The Proviso (54 page)

Her gaze went everywhere, touched every crevice.
Then she looked at him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,”
she whispered. “You fix everything for me.”

“It’s all part of the Fix-or-Raid plan,” he said
dryly and she laughed. Together they put the good art back, then
stacked the bad art toward the front of the vault for safekeeping
until auction. He’d see about getting them crated up as soon as
possible and stored with the Fords so as to get them out of her
house.

“Okay,” Sebastian said. “Point me to the Christmas
decorations and a ladder, and go finish that povitica you promised
me.” She bounded up the stairs with a laugh and he watched that
beautiful ass all the way. “I’d rather have raided,” he muttered to
himself with a sigh. He picked up the first two of a dozen or more
tubs and headed up the stairs after her.

* * * * *

Sebastian requested a stock pot and once that was
produced, he poured the wines and the cranberry and apple juices in
it. After that he threw in the mulling spices, which were wrapped
in cheesecloth, cut up some oranges and threw them in the pot with
cinnamon sticks. “Bring it to a boil, then turn to low and then put
a lid on it. I’ll start putting up the high stuff.”

They worked another couple of hours putting up
Christmas decorations. When Sebastian would have turned on the
radio for Christmas music, she said,

“Do you know who Alison Krauss is?”

“No.”

“Okay. I want you to listen to what I listen
to.”

Sebastian listened to the first strains of this
music and recognized the genre—bluegrass, zydeco’s English older
sister—and though it carried a recording studio polish, it retained
its Appalachian authenticity. It was complex yet earthy, the voice
divine, the lyrics engaging.

“It’s really melancholy.”

“Yes.”

He speared her with a glance. “Eilis, music can lift
the soul or it can destroy it. Melancholy music doesn’t do anything
good for a soul that’s hurting.”

She turned away and said nothing, so Sebastian
didn’t push it except to say, “Next Friday, bring your Alison
Krauss to work and I’ll trade you for The Wild Tchoupitoulas and
Professor Longhair.”

They stopped halfway through the decorating to fix a
late lunch and dress the povitica, then they sat down with the wine
and sandwiches.

Sebastian had never had a worse sandwich in his
life.

“What the hell is on this thing?!”

He picked up the bread and looked at the thin coat
of mayo or—whatever it was—the fake cheese, the fake bread, the
fake one slice of ham. The only real thing on it was the
lettuce.

Eilis looked stricken when he finally looked up at
her, but he wouldn’t let up. He’d had enough of her food and body
issues. He got up and went to the fridge, stood there with it open
for quite a while, looking at the kind of food Giselle would call
“frankenfood.”

“Do you have anything that’s
not
fat
free?”

And, as he’d done to her company and her art, he
began to declutter. He dragged the trash can over to the fridge and
began throwing everything that said “fat free” out. “Get a pen and
paper,” he instructed. “We’re going shopping.”

He knew she wouldn’t dare protest. After all, he’d
made her eat half a Bryant’s sandwich and a whole concrete on
threat of licking. Just
today
, he’d seen her eat one bagel
for breakfast with—he dug back in the trash—yep, fat-free cream
cheese.

She would never believe he wanted her as she was and
she wouldn’t stop this idiotic diet of hers unless she was
forced.

She did what he said. As he dictated, she wrote.
“Steak. Eggs. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my cousin—
Lettuce. Peppers. Mushrooms. —it’s that protein is king, lots of
green vegetables the queen, and fat their prince. Butter. Mayo.
Cauliflower. Broccoli. Bread and sugar are the devil. Chicken.
Salmon. Fresh tuna. This fat-free shit? Look how much sugar’s in
that.” Eilis looked at the label and gasped. “It’s the second
ingredient right behind water. No wonder you’re so hungry all the
time.”

“But—”

“No buts. The point is to not be hungry. Giselle
fat-free’d and starved her way to two-hundred-something. Then she
started to eat like that—” He pulled his head out of the fridge to
point at the list he was making, then stuck his head back in, “and
she dropped fifty, sixty pounds like a hot potato. Oh, and spuds
are verboten, too. Strawberries. Blueberries. Raspberries. The
thing was, she wasn’t hungry anymore. I don’t know who you’re
trying to impress, but if you were
my
woman, this bullshit
would not happen.” And no matter how hard she fought him, she
would
be his woman.

He closed the refrigerator door and started in on
the freezer, still ranting. “I don’t think Giselle’s way works for
everyone and she still craves things, but I’d rather see a woman
put on a few pounds than go hungry reaching for some unrealistic,
unattainable view of perfection that’s skewed to begin with.”

Eilis’s voice was hesitant when she spoke. “How tall
is your cousin?”

Sebastian snorted. “Short. Maybe five-four,
five-five.”

“That still makes her overweight.”

“You haven’t met her. The girl’s rock solid muscle,
which is heavier, denser. Lots of muscle can go in a really small
space,” he muttered, throwing out peas and frozen boxed meals.
“Crap,” he said as he tossed a fat-free TV dinner over his shoulder
and it sailed right into the trash can. “All crap. She lifts
weights. Looks about thirty pounds lighter than she really is.” He
shoved the freezer drawer shut, then poured the skim milk down the
drain. Then he raided her cupboards and pantry. He needed two more
trash bags. When he was done, he said, “Get your coat and let’s go.
You drive.”

Sebastian was startled out of his pique when he saw
her car: a vintage British Jaguar.

“Eilis,” he purred, “you and your rides. Bobcat. Jag
with right steering. You got a Harley in there somewhere?”

That made her laugh. “No. Not that brave.”

Then he saw the very respectable luxury car that
looked like everything else on the road. “Uh, the Jag?” he said
when it became clear she didn’t intend for them to take it.

“Groceries, Sebastian.”

Of course.

“Let me guess,” he said dryly once they were on the
way. “You don’t drive your Jag to work because it doesn’t fit the
Miss Logan persona.”

“Exactly.”

Once at the store, he directed her to the magazine
section first and tossed a paperback in the cart. “Read that.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide. “Dr. Atkins?
I can’t—”

“You will,” he said, his tone hard, and she
gulped.

He saw her wince at everything he threw in her cart
except for the berries and vegetables and he didn’t care. That
hungry thing of hers had to stop. He didn’t know how she could
stand upright.

She finally protested, but it took longer than he
thought it would. “You’re awfully bossy today.”

“I make my living being bossy,” he muttered, looking
at the marbling on the steaks and trying to figure out what Giselle
would buy. So he called her, explained the situation, and followed
her instructions to the letter.

“Sebastian,” Eilis said, a desperate edge to her
voice once he’d closed his phone and put it back in his pocket.
“I’m going to gain a lot of weight if I eat all this.”

He stopped and stared at her, making his face hard
and cold so she would know he meant what he said. She looked away.
“Read that book,” he growled as he approached her. “I don’t know
what it says because I don’t eat that way. Nobody cares about the
weight, Eilis. It’s about you starving yourself while also kicking
yourself in the ass over an arbitrary number on a scale.

“I watched you at the Ford exhibit,” he continued,
softly now, getting closer to her so that her shoulder was in his
sternum and her hip was in his groin. He wanted her to know he had
a hard-on for her, even standing in the middle of a grocery store
talking about food. Her eyes widened and her face displayed
innumerable emotions in rapid sequence, none of which he could pick
out. She swallowed.

“You were repulsed by the women who look like you
and attracted to the women who looked like the Virgin. I can only
think that you’re repulsed by your own body, which, by the way,
there’s nothing wrong with.”

He pressed his mouth against her ear, wrapped a hand
around her other hip, pulled her closer to him so she wouldn’t
mistake him. She closed her eyes, breathed deep.

“You want to lose weight,” he continued on a
whisper, his other hand now wrapped around the back of her neck so
she couldn’t pull away from either his words or his cock. “What
you’re doing is not only
not
working, you’re always hungry
and miserable. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing
over and over again and expecting a different result. Do something
different. Do you trust me?”

Her eyes closed, a tear ran down her cheek, tracking
her scar. “Yes,” she finally whispered.

“Then trust me on this. Read that book. Do whatever
it says, which I don’t really know. I only know how Giselle eats
and which book she consults. Now, let’s check out and go to
Subway.”

* * * * *

Eilis couldn’t believe this was happening to her,
what he was making her do—yet she always had a choice.

What you’re doing is not working.

That was true enough. The less she ate, the more she
gained. Slowly. Insidiously. An ounce or two per month.

Do you trust me?

Implicitly. He could fix anything.

You were repulsed by the women who look like
you.

Yes, she was. She was repulsed by what she saw in
her mirror, but the pictures in his sketchbook told her everything
she needed to know about how he saw her. And he’d made sure she
knew he wanted her by pressing her into his body, hard, ruthless,
the way he did everything when he wasn’t getting his way.

It was evening by the time they got to her home and
she felt . . . good . . . with a full stomach. Sebastian gave her
permission to eat—no, he
demanded
that she eat. So she got
the sub she’d always wanted but never dared get. She ate half,
savoring every bite.

“Well, don’t have an orgasm in the middle of Subway,
Eilis,” he’d said dryly after she’d taken her first bite, and she
could only laugh.

“You’re a chubby chaser, Sebastian.”

“Mmmm, yeah, sometimes. Except you’re not chubby.”
She blanched in fear he would feed her until she gained another
thirty pounds. “And I like you the way you are, in case you didn’t
get that in the store.”

She could feel the heat flood her face and she
ducked her head.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a hard-on for you,
Eilis, but what I’m trying to do today is to get
you
to like
you the way you are and also not be hungry.”

Once they emptied the car and put away groceries—
“I’ll have Giselle write you up a list of herbs and spices she
uses—the spice cabinet in my house is huge and smells incredible.
Then we’ll go to Planter’s in River Market.”

We’ll go?

“Sebastian, I don’t have time to cook.”

“Then hire someone.”

That had never occurred to her, not once. It was the
perfect solution.

“What about the povitica I just made?”

“We eat it for breakfast tomorrow. And then you
won’t have to worry about it when you change up your eating
plan.”

For breakfast tomorrow?

Sebastian built a fire in the massive fireplace and
turned down the lights. Christmas music began when she turned on
the radio and he brought the mulled wine that had been simmering
all afternoon. Outside, it began to snow. He sat on the floor, his
back to the couch in front of the fire and gestured that she should
sit between his legs. Eilis hesitated. It was too intimate, too
cozy and comfortable. She knew how he saw her, what he wanted from
her. He was her trustee! And he expected to spend the night?

“You’re not sleeping with me tonight,” she
blurted.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed with alacrity, an
inscrutable expression on his face. “I figured you must have an
extra bedroom or five.”

“I didn’t invite you to stay.”

He looked at her. “Do you want me to go?” he asked
softly. “I will if that’s what you want.”

“No,” she whispered without thinking, unable to bear
the thought of his leaving now. Then she cleared her throat and
attempted to cover with, “We didn’t finish the decorating because
you got distracted rearranging my life.”

He patted the floor in front of him again and this
time she sat. “Chalk it up to the ADD.”

“You use that as an excuse for everything, don’t
you?”

“Why change what works? Now hush and drink your
wine.”

Eilis didn’t know how long they sat like that:
Christmas music, firelight, snow outside, and a Christmas tree only
half decorated. She felt warm and safe in a way she had never felt
before.

David Webster had stolen everything from her: Her
company, her body, her self-esteem, her soul—things she’d worked so
hard to regain when they’d been stolen from her before, time and
again. He’d stolen her nose and her face.

Sebastian was hauling her out of bankruptcy. He’d
cleared out her art and with it, her bad memories, so she could go
into her vault again. He’d cleaned out her refrigerator and had
possibly set her on a path that could alleviate the constant hunger
that made her so nauseous and dizzy. He’d drawn her as he saw her,
which was beautiful, and he’d made it more than clear that he found
her desirable.

He was a very, very beautiful and brilliant man who
wanted her.

May I kiss you?

Furthermore, he wanted a relationship with her; that
could be the only explanation for his behavior: No man who just
wanted sex would treat her the way Sebastian treated her and no man
had ever treated her that way before.