Thief

Page 12

“Was he ever aggressive toward you?” I glance at her from the corner of my eye.
“No, no, he was very quiet. Almost gentlemanly. The girls told me that he would ask permission before raping them. That’s sick, isn’t it? Let me rape you … I’ll ask first and kill you if you say no, but let me ask anyway.”
The corner of her mouth dips in and she shakes her head. “People are so messed up. All of us. We just hurt each other.”
“Some of us a little more so, don’t you think? For instance, our good friend Dobson could have become an advocate for abused children rather than becoming a serial ra**st.”
“Yeah,” she says. “His mind was broken. Not all abuse victims have the strength to make it through what he went through and come out with their brains all in one piece.”
I love her. God, I love her so much.
“Can we just not go back to my place?” she says. “It feels weird being there.”
“What about Cammie’s?” I suggest.
Cammie shakes her head. “I’m staying with my boyfriend while I close on my new house. Olivia hates him.”
I look at my watch. Jessica will be at my place until she leaves for work in a few hours. She only stays over a couple nights a week, but even so, I don’t like the idea of taking Olivia somewhere I have had sex with other women.
“We could get a hotel,” I say. “Hide out until they catch him.”
Olivia shakes her head. “No, who knows how long that will be? Just take me home, it’s okay.”
I can see the fear on her face, and I want to ask again where Noah is.
“I have an idea,” I say. When they press me, I won’t tell them what it is. It’s a ridiculous idea, but I like it. I make a U-turn and slide my car between the early morning traffic, heading back to her building.
“Do you want to grab some clothes?” She nods.
We make a brief stop at her building. I go up to her condo, in case Dobson is watching, and grab a duffel bag out of her closet. I open a couple drawers in her dresser until I find underwear. I stuff it into the bag. Next, I go to her closet and randomly choose a few items for her and Cammie. Before I leave, I stop at the other closet. His.
I pull open the door, not knowing what to expect. His clothes are there, all neatly on their hangers. I slam the door shut a little harder than I intended. I make one more stop in the living room. There is a table where he kept his whiskey in a decanter. The bottle is empty. I open it and hold it upside down.
Dry.
How long has he been gone? Why? Why didn’t she tell me?
I don’t say anything when I climb back into the car. Cammie is snoring softly in the backseat.
I pass her the bag and she mouths thank you.
Anything, Duchess, anything.
Chapter Eight
Soap sprayed on my windshield and the car vibrated as the jets beat water across the windows. Olivia pulled away from my mouth and glanced over her shoulder. I kissed down the elegant lines of her neck then laced my fingers into the back of her hair, steering her mouth back to mine. Things were getting out of control — for Olivia. For me, this was normal. A girl straddled on my lap, wearing a skirt … in the car wash … things could only get better from here. Not with Olivia. Things would not get better from here. Despite the fact that she was my girlfriend … and I loved her, and I wanted her naked and on top of me, I didn’t want to take something from her that she wasn’t ready to give.
I grabbed her by the waist and replanted her in her own seat. Then I gripped the steering wheel and thought about my great aunt Ina. Aunt Ina was sixty-seven years old and she had warts … gross … nasty … protruding — warts. I thought about her chins and her cankles and the hair that grew out of her arm wart. Aunt Ina seemed to do the trick. I felt slightly more in control.
Olivia huffed in the seat next to me. “Why do you always do that? I was having fun.”
I kept my eyes closed and leaned my head back. “Duchess, do you want to have sex?”
Her answer came quickly. “No.”
“So what’s the point of doing that?”
She paused to think. “I don’t know. Everyone else messes around. Why can’t we just … you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” I said, turning to look at her. “Why don’t you inform me what exactly it is that you have in mind?”
She blushed. “Can’t we just compromise?” she whispered this without looking at me.
“I’m twenty-three years old. I’ve been having sex since I was fifteen. I think I am compromising. If you’re asking me to feel you up like I’m a fifteen-year-old boy, I’m not going to do it.”
“I know,” she said weakly. “I’m sorry — I just can’t.”
Her voice pulled me out of my selfishness. It wasn’t her fault. I’d already waited a year. I would wait another — I wanted to wait. She was worth it.
I wanted her.
“The thing with messing around is — you slowly work your way toward sex. It starts with hands and then mouths and then before you know it you’re doing all three, all the time.”
She blushed.
“Once you start, you don’t stop. It’s a slow decline toward sex. So, if you’re really not ready to have sex, don’t start doing the other stuff. That’s all I’m saying.”
I opened the bottle of water that was sitting in my cup holder and took a sip. The car wash rattled around us, strips of soapy rubber slapping the metal. I felt those slaps.
She climbed back into my lap. God, I hope she can’t feel my erection. She put a hand on each side of my face and pressed her nose against mine. Her nose was cold. This was the softer side of Olivia. It was the side that caused me to want to stand over her like a dominating Alpha male and bare my teeth at anyone who came near her.
“I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”
My hands went back to her waist. “You’re not messed up, you’re just sexually repressed.”
She giggled. It was so girly and soft. When a woman made that sound, I couldn’t help but smile.
I looked down at her toned legs. All I would have to do was unzip my pants, she was already right-
“You’re going to have to go back to your seat.” My voice was gruff.
She scuttled back looking guilty.