Page 59 of Soft Tissue Damage
Cullan gently cups the nape of my neck and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Yes, you can. I want you to.”
It can’t be as simple as that.
Can it?
I risk a glance up at him, and see nothing but warmth in his eyes.
“I don’t want anything in return, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He smiles. “Except maybe to see you wearing them sometime. What are you doing for your birthday?”
I touch the pendant with the tip of my finger. I don’t own anything half as beautiful. “My friend Justine wants to meet up tonight.”
“That sounds wonderful. And what will you do today?”
I shrug, and say uncertainly, “Well, I thought Rosie and I could—”
Cullan shakes his head. “It’s the weekend. Rosie’s with me today, and tonight we’re having dinner with a friend and his wife.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Why don’t you go out and spend your birthday bonus? It would make me happy.”
He plucks Rosie out of her high chair and carries her out of the room. “Are you excited to spend the day with Daddy? Are you, my little Rosie?”
I watch Cullan until his broad back is out of sight. It makes me so flustered every time he calls himself Daddy.
What did he mean, birthday bonus? I check my phone and see a notification from Cash App. Cullan has transferred an amount of money that makes my mouth fall open. Between this and the jewelry, it’s too much. After what I did to his ex-wife and his son’s car, I don’t deserve it. I haven’t heard a peep about either incident, the laxatives in the smoothie or the brick through the car window, so I suppose that means no one’s connected them to me. I’m not used to getting away with things. I feel certain both misdeeds are going to come back and bite me in the ass.
I don’t suppose Cullan will let me refuse this bonus any more than he would let me refuse the jewelry.
The whole day stretches before me with nothing at all to do. That’s a rare gift in itself.
I hesitateat the stop of the stairs, smoothing my hands over the new black dress. It’s short and clingy with a halter neck. I had to move my contraceptive patch from my shoulder blade to my hip. I don’t have a boyfriend anymore so it’s not like I still need the patch. I tell myself that I’m continuing with it because it’s sensible for a young, independent woman to have a form of birth control, but that amorphous reason isn’t the true, secret reason I’m still wearing it.
“Elena. Are you coming down or not?” calls an amused, deep voice.
Cullan sounds as though he’s in the living room. A jolt goes through me. How does he know I’m up here? I didn’t think I was making any noise. I’m half tempted to race back to my room and put on something more conservative that doesn’t show quite so much leg or cleavage, but it’s too late now.
I take a calming breath, and make my way downstairs. Someone’s leaning against the living room doorjamb, hands casually in the pockets of his black pants, one foot crossed in front of the other with the toe of his large leather shoe touching the floor.
There he is.
The secret reason I’m still wearing a contraceptive patch. A secret so hidden that I’m barely prepared to admit it to myself.
My heart beats wildly at the sight of him. I told Cullan I don’t want to take things further between us, but the truthis, I do. I’m just afraid of the consequences. There are always consequences.
His bright hazel eyes rove over my body, from the tips of my toes in high-heeled sandals all the way up to the silver pendant around my throat and the matching earrings in my ears. He smiles as he meets my eyes. “I have another gift for you. I wasn’t sure if I should give them to you because they’re very personal. But seeing you in that dress…” He trails off in a tantalizing fashion.
Seeing me in this dress what? I look sexy? I look ridiculous? I want to know how I appear through his eyes.
“More personal than jewelry?” I ask, tucking my hair behind my ear and moistening my suddenly dry lips. It occurs to me that he might have bought me lingerie. Sexy black lace lingerie, the sort I’ve never owned before. When my aunts took me shopping for my first bra when I was twelve, they told me only whores wear black or red “underthings.” I could have white, beige, or pale pink. How will I look him in the eye if he gives me lingerie?
“To me they are.” Cullan disappears for a moment and then returns and hands me a large tan carry bag with white lettering printed on the side, but I’m too flustered to read it. The bag has got a little weight to it, and there’s a box inside. Not lingerie. I’m both relieved and disappointed.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. You really didn’t need to get me anything at all.”
“Rosie and I have to go, but enjoy your evening. Where are you going tonight?” he asks.
“Some of the bars on Flockton Street. I’ve never been before, but Justine says it’s fun.”
His jaw flexes as if he’s just clenched his teeth, and his eyes harden. “Keep an eye on your drink. Don’t walk away from it. Don’t accept drinks from anyone but the bartender. Have a soda before you have a second drink. Make sure you can see a bouncer wherever you are.”
He sounds as though he’s a hairsbreadth from ordering me not to go at all. Apprehension threads down my spine. “Mr. Grant, is there something I should know about Flockton Street? Am I walking into somewhere as dangerous as Fenton?”
