Emerald (Steele Investigations) (7 page)

When we finally break from the kiss, we’re both breathing
heavy.  In my case, it could more accurately be described as panting.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs (again, though this time his lips
aren’t resting on mine).

“Yeah,” I agree.  He may be talking about me, or the view,
though by the look in his eyes and intensity of his words I think he’s referring
to the former rather than the latter, I however, am referring to him; because
he is, in a word, beautiful.

His hand comes up to stroke my cheek and then down to cup my
jaw before he talks.

“Been waitin’ a long time for this, babe,”

A long time for what?
I silently ask

How am I supposed to know?  Ask him!
I silently
answer myself

“What have you been waiting a long time for?” I ask, softly

“You, babe,” he answers instantly

Ho-ly shit.

This wasn’t supposed to go this way.  I was supposed to have
a good time, enjoy myself, conjure up enough memories to store in my memory
bank so I could pull them out and daydream with them for hours on end when
things went bad.  Things always go bad.  I could feel myself slipping.  Getting
too caught up in the moment.  Enjoying myself
too much
.  I really,
really
,
wanted this to be real.  I wanted it so much that I was having trouble
reasoning with Selfish Jemma because, honestly, I wanted to embrace that selfishness. 
Poor, sweet, level-headed Rational Jemma was losing out big time.  She was
practically non-existent.  I didn’t know how to get her back.  I wasn’t even
sure I wanted her back. 

Drawing in a deep breath, I steadied myself and silently
tried to summon my inner strength.  The worst part of this entire situation was
how much I liked it.  No, how much I
loved
it.  Kissing Travis, eating
with Travis, driving with Travis, Hell, just
being
with Travis felt
right
. 
It felt like… It felt like
home
.

“Babe?” The soft rumble of Travis’s voice interrupts my
impromptu mental tug-of-war.

“Yeah,” I answer

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Hmm, maybe that I really, really want this to be real. 
Real as in, I’d be happy if it never ended. Ever. But I know it has to.  I also
know I can never tell you why.
  Instead of saying that, I say, “Just
thinking how perfect tonight was.  How much I enjoyed it.  How gorgeous this
view is, and how I’d never noticed the turn off before.”  His eyes got warm, but
he didn’t say anything.  Because he didn’t say anything, and because I was
lying and wanted to make sure he didn’t know I was lying, I kept talking; when
in fact, I should have shut the hell up!  “I was also thinking about how yummy
the steak was at the restaurant, and how the sauce could win a Food Industry
Award…that is, if they have those.  I’m not sure if they do, but I’d imagine
it’s something like the Logies, and they give out awards and recognize the
restaurants with the tastiest food and maybe Ambience Awards, or something. 
The Chefs probably really enjoy it because they’d get to dress up in nice,
designer clothing and spend the night eating food that someone else cooked for
them and they don’t have to wear those hideous black and white checkered
pants.  Maybe, we should try and find out if they have Food Logie Awards and
then we could vote for the place we ate at tonight.”  As I say this, something
occurs to me, “I know,” I yell, and clap my hands together, “You’re a Private
Investigator.  You could find out about the Awards and how we can nominate
them!”  I smile so big you’d think I’d just won Lotto.  On the inside however,
I’m cringing. 
Total overkill.  I am such a loser. L.O.S.E.R. Loser!

Travis is still staring intently at me, and the he throws
his head back and laughs.  It’s a yummy laugh.  Deep, throaty, rumbly.  He
looks good when he laughs.  No, he looks
great
when he laughs.  His
dimples are on full display and I bite down on my lip so I can’t give into my
urge to lick them.

When he recovers, he looks back down at me and (still with
twitching lips) says, “Alright, babe, I’ll look into that.”

He’s making fun of me. 
The nerve!

“You do that,” I snap as I fold my arms across my chest and
narrow my eyes at him.

“You gonna tell me what’s really on your mind, babe, ‘cause,
don’t get me wrong, I agree with you that the steak was good, but, babe, ain’t
no way you were thinkin’ about that just now.”

“No,” I say still sounding uppity.

His eyes narrow at me and they roam my face before settling back
on mine.  “I’ll give you that play, babe.  Only ‘cause I just had a good steak
with a beautiful woman, took her to my special place, she seems to like it
‘bout as much as me, and top it all off, she made me laugh.  But, fair warnin’,
babe, you’re gonna tell me what’s holdin’ you back, what’s always on your
mind.  But tonight, I’ll give you that play.”

He’ll give me that play?  He’ll give me that play?

You’ll give me that play?” I snap at him.

“Babe, yeah,” he replies calmly, clearly unaffected by the fact
that my head is about to explode because my blood is boiling so hot I fear it
may reduce everything in a fifty mile radius to a pile of ashes.

“How…
kind
of you,” I say sarcastically

“Yep,” he grins.  “In, babe,” he guides my wooden body
toward the car.  I shake free from his hold and stomp the few feet to the car. 
I grasp the handle of the door to pull it open and Travis wraps a strong arm
around my waist, halting me.

“See you’re in a snit,” he states.  Then he spins me around
and, I kid you not, kisses it out of me.  Literally.  His tongue drives into my
mouth as he nips my lower lip.  Then he coaxes my tongue from my mouth into his
and sucks on it as he groans.  My arms (of their own accord, of course) wrap
themselves around his neck and pull him deeper into me.  Finally, when I’ve
melted into him and all thoughts of a snit have flown off into the Snit Galaxy
thousands of miles away, he pulls back.

“Better,” he murmurs.

Still in a Travis Trance, I have no come back, so I steady
myself and let him guide me into the seat.

Arriving at my home, I thank him for a nice night and make
my excuses to get inside quick.  I do this for various reasons but mostly I do
it because I’m afraid that he’ll want to come in and stay for the night, or
stay just a little while and although I really like Travis, I know in my bones
that there’s no way I’m ready for a male to be in my home, not like that
anyways.  I also knew I wouldn’t be able to explain this to him without putting
him in danger.

He must sense some sort of unease vibe coming from me
because he lets go relatively easy, but not before telling me that he’ll be
here to take to me brunch in the morning.

I have a moment where Rational Jemma almost wins and I
almost say no.  But it’s a small moment.  Before I can act on it, embrace it
and go forth with it, my selfish sidekick speaks for me and I say, “Okay.” 
Goddamn
it!

“Eleven,” he informs me.

“Sure, eleven o’clock,” I nod

I give a stupid little wave from the sidewalk and then he
watches as I walk up the path, fumble with my keys before finally opening my
door, walking inside and closing it.  Only then do I hear the Camaro speed
away.

Then I hear
his
voice.

Chapter 7

Trembling, I flick the light switch and, spotting my Father
sitting on my lounge, I suck in a sharp breath.  A breath laced with fear. 
What
is he doing here?

“What are you doing here?”  Even my voice is shaky.

“Came to see if my prize pony was givin’ it away for free. 
Seein’ last two payments you’ve been late, figured you were givin’ ‘em a taste
for free.  Seems I was right.” 

Oh God. 
His tone is menacing and a shiver of fear
racks through my body.

“I’m not giving anything away,” I whisper

“So you’re makin’ ‘em pay?  If that’s so, why
the fuck
have you been late payin’ your dues?”  He jumps up as he’s speaking and strides
quickly across the room to me.  I instinctively retreat but I’m too slow.  He
grabs my shoulders roughly and leans down to look me square in the eye.

“Now, you little bitch, you wanna tell me the truth?”  His
voice is quiet…deathly quiet.

“I swear.  I
swear
, I’m telling you the truth.  I was
late these last two payment because I lost my job and there was a few weeks in
between where I had no work until I started at my current job.” I plead with
him, begging him to believe me.

Lost a lot of money from you fuckin’ off.  Think yourself
lucky I was prepared to take your offer of payin’ monthly so I could recoup
some ‘a what I’d be losin’.  Doesn’t fly though, Pony, you bein’ late with your
payments.  Now, understand me when I say this.  Do. Not. Ever. Make. Me. Wait.
For. My. Money,” he grits each word out through tightly clenched teeth.

“
Understand,”
he roars in my face, spittle flying,
causing me to flinch.

“Yes, yes.  I understand. I understand,” I say, vigorously
nodding my head.

He assesses my face to make sure I indeed, do understand. 
Then before I can blink, or even take a breath, his fist connects with the side
of my head, just behind my ear.  Years of conditioning has taught me not to cry
out, so I stay silent, biting the inside of my lip to contain the scream that’s
trying to escape my throat.  His fist connects again, this time he missed the
mark and instead got me
on
my ear and jaw. 
That’s going to be a
visible bruise (
something my father always shied away from was marking me
in a place the public could see – my mother, he didn’t care where he marked
her, but he was always mindful of where he left bruises on me). His hand (that
I didn’t even realize was around my throat), essentially holding me up, leaves
its position, so I slump to the floor and curl into a protective ball.  He
stalks out of the room, slamming my door as he goes.  Only then do I let the
tears fall.  Big, fat, wet drops accompanied by quiet sobs leave my body.

******

Sometime during the night, I drag myself off the floor and
into to bed.  I don’t even bother changing out of my clothes.  I just flop into
bed, pull the covers up and wish for divine intervention.  It doesn’t come. But
sleep finally finds me.  I only wake up twice through the night, once with a
nightmare and once with the onset of an anxiety attack.  Thankfully, it doesn’t
take me long to fall back into a fitful sleep both times.

Sun streaming through my sheer curtains wakes me.  My eyes
feel swollen and sore from my crying.  My ear, head and jaw are all aching and
tender to the touch.  I make my way towards my bathroom, do my business and
then inspect myself in the mirror.  Looking back at me is slim girl of average
height.  Small breasts, wide hips and an average sized ass make up my body.  My
eyes are a weird violet/blue color, my hair is black ringlets and hangs down my
back.  My lips are full, and I’ve always thought that they, along with my eyes,
are too big for my face.  Turning my head slightly to the left, but keeping my
eyes trained on the mirror, I gingerly run my fingers over the bruising that
colors my jaw and ear area.  Pulling my hair I try to see if there’s bruising
on my scalp, but I can’t get a good enough angle to view it.  My father is
quiet a smart man; he never hit me in places that would be visible, thus
creating uncomfortable questions from people.  No, my father has always been
sly like that.  When I was younger, pre-puberty, and I would annoy him
(sometimes for just existing) or if I misbehaved, he would pinch my little
nipples and the fatty tissue surrounding them.  Hard.  Other times he would
pinch or whack my bottom.  Looking back I now know that this is totally
inappropriate behavior and was harsher than my crimes deemed necessary. However
at the time that was my life; it was all I knew.  So I accepted it, did my best
to control my emotions (if I cried it made him madder), and tried my hardest to
steer clear of him.

Biting down on my bottom lip I deduce that if I apply some
concealer and a touch of foundation, it will hide the purple discoloration. 
Further, I will leave my hair down so it keeps my ears covered.  I glance down
at my watch. 
Thank God.
I release the breath I didn’t know I was
holding.  It’s only nine am.  Travis won’t be here for a few hours, which gives
me plenty of time to play around with my limited supply of makeup.  I don’t
want to wear so much that it’s obvious (I don’t wear a lot of makeup usually),
but I don’t want to wear too little and risk Travis finding the bruise.  Travis
Steele strikes me as a man who would not tolerate physical violence from a man
to a woman in any situation, but
especially
when that situation involves
someone who he has called ‘his girl’.

I hear the ‘ding-dong’ of the doorbell and sit my glass of
orange juice on the counter. 

“Coming,” I yell as I grab my purse off the lounge.  I stop
to quickly check over my face in the small mirror on the wall.  It’s difficult
to see myself in it.  I bought it at a garage sale years ago and it’s
definitely an decorative mirror.  The frame is what had me sold on it.  It’s
gorgeous white wicker and has that whole distressed look going on.  The mirror
part is made up of different sized chunks of glass arranged in a mosaic
design.  There’s also colored glass which has been melted down and it weaves
through the other parts.  It really is a beautiful design to look at, but its
function as a mirror leaves a lot to be desired.  It does the job though and I
can see that the purpling on my jaw and ear is completely covered.

I open the door and suck in a deep breath.  Travis is
standing there dressed in faded blue jeans that hang provocatively off his hip
and chunky cream and chocolate brown cable knit sweater.  He looks
yummy
. 
I watch as his eyes leisurely travel down my body and back up again before
meeting my gaze again.  I’m wearing a pair of dark denim skinny leg jeans, my
thick black belt, black boots, a mint green blouse and my black leather
jacket.  Never in my life would I have been able to afford my jacket.  I
love
it.  I fell in love with it the first time I seen it on the mannequin at my
previous job.  Luckily for me, I was very close with my boss at the time and
she offered to buy me one.  Of course, I said ‘no’ and eventually (with a lot
of negotiating on my part) we came to an agreement.  She would let me layby the
jacket for an indefinite period of time (she insisted that I have it for cost
price) and I would pay off as much as I could every week.  It took me three
months to pay it out, but I did it!