Under His Control (For His Pleasure, Book 18) (2 page)

“How dare you judge me?” she said.

He recoiled slightly. “I’m simply telling you how it is.”

She smirked. “You don’t know how it is. You think your fancy suits and expensive haircuts make you important. You think that by ordering people around—by making me grovel—that you’re bigger and stronger and smarter than me. But the truth is, you’re just as scared and confused as me. And I don’t have any use for your advice, so save it for the next pathetic secretary who actually believes that garbage.”

His lips pulled back into a straight line as he took in her outrage. His eyes narrowed. “As you wish,” he muttered.

“Yes, it is as I wish. Good night, Easton. And good luck. I think you’ll need it more than I will.” She got out of the car and walked into her building without looking back at him. It was difficult, though.

The truth was, she’d spoken out of pure anger and hurt and frustration. The moment she was out of sight, she broke down sobbing.

***

Back in her apartment, she sat, shell shocked by everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Her life had become such a rollercoaster, and she truly didn’t know what had happened to bring her to this place.

Nothing made sense anymore.

She was drifting, floating, sinking.

Easton, Nicole, Red, Professor Lang, her parents—their faces floated through her mind. Their words, their need, anger, confusion, all of it mixed in her head.

Was she having a breakdown? Had she lost her mind?

Kennedy didn’t know what way was up and what way was down anymore.

She fell into bed and dropped into sleep that was more like a coma than anything else.

When she awoke, all Kennedy knew was that hours must have passed. She could feel it in her bones.

Somebody was knocking on the door to her apartment, she realized. Her awareness of the knocking was subdued, but finally it made a real impression on her. She sat up blinking, wondering who it could be.

Easton?

That got her out of bed. “Hold on just a second!” she called out, concerned that whoever it was would just walk away if she didn’t let them know she was inside.

Kennedy scooted to the bathroom and checked herself out in the mirror. Her cheekbones jutted out of her face, and she thought that her eyes looked rather sunken, her skin pallor was decidedly pale and unhealthy in appearance.

God, I look terrible.

She quickly applied some foundation, lipstick; enough makeup to cover the worst flaws. The rest would only be cured by proper sleep, food and exercise. Not to mention getting her head on straight.

She ran out of the bathroom and put on a fresh blouse and pants, then walked to the door with the closest thing to a smile on her face as she could manage at the moment.

When she opened the door, it wasn’t Easton standing there—of course not.

It was Blake.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers, and he handed them to her. “I was thinking of you today,” he said. “I just didn’t know if you’d be home this early, but I thought I’d give you a try anyhow. Guess I’m in luck.”

Kennedy held the flowers uncertainly, sniffing the aromatic scent as Blake watched her reaction closely. She smiled wider. “Come inside, I should put them in water.”

“You sure? I didn’t want to disturb you.” He shrugged a little.

“You’re not disturbing me—not at all.” She opened the door even wider, then turned and crossed to the kitchen. “I don’t have a proper vase,” she said, “But I’ll put them in something until I can get one.”

“Well just hold on a second,” Blake told her. “That’s what neighbors are for, isn’t it?” He turned and left the apartment.

Kennedy found a pair of cheap scissors and snipped the ends of the flowers, let the clippings fall into her garbage pail.

Within minutes, Blake had returned with a pretty purple vase. “Here you go,” he told her. “Better than nothing, right?” He grinned, looking for her response.

She grinned in return. It was hard not to smile around Blake. As she accepted the vase from his hands, their fingers touched, and Kennedy tried to discern whether there was a spark between them at all.

Sadly, she wasn’t feeling anything remotely like the chemistry she had with Easton. And the thing was, Kennedy wanted to feel it. Blake was a genuinely nice, caring man with a sweet personality.

So why can’t you give him a chance? Or do you only like men who treat you like
dirt?

Kennedy’s smile faltered as she filled the vase with water in the sink, then carefully slipped the flowers into the container. “There,” she said. Then she placed the vase on the small kitchen table. “Wow, it makes the whole room brighter.” She turned to Blake. “You didn’t have to do that. Seriously.”

He looked at her directly. “But I wanted to. You…you deserve it,” he said. He looked away then, as if staring at her for too long made him nervous.

“Thanks for saying that,” she replied softly.

Blake gave his small shoulder shrug again. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.

Kennedy felt tears close to the surface and her voice choked up as she spoke. “It isn’t nothing to me. It…it means a lot, actually.” And then she really was crying, despite her best attempts not to.

“Hey, hey—you okay?” Blake asked, walking to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.

Even amidst her tears, Kennedy noted that she still felt no spark, no chemistry or excitement at the prospect of Blake’s hands touching her body.

That’s because you only want men who don’t want you back. Simple
.

But then again, maybe she could grow to enjoy his touch more. It wasn’t as if he repelled her or anything like that. She just didn’t feel much of anything, and certainly not the raw attraction she felt when Easton was near.

You’re thinking about
him
again. Stop thinking about him. It’s over.

“Stop it,” she repeated, realizing only afterwards that she’d said the words out loud like an insane person.

“Stop what?” Blake asked.

“Nothing,” she said, beginning to cry harder. “I’m just being silly.”

Blake pressed closer. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling her in and hugging her.

Kennedy allowed the hug, curious to see if his nearness could trigger something—anything—but it didn’t happen, although she did get a sense of comfort and warmth and safety from him.

Blake smelled differently than Easton. Blake’s skin held a faint scent of soap, but somehow Kennedy associated it with baby soap.

He ran a hand through her hair. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“I don’t think I can,” she replied, pulling away now.

“I promise, I’m a really good listener.”

She looked into his gentle eyes. “You’re going to think a lot less of me if I tell you why I’m sobbing like a little kid right now.”

“I highly doubt that. I’m not big on judging people.” His eyebrows wiggled a little as he seemed to try and find the right expression for the moment.

That caused Kennedy to laugh.

“See?” he said. “Better already and you haven’t even spilled your guts yet.”

She sighed deeply. “Okay, I’ll talk. You’re right, it’ll do me good to have some therapy.”

“And this is much cheaper. You might even get a meal out of it.”

“Good idea. Can we walk?” she asked him.

“Sure. Let’s blow this pop stand.”

And so, moments later, the two of them headed out into the bright daylight of New York City and began walking together.

Kennedy’s entire body relaxed as they took in the fresh air, the sounds and sights of New York. Cabs passing by, a delivery truck being unloaded, a police officer telling an old tourist couple how to get to midtown. The smells of different types of food swirled together with the car exhaust and the scent of the pavement, mingling with the slightly chilly air.

Blake glanced at her as they walked. “So tell me,” he said. “What’s got you down?”

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“I was always told the beginning was as good a place as any.”

“Ummm…that kind of goes back a long way with this story.”

“I’ve got time.” He smiled.

“Okay, you asked for it.” So Kennedy started at the beginning. Literally. It was as much for her benefit as it was for his. She needed to say all of it, put everything on the table and just release the darkness of it.

She told Blake of her childhood, and the protective bubble she’d been cloistered in throughout her years living with her parents. How they’d been so strict, and the way she’d exceled and school, how her life had become completely unbalanced.

For his part, Blake mostly listened, occasionally interjecting a question to clarify something. But he didn’t say too much, although he was definitely tuned into what she was saying.

They stopped at a vendor and got some fresh roasted nuts and then stood nearby and ate them as Kennedy talked about the pressures of high school—her inexperience with boys.

“They all started saying I was a lesbian, and that I hated men,” Kennedy told him at one point.

Blake was chewing his food. His eyes got wide and he forced himself to swallow.

“You’re kidding me. That’s horrible.”

She laughed hollowly. “It wasn’t fun. Girls would snicker and make little comments when I walked by them in the halls. Sometimes a boy would make a crude remark.”

“I wish I’d have been there. I wouldn’t have let them get away with it.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m serious.” Blake looked positively furious on her behalf. “Kids can be such little shits about those things. They just hammer away at what they see as weakness.”

“Did they hammer away at you in high school?” Kennedy asked. She dug her fingers into her bag of roasted nuts and came up with a few, tossed them in her mouth.

Blake sighed. “I had my share of painful moments, sure.”

“What did they say about you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “They said I was a male model.”

She laughed. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he laughed. “That wasn’t cool in my town. The cool guys were the football players and the sports heroes.”

“Were you?”

“A male model?” he said, grinning. “Well, from you, I’ll take that question as high praise.”

“So you were a model.”

“I did a few catalogs, okay? No biggie.” He motioned her to start walking again, and they started off for parts unknown.

Kennedy was thinking how much she enjoyed Blake’s company, and once again wondering why she didn’t want more from him. It hurt that she could like a man so much, and that he could be handsome and charming and caring—but she couldn’t seem to really want him. Not in a romantic way.

But that could still change, she assured herself.

For the first time, she allowed herself the possibility.

Okay. Maybe it can change. Keep an open mind.

They got on the subway and took it to Chelsea, getting off and walking to yet another restaurant that Blake said was “one of the best falafel joints in the city.”

“I’m not sure I like falafel all that much,” Kennedy told him as they got closer to their destination.

“You’ll like this falafel,” Blake said. “Besides, have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Not yet—but your track record’s still pretty thin.”

“So give me a chance to add to my record,” he replied, opening the door to the tiny hole-in-the-wall establishment. A small bell tinkled as they entered.

It was Middle Eastern food, and although it was tiny, there was a steady rush of customers getting takeout and the booths were packed.

Blake took the liberty of ordering them both falafel wraps, and Kennedy entrusted him with knowing the best toppings to order. He seemed to know the people making the food, joking a little with them about how quickly he’d decided what to get. Apparently he always got the same food.

Once they both had their tinfoil wrapped sandwiches, Blake motioned for her to walk back outside with him. “Try it,” he said, standing on the street corner and watching her with interest.

Kennedy bit into her wrap, chewing slowly. It was good, actually, even if some of the tastes were rather unfamiliar to her. She’d known of Middle Eastern restaurants in Cambridge but had never gone, and never really been invited either. As usual, her social game had prevented her from experiencing what others had done effortlessly.

“It’s really tasty,” she said, her mouth full.

“You don’t love it,” Blake replied, disappointment clear on his face.

“No, I do,” she said. “Look, I was just sobbing in your arms a little while back. I can only get so excited about falafel right now.”

“Good point,” Blake said, nodding. “So, we still have to get me up to speed on your life story. You left off in high school.”

Kennedy and he walked over to a small stoop near the restaurant and sat down on the steps to continue eating and talking.

“This is where it gets hard for me,” she said, staring at her sandwich. The green falafel balls with white tahini sauce stared back at her, looking less appetizing by the second. “I’ve never told anyone what happened,” she explained.

“Jeez,” Blake said. “Well, I feel honored that you want to try and tell me.

Seriously, Kennedy. I won’t judge.” He took a bite of his wrap and tahini sauce dripped down his chin.

Kennedy laughed, took a napkin and wiped it from his face.

He stared into her eyes as she did it, his smile soft and tentative.

She smiled back, realizing that for her, the gesture was sisterly—whereas for Blake, it seemed to signify something else entirely.

“Well,” Kennedy said, looking away from his gaze, “I suppose I should just get it over with already.” She looked out at the busy street as she spoke, almost going into a trance, remembering how it had been. “Everything should have changed in college. I went away from home and started to make my own life, but unfortunately, the life I made was just a kind of carbon copy of the one my parents had made for me when I was a child. I was isolated in my academic studies, unable to make close friends, unwilling to step outside my comfort zone. I excelled in my work, but I wasn’t happy. I was just going through the motions, doing what I’d been taught to do like a trained monkey.”