Permanent Marker (The Kinky Truth) Page 14

  Rose extended the ball back to her with a forced smile—which suddenly dropped. “You’re Dasha Moore.”

  The pop star’s face softened with recognition too. “And you’re the one who made my dad turn to mush this morning.”

  Grief stabbed all over again. She turned away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I never meant to hurt him. I just want him to be happy.

  “Bummer,” Dasha muttered. “Because my dad hasn’t been mushy in a really long time.” She chuckled. “Did you know I tried fixing him up with Sheryl Crow? Even she wasn’t mush-worthy. My dad’s a damn finicky mush-giver.”

  “He’s a good person.” She looked Dasha in the eyes as she stated it. It succeeded in relaying her sincerity but invited in a fresh wave of heartache. The woman shared her father’s gaze, down to that dark gold, yes-I’m-reading-your-mind intensity.

  After a contemplative moment, Dasha sat on the wall too. “What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

  “Rose. Well, Rosalind. I’m in your dad’s class. I guess you figured that out.” Funny. She hadn’t been nervous with the gorgeous pop star until now. She wished they could just talk about Sheryl Crow again. “He’s a good teacher. A good man. A really good man. He deserves—”

  Everything. So much more than me.

  “D!” The man with the tousled dark hair and the long, lean build shouted up the sand. “Come on, sweetheart!”

  “Or do we need to…come for you?” yelled the other.

  Rose couldn’t help but join her giggle to Dasha’s. The woman swept her luxurious gold mane from her eyes and smiled back at them. “Give me two more secs? Please?” She hurled the ball back toward them, and they both dived for it, wrestling on the sand in a tangle of limbs and grunts. “There,” she muttered. “That ought to keep the puppies occupied for a bit.”

  Despite her teasing tone, Dasha gazed at the men like they were a pair of half-god gladiators. Rose couldn’t help but stare at the open adoration on her face. When the young woman caught her gaping and laughed again, Rose stuttered, “S-sorry. Why don’t you go back to your…uh…friends. I was just—”

  “Trying to figure out a little mush of your own?”

  She took in a sharp breath and bowed her head. Crap, what else would Dasha see on her features?

  It seemed the woman inherited her father’s stubborn conviction too.

  “Rose.” She closed their fingers together. “It’s not my place to pry, but I can tell you this. I almost let doubt and fear rope me back from having the greatest joy of my life. It took me nearly getting killed to realize it.” She coiled her grip tighter, compelling Rose to look at her again. “I’m serious. It took a gun barrel at my forehead for me to get the point.”

  Dasha tilted her face out toward the water, where a number of boats floated by on the sparkling azure expanse.

  “Life doesn’t give you a lot of chances to grab happiness, you know? When the anchor’s pulled up, then you’d better sail that ship for everything you’re worth.”

  She drew in another deep breath. She knew Dasha meant every word, and she yearned to absorb it all into her heart and make it her truth too—but one unalterable truth would never make it her own reality. As that truth roped its way around her heart again, she pulled free from Dasha and stood.

  “Not if you’re the one who can’t read the map, Dasha. Not if you’re the one who’s going to run the ship into the rocks and kill everyone.”

  * * * *

  Deeming the fresh-air quest a massive fail, she rushed back to her room and wept through another long bath. Then another attempt at a nap. TV, maybe? Sure, that turned out to be real productive. After clicking past three horrible reality shows, two bad sitcom reruns, and another showing of Titanic, she plunged the room into silence again.

  And once more decided to curl up on the floor.

  “You’ve got to stop this.”

  She snarled it at herself, watching her fingers clutch the carpet.

  “Damn it.” She forced her hand into a fist. “You need to deal with this, Ro. You are going to deal with this. You had a life without him before. Okay, so it was half a life by comparison, but at least it was—”

  Who the hell was she kidding?

  She didn’t have a map for this.

  The best thing to do was squeeze her eyes shut, let the pain come, and attempt to hang on.

  “One minute at a time,” she whispered. “One minute at a—”

  A pounding at the door sliced into her mantra.

  She gritted her teeth. The housekeepers on shift today apparently didn’t know how to read their own DO NOT DISTURB signs. This was the fourth time one of them had tried to get in. This one was persistent. She forced herself to sit up, but she didn’t move from the floor. As the urgent knocks continued, she ran Vegas-style bets in her head about the odds of a sweet little maid being mighty enough to break in a solid wood door in the name of fresh towel delivery.

  “Rosalind Fabian!”

  The booming voice stopped her heart.

  “Shit!” It was barely a breath on her lips.

  “Rose, I won’t knock again. Open the damn door!”

  She stumbled to her feet. But then froze. Raw energy spiked her bloodstream, followed by a sluice of fear. Mark’s bellow was a battering ram of fury. She stumbled back, shaking her head in quick little jerks. “I…I can’t. Please, go away! Go away and try to understand!”

  “Rose!”

  She retreated as far from the door as she could, palming the tears from her face and falling into a chair next to the patio slider. “I won’t do this. I can’t do this. I break everything I touch, and damn it, I won’t break you! Just forget me and—Shit!”

  The oath spilled out of her on half a scream. She got the sound out as a figure in black cargo pants, black T-shirt, and a matching thunderhead of a glower hoisted over the fence onto her patio. She was amazed Mark’s beard hadn’t gone the shade of ink too, as he slammed the slider back and stomped into the room.

  His presence threatened to stretch the walls. His stare was filled with fire. She curled in on herself, despite every cell of her body thrumming back to life, as he approached, then braced in front of her chair. He literally loomed over her.

  “I told you I wouldn’t knock again.”

  She jerked her chin up, an instinctual reaction to his King-of-Siam tone but then almost lowered it again. That was when she saw what her attitude did to him. Even through his rage, his mouth parted a little, his gaze narrowed, and the juncture of his thighs swelled. He really wasn’t afraid of her. He wanted her strength.

  But this wasn’t about what he wanted. Or what she did either. Sometimes life wasn’t about a kiss from kismet and a happy ending. She’d walked in his stratosphere for a few incredible hours. That had to be enough. Anything more and she was bound to make the one misstep that would tumble her out of his cloud. And knowing her, would bring the whole damn thing down with her too. Then she’d stumble up from the mess she’d made, only to watch him bolt out the door, carrying half her heart with him. Half? Who was she kidding? He already had that much. “Look, if you want an explanation, I’ll do my best to—”

  “Stand up.”

  His tone didn’t brook a shred of rebellion. Rose complied, then instantly questioned herself. How did he make her gutsy as Pocahontas one second, then submissive as a baby the next? More importantly, where was this going to get them? “Fine.” She squared her jaw. “You want to talk. I get that. And I’m sorry—”

  “Where’s your phone and your purse?”

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  By the time she got that out, he’d spotted her cell and her purse. He scooped the first into the second. “You can bring these,” he stated. “And that’s it.”

  “Bring them where?”

  When he only responded by stomping across the room and jerking the door open, letting in the peach-and-orange light of the coming sunset, she locked her hands to her hips.

  “What the hell
is— Ahhhh!”

  She screamed as Mark swung her up and over his shoulder. With the world flipped and his biceps wrapped around her middle, she barely had a chance to comprehend he’d carried her out the door and across the lawn. He’d skirted the edge of the beach and gotten to the resort’s dock by the time she found her voice again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously, Pirate Pete? Are you carrying me off on your galleon to extract a confession or—”

  “It’s not your time to talk, Rose.” His steps were determined and steady on the heavy planks of the dock. “There’s going to be plenty of time for that. But not now.”

  He approached an expansive sailboat she didn’t remember seeing at the dock this week. Though the ship’s hull was cut in a more modern design, everything from the deck up was pure pirate decadence, with rigging, yardarms, and two sails ready to be hoisted. If she were in a more dignified position, she would’ve stopped to admire the polished wood, gleaming fixtures, and obvious care given to the boat. Right now she was obsessed with keeping equilibrium. The task got more complicated when he flipped her back over and set her to her feet. He kept one hand locked on her wrist as she tried to gain back some dignity along with her balance.

  “You okay?” The words were sincere, though his tone was tight.

  “Reasonably.”

  “Good. Then we’ll start things here.”

  “Things? Wh-what do you mean, things?”

  He answered as if she hadn’t spoken. “You know your safe word. Use it if you need to.” His other hand grabbed her chin and jerked her face up. “Using your safe word to avoid a question does not qualify as need.” With another sweep of command, he stepped back and used a jerk of his head to back up his order. “Now get on board.”

  His voice, so full of that no-isn’t-an-option timbre, still made her hesitate. It had nothing to do with fearing for her physical safety. She knew, deep into her gut, Mark would never lead her into danger. Her decision dealt with a bigger peril. If she got on the boat, he expected her to talk. To tell him everything. To completely bare her heart and soul to him.

  It was going to be hard.

  She didn’t want to do this.

  She wanted to do this more than anything.

  She couldn’t just sail off into the sunset with him.

  Could she?

  Rose looked up into the ropes, rigging, and sails of the magnificent vessel. And like the breeze that blew through and gently swayed them, a set of words filled her mind as if brought by the cosmos themselves.

  “Life doesn’t give you a lot of chances to grab happiness, Rose. When the anchor’s pulled up, then you’d better sail that ship for everything you’re worth.”

  She bowed her head and walked down the gangway.

  She knew damn well how selfish the choice was. This wasn’t going to be easy, nor was it going to be forever—but for a little while more, Mark would be her captain. Her Dom. Hers, completely.

  She latched on to the feeling, relishing how her heart soared, her blood raced…and her pussy clenched. Maybe he knew that already. She doubted it changed his plan by one speck. He’d clearly thought this through. She contemplated that in full now, looking around as he helped the skipper release the ropes off the vessel. Precision planning like this was usually inspired by one of two things: rage or lust. She wondered how much trouble she was in if Mark’s incentive had been both.

  He walked toward her as they motored toward the horizon. She’d been trying to appreciate the cottony feathers of cirrus that floated across the sunset sky, but they were overshadowed by the black clouds in his gaze. He kept his distance from her with a wide, braced posture, as if trying to chisel his way into her brain from the outside in, making her shift on her feet with more discomfort by the minute.

  Finally, she couldn’t take the standoff anymore. “Did you do all this just to stand there and glare at me?”

  “I’m asking the questions right now, Rose. And I expect answers. Honest ones.”

  She wet her lips. “Fine. Ask away. You’ll get them.”

  “Will I?” His words seared like blowtorches. “How do I know that?” At her questioning stare, he turned up the flames even hotter. “I thought I was getting honesty from you this morning. I thought you really meant those ‘Yes, Sirs’ you gave me. I thought you liked being there, in my bed, waiting for me.”

  “I did.” She stepped to him, trying to grab his arm but getting only his flinch in return. “I meant it! Every word, every syllable—”

  “Bullshit.” The wind whipped at his hair, making his snarling features an even more daunting sight. “You left! And this—” He yanked out her note from this morning, now creased in a million places. “This doesn’t constitute asking permission to leave!”

  She endured a war of emotions. Part of her ached to take the thing from him, tear it to pieces, and then toss it to the wind. Did he think it had been easy to write that? Even if it had, his permission wasn’t required, damn it! The last time she checked, the Victorians and their restrictions had been evicted from the Bahamas.

  But another part of her, the part that had broken free in bigger and bigger chunks this week, not only acknowledged his words but accepted them. Embraced them. Needed them. Yes, even the fury in them. Maybe especially that. He had his own easier choices than this, than her. A lot of them. But here he was, on a boat he’d gotten from God-knew-where, after he’d literally pulled her off her feet and carried her here, fighting for her with every ounce of his being.

  And just like that, a little more of her heart slipped away in his grasp.

  Tears. She tried to force them back but ended up choking. “I…I’m sorry. You deserve more of an explanation. I…I’ll try to give it to you now.”

  He jammed the note back into his pocket. “And I’ll believe you why?”

  She spread her hands. “I haven’t openly lied to you.”

  He grabbed her wrists and shoved them down. “The fuck you haven’t.” Surging close, aligning his face inches from hers, he glared with eyes like stoked coals. “You agreed to an instruction of your Sir, then you defied it. So yes, you essentially lied, Rose.”

  “I didn’t defy you!” She pushed back again, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. He was close enough to pin her in now and he did, blocking out the sky with his damnable, beautiful nearness. “I mean, it wasn’t my intention!” She couldn’t help it anymore. The tears broke free. “And I can’t ever call you Sir again, so it doesn’t matter anyway. It was a ridiculous dream, Senator—and now it’s over.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mark’s breath left him in an agonizing rush.

  Senator.

  He’d expected her apology. He’d even expected her to protest about her disobedience being unintentional, that it had been because of things beyond her control. Then he’d expected her to accept his forgiveness for the former, his swift punishment for the latter, and then his direct order, as her Dominant, to tell him exactly what the fuck had happened in that half hour he’d been gone. Then together they’d deal with her asshole of a brother. Then together they could move on.

  It wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Senator.

  It wasn’t just the goddamn word itself. It was how she’d said it. Defeat underlined every note. The finishing dip of her head could’ve placed her at a funeral.

  She’d really given up. Not just on them and on him, but worse, on herself, on that piece of her soul that had finally pushed free and lived at the villa last night. Her spiritual release had been as beautiful to behold as her physical climaxes.

  That bastard brother of hers had shoved all of it right back into a cage.

  But so help him God, they weren’t getting off this boat until he found the key again.

  He watched Rose grow restless beneath his scrutiny. She only wore a T-shirt and shorts, and the setting sun illuminated her pebbled nipples, her wriggling hips. Good. This was good. Her words denied him, but her body sure as fuck didn’t.
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  He pressed a little closer. Sure enough, the heat from her skin ticked higher. “A dream,” he murmured. “And you’ve woken up, is that it?”

  Oddly, she looked relieved he’d said that. “Right. Yes.”

  He contemplated her reaction. She was still on edge, but he could tell she hedged an inner hunch, maybe thinking he’d gotten fed up enough to let things lie here. And why not? It was the shit she’d gotten from every other significant man in her life. A completely absent father. A fiancé who’d walked out on her wedding day. Coworkers, threatened by her strength, who teased. And a brother who used all of it to make her fit his own cookie-cutter brand of behavior. She clearly thought he was like all of them. She was clearly wrong.

  But right now, she didn’t know that. And she wouldn’t believe it either, even if he climbed to the top of the mast and declared it to the whole ocean. Why would she?

  He had to show her. And he would have to get sneaky about it.

  “Okay,” he said. “If that’s how you’re going to spin it, then that’s how we’ll roll.”

  “R-really?”

  “Yep.” He pushed back but resumed his resolute stance. “If that’s how you feel after your punishment, then that’s what I’ll honor. You have my word as a man and a Dom.”

  Her follow-up to that was also what he expected. A bunch more blinks. A puzzled frown. “Wait. After my what?”

  He prefaced his comeback by stripping off his shirt. The move was completely calculated. He knew how formidable he looked now, standing there with his chest bare, his hands clasped at his back, the wind shoving his hair, his gaze a direct drill into hers. “You heard me, Rose. You want to be free from me, from our dynamic, then fine—but you’ll fulfill your obligation to it first. You say you left this morning for reasons beyond your control. I believe you. But since you’ve chosen not to share the reasons with me, I have no choice but to punish you for the defiance.”

  Her mouth popped open. But her breasts jutted hard against her clothes, their defined buds proving how his tone affected her. “You’re not kidding, are you?”