Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

‘Thanks for a great meeting, everyone!’ Jean, the group moderator, grinned and enthusiastically clapped her hands. ‘Evan has provided some refreshments for us all. Same time next week, and we’ll be reading Sandra Brown’s
Where There’s Smoke
.’

Bridget, Claire, and Mona grabbed cookies and coffee then headed over to the leather club chairs surrounding a low wooden coffee table in the centre of the bookshop. The rest of the group mingled and browsed through the store, taking their treats with them and grabbing up their selections before heading out into late evening.

Evan, Claire’s husband, always made sure to get this area back together for them since they had started making a habit of hanging out well after the book club ended. She and Claire had met and grown close through this club over the last year and they rarely missed a meeting. About six months before, Bridget had finally dragged Mona to one and she’d become a regular, joining both the club meeting and their little duet. The three of them had become extremely close over the months and she counted both of them as her two closest friends.

While she waited, Bridget contemplated the text she’d just received for what had to be the 50th time.

Unable to get reservations. My place for dinner.
8 p.m. The Lofts @ Warehouse 21. #2.

He wanted her to come to his house for dinner. She wasn’t sure she was ready to go there with him. Public places were safe. Well, safer at any rate.

‘OK, miss, spill,’ Claire said as they settled into their chairs. Mona took the opposite seat, gazing at Bridget with clear concern.

Bridget nearly spit out the coffee she was sipping at the complete non sequitur. ‘What are you talking about?’

Claire raised an eyebrow before continuing. ‘Don’t play innocent with me.’ She set her water and cookies on the table. ‘You’ve been fidgeting all night. If you’d shifted position one more time I was going to take you in the back and demand an explanation.’ She leaned back and, crossing her legs, levelled her hazel eyes on Bridget. ‘Jean could barely get your attention when she was asking your take on Christian Grey’s character and you didn’t join in unless specifically asked. Not. Like. You. M’dear.’ Each word was punctuated with a shake of her finger.

Claire was right. She’d been unable to concentrate on the discussion of
50 Shades of Grey
. Her mind had continued to wander to Connor.

She was not herself when it came to him. Bridget was a very controlled woman. She knew who she was and she operated by a set of rules. One of which was that she did not go chasing down men. Another was that she did not have spontaneous sexual encounters with men she barely knew. She’d broken both of those rules with Connor.

When she’d seen him on campus she’d reacted just as strongly as she had on the jogging trail. She’d just taken off after him. She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing. All she knew was that she wanted to get to him. But when she was finally standing in front of him, she’d been at a complete loss. He’d been ogling her breasts, but worst of all she’d wanted him to.

She’d been tempted to preen and arch, run a finger down the collar of her blouse and watch his eyes follow it. She’d been breathless under his perusal, feeling heat every place his eyes touched. She didn’t approve of her wanton reactions to him. It was out of character and, frankly, it bothered her deeply.

And him! He hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that he was blatantly eyeing her. He’d admitted it and been completely unapologetic. He’d been laughing at her, playing on her sympathies for having caused him damage. Dang it, she wasn’t even sure if she
had
caused him damage, but she’d felt compelled to invite him to coffee.

That had been a shock. She didn’t invite strangers out. Period. The men she’d dated in her life had all been friends of friends, or people she got to know over time before they began dating. She’d never gone out with a stranger in her life, let alone been so bold as to ask a man out. This may be the 21st century, but Bridget had been raised with old world sensibilities. Her mother had drilled into her head that only loose women with no morals pursued a man.

For herself, Bridget felt it was perfectly OK for a woman to ask a man out and to take the lead if that’s what she wanted to do. It just wasn’t something she did. In fact, not since high school had she been so taken with a man that she felt the desire to pursue him.

And that picnic. Hell’s bells! She still went hot at the memory of what they’d done. What she’d done, more specifically. She’d rutted over him like an animal in heat and had loved every single minute of it. Too dang much. She’d almost lost control.

That, more than anything, scared her. She was in completely unknown territory with this man. What if she was reading him wrong? What if he was just better at manipulating her? What if she was setting herself up because she wanted to see something there that wasn’t there? What if –

Snap. Snap.
‘Hello.’ Claire was leaning forward, her frown even deeper. ‘Bridget, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?’

‘Nothing! Seriously.’ Taking a steadying breath, Bridget said, ‘He wants me to come over for dinner rather than going out. Says he can’t get reservations.’

‘The boy toy?’ Claire asked.

Bridget nodded and flushed at the ribbing about his age and handed her iPhone to Claire, who read the text before handing it back to Bridget.

‘You gonna go?’ she asked around a bit of cookie.

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to be alone with him in his apartment. I don’t really know him that well.’

‘Hon, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit paranoid?’

‘How so?’ Indignation welled in Bridget at Claire’s suggestion. Claire knew her history.

‘If Connor had wanted to hurt you, he had the perfect opportunity to do so when he took you to that manor house. You two were alone out there. It was miles out of town and no one would have been able to help you.’

‘True,’ Mona said. ‘I had all the info on where to find him, but nothing on where you two were going.’ Polishing off the last of her cookies, Mona took Bridget’s hand. ‘I think you need to be honest with yourself here, and stop using Connor as an excuse.’

Bridget pulled her hand away from Mona, snapping, ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ she said, leaning back and levelling a calm, caramel gaze on Bridget. ‘You’re scared. But it’s not because you think Connor will hurt you.’

‘What is it then?’ She sounded peevish even to her own ears, but didn’t seem able to rein her irritation in.

‘You like him. I think you like him in a way you haven’t experienced since the attack and now you’re running scared.’

‘That’s so easy for you to say, Mona!’ Bridget’s voice was rising, but all her fear and anxiety was bubbling up. ‘You haven’t had to deal with men treating you like you were diseased just because something happened to you that scarred you. Made it impossible to do certain things.’

Her hands shook as she squeezed the bridge of her nose to fight back the shards of pain spearing her brain. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be sbroken because every moment you’re there trying to be intimate the shadow of your rapist is between you. Making you question your own judgment about not just men but yourself.’

She was shaking at the intensity of her frustration.

‘How can I know for one single moment if my instincts about him are right, when I had no idea what Trent was? I let him into my life. I made it possible for him to rape me. And I never saw it coming. So, how can I trust Connor isn’t the same?’

Claire and Mona both stared at Bridget as the silence stretched. She’d never said anything to them about her difficulties with men. She’d only told them about the rape at the most superficial levels and they’d drawn their own conclusions about her lack of a boyfriend.

Claire was the first to move, followed almost immediately by Mona. Both women enveloped her in a warm hug. Their combined scents of ginger and cocoa butter suffused Bridget even as the warmth of their embrace dispelled some of the chill that had settled in her at her outburst.

Mona pulled back and, grabbing a napkin, began wiping at the tears running down Bridget’s face. She hadn’t even been aware she was crying.

‘Shhh.’ Mona stroked Bridget’s hair and Claire held her hand.

‘Honey,’ Claire said, ‘you’re taking on something that isn’t yours to bear. You couldn’t have known that Trent was going to do that to you.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’d been warned. I didn’t listen. I got raped.’

The urge to confide fully in her friends was strong, but she resisted. She wouldn’t risk that.

‘If you’re not comfortable, then you don’t have to go. It’s really that simple. But I think you need to look deep inside and determine if you’re just running scared.’

That was the second time someone had used that phrase with her and she didn’t like it. Bridget didn’t consider herself a coward. Avoiding a situation that put you in a dangerous position was not cowardice, it was prudence. Blaming someone else for your own weakness, though –

That thought stopped her up short. She was blaming Connor.

Dang it. She
was
running.

‘I’m going. But I’m forwarding this text to both of you so you know where he lives.’

‘No worries, babe.’ Claire smiled around her last cookie.

‘Fine by me,’ Mona said.

After sending them the text, she answered Connor and told him she’d be there. Her heart raced, but she was determined to be fair. If she couldn’t control herself she’d just stop seeing him.

Decision made, she gathered up her stuff. ‘All right, you two. I’m heading home.’

She kissed both women on the cheek and headed out into the afternoon sun, praying she wasn’t making a mistake.

*               *               *

Connor’s loft was in the old industrial section of town that had been converted into an arty, urban residential area when the garment factories closed down. Now, where once looms and sewing machines had chugged away, up-and-coming professionals lived their lives and pursued the American dream.

Connor’s loft was in the same building that Claire had lived in before she married Evan. In a larger town, that coincidence would have been startling. In River Rock, not so much. It was a small town and people tended to trip over one another all the time.

That she’d been in this building countless times was doing absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves. She jangled from head to toe. The implications of coming to Connor’s home were not lost on her. She was walking into an unknown situation with a man she didn’t know that well.

Her fingers began to tingle and a rushing began in her head. She rested a hand on the wall next to Connor’s door and waited out the dizzy spell. The last time she’d walked into a relative stranger’s place of residence she’d been raped. Normally, she spent long weeks, sometimes months before she allowed herself this level of isolation with a man.

Why she was here was beyond her at this moment. Her heart said he could be trusted. Her head told her to run the other way as fast as she could. Her head had led her to a lonely life with no one but her dog to keep her company at night and a soul that cried out for connection. Her heart wanted more.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

And waited.

She knocked again.

And waited some more.

She knocked harder. He had until she counted to ten and then she was out of there.

One, two, three, four –

The door was yanked open to reveal a breathless Connor dressed only in a towel. His hair was wet and dripping. Trails of water ran down a broad chest that wasn’t overly sculpted but was nicely muscled. He had a treasure trail of dark hair that her eye followed until it dipped down into the towel. His hips were lean and his legs were tight and hard.

She flushed as she realised she was staring and yanked her eyes upward. Smoky grey eyes twinkled with laughter.

‘Come on in.’ He stepped back and waved her in. ‘I’m running a bit late, as you can tell.’

Bridget stepped into the loft and turned, not quite sure what to do. Lotus, Connor’s Ridgeback, trotted over to her and began the traditional canine ritual of sniffing the new arrival. Seemingly satisfied, she bumped Bridget’s hand in an “OK-you-can-pet-me-now” demand and Bridget smiled at the cinnamon-coloured dog before kneeling and scratching her ears. Daisy had that same imperious attitude and that bit of familiarity set her at ease.

‘Listen, let me throw some clothes on. I think Lotus has you covered –’ he ran a hand through his hair ‘– but go ahead and make yourself at home, OK?’ He sauntered off toward his sleeping area and grabbed some clothes that were laid out on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

While he dressed, Bridget took the opportunity to look around. His loft was completely open with no walls. His kitchen was modest with brightly painted cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The smell of marinara and pasta wafted out, causing her stomach to rumble.

A wooden table was set with white stoneware and gleaming cutlery. Wineglasses twinkled in the light of a row of candles set down the centre of the table and a bottle of wine decanted on one side.

The living area was central to the loft, with a cream-coloured leather sofa flanked by two club chairs in some kind of grey fabric. The coffee and end tables were steel and glass and a bright red rug framed the area, setting it apart from the rest of the loft. Lotus’ dog bed was sandwiched between the chair and the sofa and she’d gone and flopped down on it as Bridget made her perusal.

A king-sized bed sat off to the side under a bank of huge, frosted windows. The coverlet was black and the sheets were silver. Two metal and glass tables flanked it and a soft, silver rug lay on the floor. A stack of books sat on one table and she was very tempted to go see what titles he was reading.

He had good taste.

But what was truly stunning was the art covering his walls. They had to be his works. Each was vivid in colour. They lined his walls, creating a surrealistic effect. It was almost as if each painting was a window into a different dimension.