nine years ago and she'd remembered it. He didn't remember any ink on her, except for the fake tattoos that had washed off.
Trouble was, it didn't look like a surgical scar. It was too jagged.
Had someone attacked her?
His mind darkened at the thought of that. "You weren't badly hurt, I hope?"
She was still tense—he could see it in the way she held her body. But she met his gaze now as she said, "I spent a few days in the hospital. Dad took really good care of me—he was great."
That sounded sincere and direct. His impression that she was evading him faded. He must have been imagining things.
Let it go. She would tell him when it felt right to her. He bent his head and kissed the mark thoroughly. "You could be covered with scars, and I’d still find you beautiful," he’d murmured, and her tension had melted away.
There had been other moments last night, too, when he thought he'd sensed her withdrawing from him. They had both been grappling a bit with the unexpectedly intense feelings produced by their reunion, and on top of that, he'd dropped the "I'm kinky" bomb on her. If she needed some distance to get her bearings, that seemed to him to be normal and sensible. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt, either, about their intense, unexpected intimacy.
"I hate to say it," he said now, "but I’m going to have to hit the road soon. I need to get some work done this evening on my book."
Her expressive face showed her disappointment, but she smiled and said, "That’s okay. I’ve got some work to finish up before classes tomorrow, too."
"Besides, Rusty will be missing me."
"Who’s Rusty?"
"My golden retriever. I arranged for a neighbor to look in on him this weekend, to feed him and take him for walks, but he gets lonely if I’m gone for too long."
"You have a golden? I love goldens!"
"He’s a mutt, actually, but he obviously has a lot of golden retriever genes. No doubt he’ll slobber all over you when he meets you. You’re coming down to my place next weekend, right?"
"I’d love to. I think I’m intrepid enough to brave your threats about dungeons and torturers," she added with a smirk.
"Fear not, Rusty will protect you from the big bad dom."
"Where on the Cape do you live?" she asked.
"Brewster. Do you know it?"
"Sure. That’s not far from where my dad lives."
He nodded. He and Percy Quentin didn't agree on much, but they both liked living on the Cape. "The north side, where I live, is quieter and less touristy."
"Is it near the beach?"
"It’s on a hill overlooking the beach, and yes, my property runs down to the shore. Great location—there used to be a summer camp for kids on the property a few decades ago. The house is new, though—I had it built to my own specifications."
"Whoa, lucky you."
"It’s all due to Bartholomew Giles," he said, grinning. "If you like the place, you’ll have him to thank."
Chapter 10
It was a sunny , glorious afternoon as Viola drove over the bridge to Cape Cod the following Friday. At the end of the Cape Cod Canal she could see the hazy blue of the ocean sighing gently under a bank of puffy clouds. It was warm for April, and she had her window rolled down. She was dressed casually, in blue jeans and a green cotton shirt. Her hair, swinging loose over her shoulders, blew haphazardly in the wind.
The drive to the Cape was pleasant. Again, she thought how strange it was that Stephen had been living just a few miles from her father’s place for the past year. She had been down here multiple times since her she'd started teaching at Whittacre. Stephen had been so close, but she had never known he was here.
Of course, if she had known, it wouldn’t have made much difference. She had believed, after all, that he’d abandoned her nine years ago and never wanted to see her again.
It still bothered her a little, the way that had happened. She had wanted to confront her father, and hear his side of the story, but Percy was out west, fishing with some
Trouble was, it didn't look like a surgical scar. It was too jagged.
Had someone attacked her?
His mind darkened at the thought of that. "You weren't badly hurt, I hope?"
She was still tense—he could see it in the way she held her body. But she met his gaze now as she said, "I spent a few days in the hospital. Dad took really good care of me—he was great."
That sounded sincere and direct. His impression that she was evading him faded. He must have been imagining things.
Let it go. She would tell him when it felt right to her. He bent his head and kissed the mark thoroughly. "You could be covered with scars, and I’d still find you beautiful," he’d murmured, and her tension had melted away.
There had been other moments last night, too, when he thought he'd sensed her withdrawing from him. They had both been grappling a bit with the unexpectedly intense feelings produced by their reunion, and on top of that, he'd dropped the "I'm kinky" bomb on her. If she needed some distance to get her bearings, that seemed to him to be normal and sensible. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt, either, about their intense, unexpected intimacy.
"I hate to say it," he said now, "but I’m going to have to hit the road soon. I need to get some work done this evening on my book."
Her expressive face showed her disappointment, but she smiled and said, "That’s okay. I’ve got some work to finish up before classes tomorrow, too."
"Besides, Rusty will be missing me."
"Who’s Rusty?"
"My golden retriever. I arranged for a neighbor to look in on him this weekend, to feed him and take him for walks, but he gets lonely if I’m gone for too long."
"You have a golden? I love goldens!"
"He’s a mutt, actually, but he obviously has a lot of golden retriever genes. No doubt he’ll slobber all over you when he meets you. You’re coming down to my place next weekend, right?"
"I’d love to. I think I’m intrepid enough to brave your threats about dungeons and torturers," she added with a smirk.
"Fear not, Rusty will protect you from the big bad dom."
"Where on the Cape do you live?" she asked.
"Brewster. Do you know it?"
"Sure. That’s not far from where my dad lives."
He nodded. He and Percy Quentin didn't agree on much, but they both liked living on the Cape. "The north side, where I live, is quieter and less touristy."
"Is it near the beach?"
"It’s on a hill overlooking the beach, and yes, my property runs down to the shore. Great location—there used to be a summer camp for kids on the property a few decades ago. The house is new, though—I had it built to my own specifications."
"Whoa, lucky you."
"It’s all due to Bartholomew Giles," he said, grinning. "If you like the place, you’ll have him to thank."
Chapter 10
It was a sunny , glorious afternoon as Viola drove over the bridge to Cape Cod the following Friday. At the end of the Cape Cod Canal she could see the hazy blue of the ocean sighing gently under a bank of puffy clouds. It was warm for April, and she had her window rolled down. She was dressed casually, in blue jeans and a green cotton shirt. Her hair, swinging loose over her shoulders, blew haphazardly in the wind.
The drive to the Cape was pleasant. Again, she thought how strange it was that Stephen had been living just a few miles from her father’s place for the past year. She had been down here multiple times since her she'd started teaching at Whittacre. Stephen had been so close, but she had never known he was here.
Of course, if she had known, it wouldn’t have made much difference. She had believed, after all, that he’d abandoned her nine years ago and never wanted to see her again.
It still bothered her a little, the way that had happened. She had wanted to confront her father, and hear his side of the story, but Percy was out west, fishing with some
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