Stay, Chapter 34

FRIDAY NIGHT DINNER. Vanessa had her nose down, squirting a pale yellow dandelion flower glaze over a plate in an abstract pattern in preparation for the plating of a new peach and pecan confection that was far more popular than she’d anticipated. The demand for it had completely overwhelmed the pastry apprentice and Vanessa had nearly ended up seating and serving in her whites.

The low thrum of a souped-up engine zooming past on the highway vaguely pierced the din of the kitchen, but Vanessa paid no attention until it got closer and more familiar and—

Vanessa’s head snapped up to look out the back door.

—an electric blue Corvette roared right past the mansion and up the drive­way toward the butchery and private garage, its red taillights glowing bright and round in the dark.

Joy spread through her so hard and so fast she thought she’d burst.

“Keep your head in the game, Boss,” Alain called.

Right. She bent back to her work, but now she had something to look forward to, as did the rest of her staff, who had taken to asking her if Eric would become a permanent weekend fixture.

He made everyone’s jobs easier, more efficient, including hers.

Last week, when she had stood in the door of her office and understood that he was leaving her a day earlier than intended, she hadn’t expected him to come back. He was a lawyer, a prosecutor, with a very serious problem on his hands. He had an important job for which he didn’t get paid near enough.

Her job, well— She was a luxury. Yeah, people had to eat, but that was what McDonald’s was for.

Still, he was here. Now. Waiting for her. He’d shower. He’d get in bed to wait for her, pull out his iPhone and maybe read a book—

“It’s the only way I can read books anymore,” he’d explained when she asked him what had him staring at his gadget. “Put it in my pocket and go. Always available.”

Vanessa ended her evening as early as she could, again requesting Vachel’s assistance, which he gave her with a delight that made her flinch. How had she not seen what he so obviously needed?

Eric was indeed in bed by the time she’d run down the driveway, into her cottage, and up the stairs. But when he pulled her down to him, he rolled her over until she lay on her stomach. He straddled her, nearly sitting on her butt, and she sighed, understanding immediately. She closed her eyes to await his big, warm, oiled hands on her shoulders.

No words were said and, except for the sound of soft, plaintive bluegrass coming from a corner, Vanessa could only hear the crickets outside and the hoot owl that lived in the orchard just behind her cottage. A sweet breeze ruffled the gauze curtains that framed her open windows. She took a deep breath through her nose to catch every nuance of scent, from fresh-mown and dew-laden grass to the blooming lilacs.

She grimaced when the heel of Eric’s palm found a knot in one of the muscles of her shoulder. She must have shied away from it, because he lightened his touch a bit.

“You’re tight as a drum,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. “You need to learn how to relax.”

She thought she was perfectly relaxed already, but she couldn’t muster the energy to open her mouth or move her vocal cords.

“Have you ever been to Silver Dollar City?”

Don’t make me talk.

“In high school,” she mumbled into her pillow.

“You’ve lived here how many years and you haven’t been again?”

“Branson. Scout talent. ’Sall.”

He said nothing more, but his hands continued to work their magic until he reached the lower part of her back, just above her buttocks. One press of a thumb and she nearly came off the bed with a screech, her eyes filling with tears.

“Geez, Vanessa,” he murmured. “I barely touched you.” She swallowed, the tears coming now, and her mind flashed through her to-do list. “Stop it,” he said. “I know what you’re doing. Deep breath. In through your nose and hold it.” She did that until her lungs felt they would burst. “Now out through your mouth.” Vanessa obeyed. “Do it again.”

But her list wouldn’t leave her head. Emotion flooded her: the remnants of her little-girl hurt, her regrets and insecurities, her anger with Knox and the guilt it caused, and her fears—for Whittaker House, for Eric, for Eric’s far more important future. Finally, she began to sob into her pillow, but Eric said nothing. He continued to dig deeper into her muscles, down lower into the flesh of her bare buttocks, and then her sobs had nothing to do with pain.

Just release.

With every knot he found and worked, she sobbed harder.

“Breathe, Vanessa,” he whispered from time to time, and only then would she realize she’d been holding her breath.

Slowly her tears dried up and she was too spent not to relax, not to let him do whatever he thought needed to be done. She’d never cried in front of her lovers before; she’d had no reason to.

They weren’t Eric.