But I wasn’t about to let the fact that she was poorer than I was dictate what we could and could not do together. I had money, and we were going to spend it. Together. I worked hard for every penny I earned, and it gave me joy spending it on Raychel. Yes, it wasn’t the cleanest money, and I had to do some bad things to obtain it… but spending it on someone as good and pure as Raychel seemed redeeming in a way.
There was no need to chase her around after our last definitive round, which ended with her sitting further away from me on the couch than she ever had, her arms folded over her chest, fuming furiously in that subdued way of hers. For a moment, watching her made me smile. Even in anger, except when it came to football, she was so restrained. It made me want to coax her out of that shell, out of those self-imposed proprietary restraints and into my arms with abandon. Just once… well, a lot more than once, but I’d settle for once at first.
Without really thinking about it, I reached a hand behind her and pulled her over my legs. She settled there a lot more naturally now than she had. Unfortunately for her, she’d had enough occasions to end up there.
* * *
Raychel
My complete concentration on my snit—my totally justified snit—had prevented me from noticing exactly what he was doing. And it never paid to lower one’s guard around Anthony. I thought he was going to apologize, or at least make some sort of conciliatory gesture, since he was the one being a stubborn ass about the situation. If I couldn’t afford to do something, then I couldn’t afford to. I wasn’t going to become some kind of kept woman, and let him pay for everything. I wasn’t a mafia princess… or at least I wasn’t anymore. I didn’t want his money. I didn’t want the crime money that in my opinion dripped with blood.
My father’s blood.
I didn’t want to know what kind of repayment he might be interested in, even though I knew deep down he was too honorable to be that kind of man. It just made me feel bad that I could barely afford to pay my own way—and more often couldn’t—and would probably never manage to treat him to much other than a dinner at our original dive of a diner, if that. And for the first time in my life, I wished I’d paid more attention when my mother was cooking those wonderful family dinners, because at least I might have been able to swing making him a dinner, maybe. But since I barely knew which end of the kitchen was up, that wasn’t likely.
Being over his lap on the couch was much easier than when he was sitting in a chair. I didn’t have to worry about my balance at all. I was getting to be a bit of an expert at getting spanked, unfortunately. It wasn’t something I aspired to at all, but he’d spanked me in his study several times, which seemed very formal and almost stilted to me now.
He’d also just caught me and bent me over his arm, very impromptu, like now, when I’d let loose with a string of epithets one Sunday when it looked like the Saints were going to lose. We were in the kitchen, during halftime, talking about the game and a very badly fumbled ball, and I spewed a few colorful curses that had startled him for a minute. I didn’t generally use language like that, but it wasn’t as if I didn’t know it. And I liked cheering for a team and was usually alone when I did it, so it was hard to get out of the habit of not screaming at them like a lunatic. Sunday afternoons had been one of the few times Father was home all day—rarely being called for business. So it had been a Polov tradition to hang around and watch the Saints play.
At first, Anthony had looked at me like I was some kind of trucker, as if those words couldn’t really have come from my mouth. And then his face clouded over. I was quickly learning that was never a good sign. I could remember when he never looked at me that way, and now it seemed that every other time I glanced at his face, it was pinched tight and frowning at something or other I had done.
I was certainly getting an interesting glimpse into a different side of him, especially since he’d been starting to treat me more like a girlfriend than just his ‘ward.’ I was surprised at myself that I was letting him do what he was doing to me. But I was worse than a heroin addict when it came to Anthony, especially once I had given in to him in one way, it was so nice not to have to be fighting with myself all the time. And his kisses… dear God, his kisses drove me to utter madness!