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“But you’re doubting me for some reason. You think I could ever care about any woman but you?” Lock said.
“Lock, no…”
His eyes went a bit wild. He came to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Are you leaving me?” His voice cracked when he said it. It was as if he went from a man to a lost boy right in front of my eyes.
“What?”
“If I’ve done something, you need to tell me.” He became so desperate. Needing me. As if I were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. I was. But so was he. The thought of him walking away from me, leaving me truly alone, broke something in me.
What was I doing? Lock laid himself bare before me. He’d done it so many times. No secrets. No lies. He’d let me see the darkest parts of himself. It had taken months. Years. But we’d built trust between us. And in the span of twenty minutes, I could have wrecked it. Maybe I already had.
“No,” I whispered, stepping into his arms.
“I love you,” he said. “Mina, you’re my soul. I don’t know what you’re afraid of. Please don’t let it be me.”
His voice grew thick. As if he could barely get the words out. I’d wounded him. He thought I was going to leave him.
He pressed his cheek against my chest. I kissed the top of his head.
Maybe he was right. Maybe subconsciously, all those things he said clawed at me. My parents. The constant stress of wanting to give him a child and fearing I couldn’t. The disappointment of every month and another negative test. I’d fixated on coincidences. I did the things my therapist had tried so hard to help me unlearn.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s nothing.”
He clung to me tighter. I felt my own heat rising. Lock needed me. Then he loosened his grip and looked up at me, his eyes filled with doubt and fear. Emotions that I’d put there.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him.
“You swear?”
“I’ll swear it every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Prove it,” he said, his voice going dark in a way that sent shockwaves of desire through me.
He had my red ribbon in his hand. A challenge. I held out my arm, exposing my wrist. Lock tied the ribbon back in place. Then he leaned forward and took my earlobe between his teeth, nipping me gently.
“Say it,” he whispered.
“Lock, I’m not—”
“Say it,” he demanded.
My insides turned to liquid.
“You’re mine,” I said. “And I’m yours. Always.”
He drew me to him, clasping his hand over mine. He led me upstairs without another word as desire coursed through me. Then his hands were everywhere. Unbuttoning my skirt. Peeling off my blouse. When I leaned down to take off my heels, he ordered me to leave them on. With expert one-handed skill, he unclasped my blue lace bra, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my matching panties. The delicate fabric shredded as he tore them off me.
The ribbon he tied around my wrist would only be the beginning tonight.
TWELVE
CORRINE
There were three of them. His two friends leaned against the high-top, laughing. I’d just brought them all their second pitcher of Amstel Lite. One stood a little apart from the others, eyeing me. He wore an olive-toned button-down shirt with tan cargo pants. Blond hair, slicked back. He was handsome. But I knew that look.
“Corrine,” Sylvie shouted. “Your four-top is still waiting for drinks!”
She didn’t think I knew that? All four drinks sat on a bar tray, two dry martinis, a bottle of Heineken, and a Sea Breeze for the lone woman at the table. But I had to walk past that high-top, get within reach of the man in the cargo pants. He looked like he wanted to eat me.
