As if sensing my uneasiness, Storm whinnied, shaking his head and drawing both our attention. It was the excuse I needed to break the growing tension between us and keen to busy my hands with something other than her, I started toward him. She fell into step beside me, her eyes flitting anxiously between Storm and I. She looked like she wanted to say something but dare not.
“You can say whatever it is that’s bothering you,” I said as I came up alongside Storm, my hand reaching out to gently stroke the side of his neck, loving the solace just the feel of his sleek coat against my palm gave.
I sensed her continued hesitation and worried at just how bad this thing could be. Surely with everything we had endured there could be nothing left to feel this stressed about.
I looked at her then, stood as she was on the other side of Storm’s head, her hand mimicking my caress on his other side. She nibbled at her lower lip — a distraction I didn’t need! — and caught up a stray strand of her hair to tuck it behind her ear. My gaze dropped instinctively as her shirt separated with the move, the rigidity of the style hadn’t given any indication that it remained half unbuttoned but as her arm lifted, the materialparted, unveiling the soft, inviting channel between the swell of her breasts, right down to the diamante at the center of her bra. As she lowered her hand, it settled back into position. But it was too late, the damage had been done, my mind was in my panties as the throb kick-started full on.
I tried to stand straighter, to ignore it, to stop thinking on just how appealing she was or just how great I knew it would feel to slip my hand into her shirt right now. Something I was sure she would let me do...
I could feel my resolve pooling at my feet and I shoved my free hand deep into my pocket, focusing my other on caressing Storm.
“Spill it, Emma.”
The order came out more brusque than I intended but it had the right effect, spurring her into speaking.
“I wanted to ask if you were okay?” — my eyes shot to hers at the absurdity of the question and she started — “I mean physically? Not mentally ... I know you’re not mentally.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, a smile softening my words. I knew what she was trying to ask.
“I mean, did Edward’s, you know, punishment,” she cringed over the word, “did it leave you sore?”
My cheeks heated at the reminder of what she had born witness to and I averted my gaze. “Only a little, it would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stopped him when you did.”
She cursed under her breath. “I should have stopped it from happening altogether.”
“My stepfather is a hard man to stop from doing anything,” I said, but then I realized that wasn’t strictly true where she was concerned. She could use her womanly form to get exactly what she wanted out of him. The painful memory that came with that thought had the accusatory words flying out of my mouth before I could stop them, “or so I thought.”
Our eyes locked above Storm’s muzzle, and I wanted to kick myself for being such a bitch. The hurt in her widened gaze stripping me of the higher ground and leaving me feeling ashamed.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t get it!” I blurted, the guilt making me angry.
“Get what?”
“How you can be with a bastard like him!”
She looked from me to Storm, her gaze contemplative and I waited for an answer. Seconds ticked by when I thought she would say something, but nothing came. Did she think telling me the truth would put me off? Did she think it too unsavory? After all, the truth couldn’t possibly be any worse than the reasons I had been coming up with on my own.
“Look, I just want you to be honest with me,” I pressed. “Believe me when I say you can’t possibly tell me anything worse than the things I have been thinking.”
She blanched.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, I just want to understand what’s going on. I want to understand you better. I mean someone as...” I wanted to say special, but revealing that much about how I saw her made me feel vulnerable and uneasy. Instead, I said, “...someone as beautiful and talented as you could surely be with someone that would treat them a lot better.”
“Is that how you see me — beautiful and talented?” she smiled then, the warmth coming back into her cheeks, the spark to her eyes well and truly alight.
I blushed. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Am I?” She was flirting with me now, I could see it in the way she tilted her head to one side and started to toy with the collar of her shirt, taunting me with flashes of her soft, smooth skin once more.
“Please, Emma, just explain it to me,” I said, trying to keep my eyes above her neckline, my tongue flicking out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. “I know you can’t possibly love him.”
“No, I don’t pretend to love him,” she agreed, her hand moving to distractedly brush up and down the shirt opening.
“And yet you’re with him?” I said.Eyes up! Eyes up! “Even when he uses you like some sort of plaything? He has you exercised and then demands you to perform for him and his ...associates?”
I had said too much. In my concentration to remain in control, I’d given away far too much of what I knew. And she picked up on it.
“What do you mean by that?” Her hand at her collar stilled as her eyes scanned my face.
