He glances away, jaw flexing, and mutters, “That wasn’t taking care of you.”
My chest twists, though I’m not sure why. Running on instinct, I lift on my toes and brush a light kiss across his check.
“Thank you for helping me, Jayk.”
His gaze swings back to mine, a deep, beautiful midnight blue. Something glimmers in their depths like stars, so unfathomably inside him, I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been soaking them in.
Red rolls into his cheeks, and he pulls back abruptly. He shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t get used to it or anything.”
My lips purse, though it’s more to hold in a snort of laughter than in disapproval.
“Uh-huh,” I hum through closed lips, and he glowers at me. Then I glance around the workshop, realizing I have a day to kill. I could spend it doing the few chores I’ve assigned myself, but I have zero desire to do anything else that makes me feel like their sexed-up maid.
The pile of laundry can wait.
My eyes linger on the washing machine that I would commit all kinds of sins to have fixed. That broken beauty belongs back in the house with the rest of the equipment.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s mine.
“Need a hand?”
Chapter 21
Eden
SURVIVAL TIP #173
Settling for less than you need
only guarantees a slower death.
T hud. Frowning, I ease my door open gingerly, looking down to see what I bumped. There, on the floor, is a glorious, embossed copy of Dracula. I pick it up with a hungry eagerness. It’s been days since Jasper last left me a book—since we had that entrancing and awful encounter in the library. Whenever I think of it, my stomach flips and churns all at once.
It’s Jasper’s “day,” and I’m so nervous I could heave.
Will he expect sex? Of course he will, won’t he? Lucky said he would set boundaries with me before we did anything . . .
but he’s a sadist. Can my boundary even be “don’t hurt me”？ Where does that leave us? Will he want me to try, at least? Take off my clothes and let him chain me to a wall so he can whip me until I scream?
That’s what sadists do, don’t they? They whip?
I haven’t forgotten Jasper’s dismissiveness when I asked him for answers, or the cutting cruelty of his words in the library.
Yet . . . he brought me my dearest friends to keep me company when I was confused and alone—the one gift that could have made me feel at home. He listens so carefully, absorbs me so utterly in his attention, that after so many years of walking unseen and unheard through the forest, I’m turned real, turned flesh, just by the weight of it. Flesh that feels. Flesh that craves.
And he does have such lovely, clever hands.
God, I’m such a mess.
Ever since I left Jayk’s workshop last night, I’ve been plagued with worries. I fully expected today to reduce me to a puddle of nerves, except that I woke to Lucky staring at me with puppy-dog eyes, begging to spend the day with me.
Whether he’d forgotten it was Jasper’s day or simply didn’t care, the distraction suited me just fine. I let him drag me away to spend half the day giggling and cooking with him in the kitchen. I had half a mind to let him suffer for the trouble he got me in with Dom, except that he was moving so gingerly, I didn’t have the heart.
Dom apparently thumped him soundly—mostly because Lucky still hasn’t returned the bazooka from his hidey stash. I only hope that Dom doesn’t work out I know where that stash is. Let’s just say Lucky has more than a bazooka in there, and I will sing like a canary if he questions me.
Still, despite Lucky’s protests, I begged off cooking an hour ago and came back to my room to think.
Well, and to shower, since I was covered head to toe in about a dozen different ingredients.
I can’t procrastinate any longer. I need to make a decision.
Do I go and find Jasper to fulfill my end of this bargain? Or risk a refusal?
I turn the book over in my hands, and it naturally parts at chapter five where he’s bookmarked the pages with a simple note.
Chess in my room at 3pm.
Please?
—Jasper
On the first page of chapter five, he had—heartrendingly—highlighted several lines: “I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.”
Please.
Does that mean I’m getting lovely, bookish Jasper today? One who will talk with me freely about all the things they’re keeping from me?
Or is his scary, sadistic evil twin playing games with me?
I flick through the pages of the book, searching for his notes, the little insights and witticisms I’ve come to crave, but they’re naked of anyone’s thoughts but Stoker’s. I frown, tapping the spine with my finger.
Is the book itself the message? A more sensual choice than some of the others . . . but also screaming with misogyny. He chose a quote from Mina, a praised and perfect Victorian woman. Is that how he sees me? Intelligent and beautiful, fine, but a woman whose success, whose value, is assigned by how she props up her male counterparts?
Maybe I’m being too sensitive.
My frustration with the men is growing—their insistence on secrets is infuriating, these unexplained tensions in the house are confusing, and the whole farcical bargain is starting to grate. It pushes me into a position in the house that is becoming more uncomfortable by the day.
If I’m being honest, it’s because I’m enjoying myself so much that it’s beginning to hurt. The last two days have been . . .
surprisingly pleasant. No, more than that. They’ve been delightful.
Yesterday, I worked in Jayk’s barn until night fell and he fixed me a bland but deeply appreciated meal of dried jerky and garden vegetables that he fidgeted over for far too long. We fell into a quiet rhythm as we puttered, and for the first time since I arrived, I felt useful. Like I was contributing in a meaningful way.
His gruff corrections didn’t sting like failure and his rare approving nods had me glowing. When it grew late enough that I decided I should probably get some sleep, I left with the greatest reluctance. I’d even found the courage to ask if I could help him again soon and received a rough, “Suit yourself” in response.
From Jayk, I’m pretty sure that counts as an open invitation.
My sneaky satisfaction with him, the sweet heat I feel with Beau, laughing with Lucky, all of it has me wanting . . . more.
Maybe even everything.
A greedy, impossible thought.
But an honest one.
I stifle a sigh. How can I ever even hope for more when there is such an imbalance between us? While they’re making the rules, how can I make my own? And I do want new rules, I think. To finally make some for myself.
I want to be able to speak my mind without fear of consequence.
I want to fill my days with whatever or whomever I want.
I want to be able to form real relationships. To know that if we’re together, it’s because that’s what I want, and what they want, and to know it’s based on more than convenient sex.
Ducking back into my room, I check the grandfather clock. It’s two fifty-five. Decision time.
I look down at the highlighted words. “I am longing to be with you.”
Longing seems too soft a word for all the things I want.