The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

"You sure about that?" Linden asked this in that imperious way of his, as if he knew the answer, knew what I needed better than I did, knew everyfuckingthing yet he asked because he wanted me to think I had a choice in the matter. I had the option to leave and I could very well do that but then we'd both know it wasn't what I wanted. Not even a little bit.

"I am completely certain."

He peeled away from me, his heat and the pressure pinning me to the sink gone in one breath. He released my nipple in another. I nearly pitched over, my legs shaky and my midsection desperate for something to squeeze. And my nipple, well, I could barely feel that specific area of my body. I imagined it looked like a cartoon character's thumb after a good smash with a hammer—five times its normal size with a chorus line of exclamation points popping above my areola. Oh, yes, I was completely certain that it was time for me to go.

"Of course you are," he replied, something smug in his tone.

I turned around. He was already on his way to the door. "Yes, I have an appointment in the morning."

Linden dipped his chin, acknowledging my decision but not buying a word of it. "Do you have good directions this time?"

I smoothed my hands down my sides and strapped on a resolute grin. "My directions are fine, thank you for asking."

He paused at the door while I stepped into my shoes. He intended to walk me home and I could argue if I wished but I wouldn't change his mind.

As he held the door open for me, he asked, "Where are you headed?"

Cold evening air bit at my cheeks and nose. "North, I believe."

He chuckled as he fell into step with me. "That covers a lot of territory."

I didn't know why it made me nervous to discuss my appointment with the divorce attorney but an anxious shiver stirred in my belly. "I'll be just fine."

A noise rumbled out of Linden though he didn't form any words until we climbed the front steps. "Do you want me to give you a ride?"

My throat tightened. "You said you had a busy morning lined up."

He shrugged. "Nothing I can't reschedule."

I swallowed around a thick, throbbing stone of emotion, one sure to be a product of this strange nervousness. His questions were polite and reasonable yet everything inside me prickled and worried like I was warding off some kind of attack. "No need. I'll be all right on my own."

I turned my attention to the very important work of digging the keychain from my pocket. Linden eyed me as I did this. Always eyeing me, always sizing me up. Always thinking about sinking those teeth right into my neck.

"I'm sure you will be," he said. "I can still give you a ride. So you'll be on time."

I shifted away from him, now busy with the work of unlocking the old door. "I'll be all right," I repeated. "You have a busy schedule."

"Where is this office? Do you have an address?"

I rattled off the street name, adding, "I've already checked out the directions online. Seems straightforward."

"There's nothing straightforward about the roads into Boston. In fact, we go to great pains to make sure they're as curved and convoluted as possible."

"I've noticed this."

"There will be rotaries," he continued. "You might want to plan an extra hour or two into your commute."

"Traffic circles," I murmured. "Thank you for the advice." I pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. Turning back to face him, I grinned, saying, "Thanks for walking me back. And everything else today. Unnecessary but very kind."

He folded his arms over his broad chest and tipped his head toward the door. "Lock up, all right? I'll wait."

"Have a good night." I closed the door and leaned back against it, my cheek flat on the panel. I didn't need to glance through the peephole to know Linden was still there. True to his word, that one. I was willing to bet he'd stay until he heard the deadbolt slide into place and it wouldn't matter whether it took me two minutes or two hours. He'd wait and I didn't know why that sent another bolt of unease through my chest, into my belly.

The strangest thing was this wasn't any form of worry I'd known before. Something was happening inside me, something that danced along the edges of worry, but that wasn't it. All I knew about this sensation was I couldn't decide whether to move toward it or away from it.

I ran the pad of my finger over the cool metal as I drew out this ritual a few seconds longer. What would he do if I didn't engage the bolt? Would he turn the knob and step inside, press himself up against me while he announced he'd lock the door for me? Would I allow that? Would I let him barge in and issue orders? Would I acquiesce to those orders? Would I let myself enjoy it?

Seeing as I didn't have firm answers to any of those questions but most notably the final one, I closed two fingertips around the bolt and flipped it into place.

Through the panel, I heard, "Night, Jasper."

I sank my teeth into my lower lip. I couldn't help it. No one had ever invested so much energy into looking after me before. No one had ever walked me home, waited until I was safe inside. No one had ever offered me a hanky while I cried or required I change into yoga pants for some nature therapy. No one stood by while I fully and completely fell apart and then fed me stew for supper.

I worried my lip some more and gave myself a moment to be the object of his concern without trying to convince myself I wasn't enjoying it.

When a knock sounded at my door the next morning,