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“Who is Carlton Bishop?”
“He owned this house.”
“Owned?”
“He’s dead.” Surprised at his casual response, I have no words. “Don’t worry, that one is not on me,” he says with a smirk before he swallows about three gulps of whiskey.
“That’s not funny.” The whiskey looks like it’s too good quality to chug, but I don’t comment.
“No?” he steps toward me, lets his gaze move over me. He only stops when he’s a few inches away. “I can’t make love to you, Blue.”
That’s not what I expect him to say. Not at all. I don’t know where to go with it because honestly, when he says that word, that one word, my heart races and hope flares in my stomach. “You already told me that, remember?” I gesture to the bottle. “How much have you had to drink?”
He grins. Takes another swig then holds it out to me.
I decline, my gaze moving once more to those cuffs hanging from the post.
“That’s exactly why,” he says.
I look up at him, confused. He sips once more from the bottle before setting it down on the small table by the chair. He takes my face in his hands and pushes my hair back. He holds onto me, his big hands on either side of my face. I hold onto his forearms, looking at the bodies of the twin dragons that I know circle his arms and wrap around to his back.
“Pain,” he says.
“You’re drunk, Zeke, and not making any sense,” I say, not moving. He tilts his head, brings his mouth to mine to kiss me. It’s unexpected and I find myself yielding. It’s a brief kiss but when he pulls back, his pupils are dilated.
“Pain and brutality and destruction. Those are the things I bring. That’s my damage.”
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know.” He kisses me again. “My brother is right. I should cut you loose.”
“What?”
“Walk away and don’t let me into your bed again before it’s too late and I can’t let you go anymore.” He turns away, resumes his seat on the chair and drinks more of the whiskey.
“That’s not only up to you, Zeke.” I go to him, place my hands on his thighs and kneel between his legs. “You came for me. That’s what I know.”
He snorts. “Don’t read too much into that. I’m selfish. I have my reasons for doing what I do. I already told you that.”
“You came for me. No one has ever come for me before.” I lay my head on his lap and close my eyes. It’s strange how safe I feel here, with him to guard me.
The act seems to take him by surprise and a moment later, he’s petting my hair, his touch gentle.
“Zeke?” I ask after a long minute.
“Hm.”
“You didn’t tell me all of it.” I look up at him. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing you want to hear. Go back upstairs, Blue.”
“Tell me and maybe you’ll succeed in chasing me away.” He just gives me a look and drinks more whiskey. “Who died, Zeke?” I know I’m pushing, and this may be too far, but I have to ask it. And he needs to tell his story. Because he’s right that he brings those things he mentioned but that’s not all he brings. He’s gentle too. And kind. There is so much about this man that is buried deep, and I know, God, I know in my bones, that he can love. He is capable of so much emotion. I see it in his eyes. And I take a risk. “Because I don’t believe you can’t make love. I believe the opposite. I believe you have so much feeling inside you that it’s drowning you.”
His hand, which was petting me gently, freezes on the back of my head and when I look into his eyes, what I see is pain. Unending pain. It’s so raw and depthless that it makes me catch my breath.
It’s hard to look at him like this. It feels wrong when he’s so exposed.
But I need to. And I think he needs me to. I think he needs me to see. Needs someone to come for him.
