But instead Charli was looking at him with gentle eyes—not pity, but empathy. He’d gotten used to the pity thing once people knew about Rachel. He hated it, which is why he rarely told anyone anymore. But the way Charli stared up at him only made him want to hold her tighter. To be open with her.
“You were beautiful today. Perfect,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry I ruined the afterglow.”
She slid her hands up his still-bare chest to circle her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to apologize. And you don’t have to hide that part of yourself from me. I’d rather you be honest if you’re dealing with something than putting on a happy face and pretending everything is hunky-dory. I don’t need the unflappable master dom persona all the time. I can handle the human man beneath that.”
Her words pried under that shield of armor he spent so much time honing and hit him right in the sternum. He was usually the one giving lectures to subs about letting down their defenses and being open and honest. Now his sub was turning the tables on him and calling him out on his own bullshit.
He turned her and lifted her, catching her by surprise, then carried her over to the chair she’d left. He adjusted her in his lap, fitting her against his chest.
“Grant, really, I’m okay. I don’t need this.”
He ignored her protest, afraid that if he responded, he wouldn’t get what he needed to say out. He watched the second hand ticking on the clock over his desk, not really seeing it, but trying to decide how to start. How could he even explain? Finally, he began with the barest truth possible. “I loved her more than I ever thought was possible to love another person.”
Charli stilled against him.
“I’d known Rachel since we were teenagers and had never planned to be with anyone else. The first time I kissed her I saw our whole future rolled out in front of us. Kids, house, the whole damn thing. I knew, just knew, she was the girl for me.”
He paused, the sadness threatening to grip his throat and steal the rest of the story. He hadn’t talked about Rachel aloud in so long. And certainly never to a woman he was with. But for some reason, he needed to get it out, to say it to Charli. He ran his hand up and down Charli’s back, drawing strength from her warmth, from her willingness to listen.
He took a deep breath. “When she got pregnant, I thought things couldn’t get any better. I remember wondering how I’d managed to get so lucky, to find the perfect life for me on the first try. And I thought I had it all figured out. She was naturally yielding, probably submissive if we’d been together long enough to figure out what that meant. She looked to me to be the man of the house, and I loved that, loved that sense of responsibility, that I was her rock, her protector. She’d had a pretty rough upbringing and I promised her I’d never let anyone hurt her again.”
Charli’s hand curled into his shirt, right over his now-pounding heart.
“But I failed her,” he said softly, the familiar pain creeping into his chest, pressing on his lungs. “We had a break-in one night and instead of calling the police, I ran downstairs with my gun to go after the burglar. I left Rachel hiding in the bedroom, thinking she’d be safer there. The robber stabbed my shoulder, but I was able to shoot him. I thought I’d saved the fucking day. Big, brave husband to the rescue. But the guy hadn’t been alone.”
He shook his head, remembering the sick feeling when he’d heard Rachel’s cry for help.
“The other guy came in and saw what I’d done to his brother, and he killed Rachel right in front of me.”
Charli looked up at him, horror on her face.
“My wife and my unborn son died in my arms that night,” he said, the words flat, like they were coming from someone else instead of from him.
Charli reached up and touched his face, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Grant. I’m so sorry.”
He looked away. “One phone call to the police and everything could’ve been different. I should’ve never left her side that night.”
“You were doing what you thought was right. You didn’t know—”
“Yeah, well, I should’ve,” he said, cutting her off, unable to handle platitudes even though he knew she meant well. “I’m not telling you this to get your sympathy. I’m telling you because you deserve to know why I keep acting like a lunatic when things get too intense. And why what we’re doing, us, can’t go beyond what it is.”
She looked as if she was going to push, to challenge him, but instead she simply nodded. “I understand. Thank you for telling me. I know you didn’t have to do that.”
He pushed her hair away from her face and smiled, trying to chase off the gut-wrenching memories he’d invited into the room. “You made me want to tell. Maybe you missed your calling as a domme, pulling all my dark secrets from me.”
She brushed at the tears she’d shed over his story and managed her own wavering attempt at a smile. “Maybe. Want to give me control of your whip, cowboy?”
He sniffed. “Hell, no. Your tongue is sharp enough. You’d be lethal with a weapon.”
“Damn straight.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to his stubbled chin, carefully avoiding his mouth. “Plus, I’ve always been the take-control girl in my life. I realize now that I don’t want to have to do it in the bedroom, too.”
“Well, I’ll gladly take that responsibility off your hands,” he said, turning her and wrapping her legs around his waist so he could see her face-to-face, see something good after all the ugliness of the rehashed memories.
She wiggled against his lap, obviously trying to distract him further.
He adored her in that moment. Any other woman would’ve wanted to talk about his feelings, would’ve wanted to coddle and there-there him. But not Charli. She’d recognized how much it had cost him to talk about Rachel, and she’d let him change topics without asking a bunch of questions or prodding for more. Somehow in a matter of minutes, she’d managed to lift his mood and ease the crushing pressure in his chest. Like it or not, this girl was getting to him.
And suddenly he wasn’t sure if that was such a bad thing.