she opened for him. He’d wanted this from the moment he saw her that day on the trail.

He explored her mouth, all the while fighting the urge to grab her tight and roll her under him. He wanted to feel her along him, feel those breasts smashed against his chest as he ground his cock into her. That would not be the way to proceed here. Not treating her like a victim didn’t mean tap dancing on her scars.

Clamping down on his less productive urges, he pulled back and growled, ‘In my lap, Bridget. Now.’

Her eyebrows shot up at the demand, but she put up no resistance as he gripped her hips and brought her astride him. He kneaded the soft flesh of her ass through the cotton of her capri pants and resumed kissing her.

She kissed him back with an abandon that made him ache to strip her naked and take her. Her hips were nicely padded. He’d never have to worry about getting poked by errant hipbones as he pounded into her. The thought of being inside her had his cock hardening and he groaned as she pressed her hips into his groin.

‘That’s right, Bridget,’ he growled and pulled her hips in tighter. ‘Rub against me. Let go.’

After a moment’s hesitation, she complied and moaned; a deep, low sound that made it that much harder not to let loose and go wild on her. He enjoyed the flex of her buttocks under his hands and the way she deepened the kiss obviously as excited as he was.

Letting go of her, he began to undo the buttons of her top. Gradually unwrapping her to reveal … the absolute ugliest bra on the face of the planet. It was a cage of cotton. Not at all the delicate lace creation he’d been hoping, no,
expecting
, to see on a woman as sexy as Bridget.

He eyed the contraption and was relieved to see a front clasp. At least he could open it and push it aside, rather than being forced to look at it any longer. With nimble fingers, he did just that, giving an appreciative groan as all that luscious skin spilled out.

Her breasts were full and large with rosy, pink nipples that jutted out from her body. He had to taste them. He sucked one into his mouth and ate up the sound of her moans. She was practically churning in his lap, rotating her hips and pressing hard against the length of his erection.

He licked and sucked, laved and nipped at her nipples, being sure to give each equal attention. She was rubbing herself hard against him and he was loath to do anything to break her rhythm, but he wanted to see her. Leaning back against the tree trunk, he ate up the sight of her.

Tendrils of her fiery hair were spilling out of her ponytail, framing her face. Her eyes were closed and her head back as she ground against him. Her breasts filled his hands as he massaged them, tweaking and rolling her nipples.

She moaned and made tiny mewling sounds and he encouraged her, whispering words of desire and lust even as he struggled to keep his own release at bay.

‘Come for me, sweetness,’ he demanded before sucking her nipple back into his mouth.

She wanted to come for him. Bad. Her body was running away from her. She was losing control. The sensations were coursing through her body. She was on fire from head to toe and the ache in her womb was painful.

She relished it. Revelled in the ache and burn.

She wanted to grab him and demand he fuck her. She wanted to pinch her nipples until they hurt. Wanted to feel the sting as he spanked her nipples until even the air made them scream.

She wanted him to throw her down, bind her, and have his way with her while she was completely helpless. She wanted more, harder, rougher. Now.

With an anguished cry, Bridget pulled away from Connor, breaking all contact.

‘Bridget?’ His confusion was apparent. ‘What happened? Did I do something wrong?’

It would be so easy to lay this at his doorstep. To act as if he’d done something wrong. But it would also be a lie and he didn’t deserve that.

Shaking her head, she said, ‘No, Connor. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

Taking a deep breath, Bridget willed herself to relax. To retreat into that space she always found in these moments.

That didn’t work.

She felt erratic. Brittle.

It was as if one touch from Connor would send her careening off an edge she’d spent the last 20 years ensuring she never even came close to.

He was dangerous to her carefully cultivated self-control.

‘I don’t know if I can do this, Connor.’

Connor was at a complete loss. One moment, she’s languid and hot, practically purring like a kitten. The next, she’s distant and unreachable.

She sat inches from him, but she might as well have been a mile away. She’d righted her clothes and now was once again looking anywhere but at him and trying,
again
, to run. He wasn’t having it.

She was under his skin like a tick and, especially now that he had some inkling of her past, he was not interested in letting her get away. This wouldn’t be the simplest relationship he’d ever embarked on, but Bridget Ross was the sexiest, smartest woman he’d ever met and he was willing to bet all she needed was patience and honesty. He could give her that. She had to let him, though.

‘Why do you always try to run away from me?’

That clearly was not the response she’d been expecting.

‘What?’

‘From the first, you literally ran away on the jogging trail. You tried to cancel this picnic and now you want to run some more.’ He looked her dead in those bright green eyes he was coming to adore and said, ‘I didn’t peg you for a coward.’

She could have done a great beached fish imitation with the way her mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

‘How dare you call me a coward!’ she finally snapped.

‘You’re acting like one.’ He refused to back down.

‘Why? Because I think I might not want to date you?’ She scowled hard. He liked her better like this.

‘No, because you absolutely want to date me and you keep trying to make excuses to get out of it.’

‘I don’t need a reason to not date you.’ She wouldn’t look at him.

‘Exactly, so if you really didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be making excuses. You’d just stop. But you are making excuses so I know you want to.’

She was incredulous. Literally staring at him with her mouth open. He wanted to laugh. He wasn’t at all sure his logic made sense, but it was damn fun arguing with her. He liked her fiery. He didn’t like her shut off.

Finally, she laughed and said, ‘You make not one bit of sense, you know that, right?’

Taking her hand, he replied, ‘What makes sense is you and me giving this a go. Let’s take it slow, OK? I promise to not rush you and you promise to give me a fair shot. All right?’

For several long moments she stared at him. He could see her weighing the options, looking for an out, but when she spoke she said what he wanted to hear. ‘OK. We’ll give it a shot.’

Grinning, Connor leaned over and planted a hard kiss on her lips.

‘Good.’ Reaching for his CleanSlate, Connor said, ‘How about I draw you? Will you let me?’

She nodded, but then looked chagrined. ‘Connor. You didn’t –’ She waved a hand in the direction of his groin. ‘I could –’

‘All I want is to draw you.’

It wasn’t completely true. He’d gladly make love to her. But they weren’t there yet. He was definitely going to have to take things slow with her. She needed to trust him. Especially if she was ever going to tell him the full story. 

Chapter Nine

‘How would you like me to pose?’ Bridget eyed the tree trunk and wondered what she was getting herself into. The idea of sitting completely still for an extended length of time didn’t appeal to her.

‘I don’t want you to pose
per se
. I’d like you to get comfortable and just relax. Leaning against the tree would be nice, but whatever will be comfortable for you so long as your face is fully exposed.’

Bridget took a deep breath to expel the last remnants of the emotional overload she’d just gone through and switched positions with Connor so that she now leaned against the willow tree.

Watching him work was almost surreal. Deft fingers wielded the stylus on his screen. His concentration seemed complete. He didn’t speak, only looked intently at her from time to time. At first, it was quite embarrassing to sit quietly under his scrutiny. He seemed to be seeing beyond the surface; unravelling her layers and deconstructing her, only to reassemble the pieces in his mind’s eye. She fancied that he was seeing not Bridget the woman, but lines, shapes, angles, and shadows as he set them indelibly in ink.

Slowly, she relaxed and let her mind wander. Unsurprisingly, her thoughts turned to Skyler. The note she’d brought in confirming her appointment had been completely ambiguous. She was scheduled in at a private practice just outside of town. So, Bridget still had no idea what was really going on with her. She only knew that the once bright, vivid girl was withdrawn and seemed shattered.

Objectively, that had been happening slowly for a while now. The semester started with Skyler being gregarious and funny. Quick with a joke and always the first to support her fellow students. Bridget couldn’t really pinpoint where it had all changed, but slowly Skyler had become more quiet, less involved. Bridget often caught her staring off into space with a worried frown.

As the girl’s professor, there were boundaries she couldn’t cross, but she always made herself available to her students. Skyler had been a regular at Bridget’s study groups originally, but now her attendance was sporadic at best. She looked pale and the shadows both under and in her eyes grew more pronounced every day.

Bridget had a very bad feeling about whatever was going on with her. The scene in the bathroom could have been anything, really, but her intuition said that Skyler was pregnant. Not that you could tell at this point; she was as tall and lithe as ever, but where before she’d seemed to stand tall, now she appeared shrunken. It was as if her spirit was folding in on herself and that was something that Bridget couldn’t stand to see.

She knew that feeling. She knew what it was to question your very being. To second-guess everything you ever did that led up to a pivotal moment in time. Every time she thought back to the weeks leading up to her rape, she wished she could go back in time and kick her own ass.

She’d tell that child, for child she truly was in so many ways, to listen when someone warned her in good faith. To realise that sex and dating was not something you played with. Just because someone presented a pretty picture that didn’t mean there was anything beautiful underneath the surface.

‘What’s the scowl for?’

Connor’s soft voice drew her out of her brooding thoughts.

‘I’m thinking about a student of mine.’ She took a deep breath and blew it out. ‘She’s a young girl. A freshman. I think she’s in some kind of trouble, but I’m not sure and she’s not talking.’

‘You asked her or you just mean she hasn’t come to you?’

‘No, I asked her directly. I think she might be pregnant, but she looked me in my face and told me to mind my business.’

‘At the risk of offending you, she’s right. It really isn’t your business.’

Bright anger rushed through Bridget, though she knew his words were true.

‘My business or not, I care about this girl. She’s one of my best students and I’m watching her fade away right in front of my eyes.’

Connor was quiet for a while, just watching her.

‘What can you do for her?’

As quickly as it had come on, her anger deflated.

‘Nothing. That’s what makes this so bad. It isn’t my business. She’s a legal adult and can do whatever she wants. I just hope she’s talking with someone if she isn’t talking with me. All I can do is what I’m already doing. I’m keeping my door open.’

Connor smiled at her and she felt her blood warm in response. He had a way with that smile. It was simultaneously tender and mischievous, as if he knew something he was just dying to tell her at the same time as he really wanted to laugh with her.

‘What?’ She laughed nervously, pushing phantom strands of hair back from her face.

‘I was just thinking that I like you, Professor Ross. I think your students are very lucky to have you.’

She smiled back, inclining her head and saying in her best Scarlett O’Hara, ‘Why thank you, suh.’ She laughed. ‘Are you done with that portrait yet? All this sitting here and holding still is quite exhausting.’

‘Yes.’ His eyes sparkled and he looked like the cat that ate the canary as he said, ‘Close your eyes.’

With a giggle, she obliged. A few seconds passed and she felt the heat of Connor’s body as he settled next to her. His thigh melded along hers and she felt his hands taking her own and placing his slate into them.

‘OK, open your eyes.’

Looking at the slate, she was struck speechless. Whereas the first portrait had been done from memory and its details were a bit off, this one was startling in its realism while being entirely fantastical. The only real objects he’d painted were her and the willow tree. He’d captured her with a contemplative look on her face. She was mostly in profile, her eyes looking off into the distance. The tree framed her, its droopy branches serving as a living curtain and giving her the appearance of a nymph or some kind of wood elf.

He’d not depicted her actual clothes, but rather had drawn her in a 1920s-style dress with lots of layers and ruffles. The mint green of the fabric set off her red hair and her eyes were almost emerald in his drawing, furthering the otherworldly aspect of the painting.

The background was truly startling. An alien landscape rose up behind her. Purple mountains broke through pink clouds off in the distance. The carpet of grass surrounding her was cerulean while the sky was green, in opposition to reality. She seemed at once completely herself and totally foreign, and the effect was disconcerting. One thing that couldn’t be denied, however, was that it was masterfully done.

‘Connor.’ She was awed by his skill. ‘It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did this. And so beautifully.’

He flushed a little and shrugged. ‘Thanks. It’s easy when you have the perfect subject.’

She’d be fooling herself if she didn’t admit that it was nice for him to be in the hot seat for once, but in truth, this was the work of a truly skilled artist.

‘You should show your work. I mean, is taking photographs what you really want to do for a living?’

Connor’s stomach clenched at her question. Of course he didn’t want to be a photographer, he wasn’t one. Not that he’d ever made a point of correcting her assumption. Hell, he had his camera with him right now.

The reality was that he was content with his life. His job was less than illustrious; in fact, he’d had more than one woman dump him once she found out he was a janitor.

The last had stood up in the middle of the diner he’d taken her to and screeched about how she didn’t date men who scrubbed toilets for a living and couldn’t do better than the local greasy spoon for a date. She’d demanded he take her home and stormed out of the diner.

He still got furious over that particular humiliation. He’d never been back to that diner and it had been one of his favourite spots. Marge, the owner, had always had two eggs fried with bacon and toast waiting for him when he got off work. He liked to eat breakfast at night. Always had.

After Janelle had dressed him down like a dog in front of the regular crowd, he’d never been back. He really didn’t want to ruin what was turning out to be a great day with a revelation that would spoil everything. No one wanted to date a janitor.

‘No, I don’t want to be a photographer.’ He side-stepped the subject. ‘If I had to choose between the two, I’d always choose drawing and painting over photography.’ Warming to his subject – and infinitely relieved to slide away from dangerous territory – he said, ‘Photography, for me, is a foundation. I take pictures to capture moments in time. I often come back and use those photos as puzzle pieces in my art. Maybe I want to paint a flower and I’ll pull out some nature photos that I took. Or I might capture an image because it pulls me due to the emotion involved in that moment.

‘I have a portfolio of photography. I particularly love architectural photos. That’s what drew me to this place. I was doing some research on the architecture of River Rock and the book mentioned this estate. It used to belong to the Rocco family that founded the town. Their line died out when the last son had only daughters who moved away in 1935. Since then the house has passed through a lot of owners and now sits vacant.’

Catching Bridget’s eye, he said, ‘She’s a beauty, though, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, it’s gorgeous.’

‘But painting –’ He continued his previous line of thought. ‘Painting is like being the master of my own universe. I get to determine every single detail of the canvas.’

‘That makes sense, but why digital art rather than traditional brush and canvas?’

‘Because my universe doesn’t always follow traditional rules. Take, for instance, the painting I just did of you. In my mind, you need to be surrounded by jewel colours. Not the baby blue sky or the mediocre green that is grass. Your hair –’ he couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking the silky locks ‘– is like restrained fire. Molten copper waiting to flow down your back. Your skin, so pale and cool, like the ice keeping the fire banked.’

She laughed at his whimsy but that was how he saw her. She was fire and heat trapped in a cool exterior. Heat that he wanted to explore a lot more of.

Eyeing the sky, Connor could see clouds rolling in. With a sigh, he stood and held out a hand to Bridget.

‘Come on, sweetness.’ He smiled at her obvious pleasure at the endearment. ‘It’s time for us to go. There’s a storm coming.’

She gripped his hand and helped gather up the remnants of their lunch. With everything back in the basket and his pack firmly on his back, they made their way back to their respective cars.

After throwing the basket and pack into the back of his late model Toyota Pathfinder, he walked over to her Mustang and was struck by the disparity in their lifestyles. Her car cost more than his annual salary. His car was only paid off because he’d gotten it for two grand from a guy who was desperate for cash and he’d dipped into his little life fund to do it. For the first time, Connor wondered if he was biting off more than he could chew.

Of course, he’d never been one to shy away from a taking a huge bite out of something he wanted.

‘When can I see you again?’

She smiled at him and, with a flirty little grin, said, ‘Well, I’m given to understand there are rules to this sort of thing. So I’m supposed to keep you dangling for at least three days, but then I have a study group, and then classes, and then so forth and so on, so why don’t we just go with what works for you?’

Her grin was open and laughing he couldn’t help but respond with one of his own.

‘Fair enough.’ He squinched up his face and pretended to think hard. ‘Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’

‘Deal.’ She stuck out a hand and they shook on it.

‘Question. Do I get to pick you up or shall we meet at the restaurant?’

Pained embarrassment flashed across her face and he wanted to kick himself for what was an obvious question at this stage. One sexy encounter, which hadn’t gone all that well, didn’t amount to establishing trust.

‘Never mind, Bridget.’ He cut her off before she could speak, and smiled to take away any remaining embarrassment she might feel. ‘I’ll text you the name of the restaurant once I’m sure I can get reservations. OK?’

She smiled and nodded. Leaning in, he dropped a quick, sweet kiss on her lips, refraining from taking it any further. He’d pushed her enough for one day.

‘Do you want to follow me back to town?’

She shook her head and started her car, ‘No. I have to stop by my office for a little while. I’ll just see you tomorrow.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ He made to step back but she grabbed his arm.

‘Thank you.’ Her green eyes burned with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. ‘For everything.’

Rather than cheapen the sentiment with inadequate words, he simply nodded, kissed her one last time, and stepped back, watching her until she rounded the curve of the drive and disappeared from sight.

Bridget watched Connor fade from view in her mirror and contemplated the danger she was in. She hadn’t lied. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The problem was her. She’d come too close to losing herself with him.

Something about that man ate at her self-control. His mouth on her body had been delicious and she’d wanted so much more. Too much. The ache he’d created had burrowed in deep and low and she’d wanted him rougher, wilder. Dammit, she’d almost demanded he bite her.

She couldn’t allow herself to go there.

Impotent fury washed through her and she pounded the steering wheel. This wasn’t fair! She was a good woman. She went out of her way to be. She’d never asked for this!

Dammit!
Why couldn’t she make this go away?

As if in answer to her question, the memories rose up suffocating her. Quickly, she pulled to the side of the road and fought the smothering sensation overtaking her
. No. No. No!

She wasn’t having this. Not here. Not now.

Gripping the steering wheel as if her life depended on it, she concentrated on taking deep, full breaths until her head cleared and she could once again focus.

Forcing the memories away, she threw the car into gear, and drove on without another glance backward.