WickedSeduction (6 page)

He gave her a roguish grin, his dimples lusciously deep.
“Still hungry?”

Always, for him.

Tor couldn’t believe how great tonight had turned out
despite his decision not to bring condoms. Sure, his boys and rod were
protesting like mad, pressing against his fly, wanting to get out of his
clothes and into her.

However, the conversation he and Marnie shared made the wait
worthwhile.

They held hands as they ate and talked, Marnie about the ton
of classes she had to take before getting her bachelor’s degree, especially the
dreaded math courses.

“Algebra is killing me.” She curled her upper lip in
disgust. “I mean, we have calculators and computers to figure out stuff like
that, so what’s the point in learning this junk when you’re not going to be a
mathematician or engineer?”

Tor couldn’t have agreed more. “I hated math too even though
I was pretty good at algorithms, equations, ratios, reciprocals—”

“Oh my God, stop, you’re giving me a migraine.”

“The basic concepts aren’t hard.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a guy. Math is in your DNA.”

Tor laughed. “Tell that to Vickie Hernandez. She won all the
math awards in college. Last I heard, she was a scientist with NASA, creating
new solar systems or something.”

“Sounds boring.” As he laughed again, Marnie squeezed his
fingers. “When did you know you wanted to draw?”

In the womb probably. “Can’t recall a time when I didn’t. My
parents still have a sketch I did when I was three. Rather than eating dinner
with the rest of the family, I used the enchilada sauce to draw my brothers’
faces on a napkin. Totally awful, looks as if I used my feet rather than my
hands, but hey, I was still a baby.”

She laughed softly, her smile lighting up her face. “How
many siblings do you have?”

“Five brothers and two sisters. I’m the second oldest. You?”

Her smile started to fade but she covered her discomfort
quickly with a shrug. “No siblings, though I would have liked a baby sister.
Did your parents approve of your art or did they want you to study for a more traditional
career?”

“They were cool with whatever I wanted to do, as long as my
choice was legal.” He lifted the tamal cubano, offering the last of the
appetizer to her.

Marnie shook her head. “I’m good. Legal, huh? You were a bad
boy?”

“Only when I wanted to be, same as now.”

Marnie’s cheeks turned rosy. She got a faraway look in her
eyes as though she were thinking of bed play, the same as he was.

Wow, she was something. Puzzling at times, given the way
she’d pull back without a moment’s notice. Hot-blooded too, the same as he was.
Marnie had been fire in his arms, her responses exactly what Tor needed as a
man, her desire fueling his.

The memory of their kiss had his cock straining against his
boxer briefs again. He finished the last of his beer, hoping the booze would
calm him down.

Marnie polished off her Mountain Dew, sighing as she lowered
the can to the table. “Want to split what’s left of dessert?” She pointed her
fork at the flan. The caramel sauce was gone, scraped away by her earlier in
the meal.

“I’m stuffed,” Tor said. “You go ahead.”

A kid at Disneyland couldn’t have looked more pleased. As
Marnie finished the dessert, Tor gestured to his backpack on the floor. “Ready
to pose for me?”

She regarded his bag as though he’d packed weapons inside
rather than art supplies. “Should I fix my face?”

He’d never seen anyone more beautiful, her lips slightly
puffy from their kisses, skin radiant, eyes soft and yielding. Her mussed hair
looked as though she’d been rolling around in bed, which she had been…briefly.

“Up to you,” he said. “I want you to be comfortable.”

She chewed her lip, as though uncertain how to accomplish
such a goal. “How should I look—my facial expression?”

“Whatever way you are naturally. Pure Marnie. No one else.”

“What if I’m not sure who I am?”

“We’ll keep trying things out until you are.”

She regarded him and finally squeezed his hand. “Should I
sit here?”

Tor pointed at the window by the sink. “Over there would be
better, once you open the blinds.”

She looked over. “I can turn on the lights if you need the
apartment to be brighter.”

“Natural light is better. The sun won’t make your apartment
any hotter—the rays are shining in the other direction. Pretty soon it’ll be
dusk.”

In spite of his reasoning, Marnie didn’t move.

“Do you feel more comfortable with the blinds closed?” he
asked.

Marnie rubbed her arms as though she was suddenly cold or
agitated. Her attention drifted to the door. Tor suspected she was looking at
the locks, possibly gauging how hard they’d be to break through by someone on
the other side.

“I hesitate bringing up anything bad,” he said.

She turned to him briefly before focusing on their empty
plates.

Tor debated whether to drop the subject and decided against
doing so. “When we spoke at the parlor yesterday, I mentioned my brother Dante.
He’s friends with the cops here. If you need protection of any kind, I can talk
to him and have him speak to the authorities for you.”

She rubbed her arms harder, stopping abruptly. “I’m fine.”

“No one’s following you?”

Marnie gave him an odd look and shook her head. “No. Why?”

“I thought…” He glanced at her arm and leg. “Ah, given how
uncomfortable you seem at times, I guessed you were having problems with
someone. A guy.”

“I’m not. Do you want to open the blinds so you can adjust
them to how you want?”

“Sure.” Now wasn’t the time to press Marnie in spite of her
obvious lie. Tor had seen a flash of terror on her face before she’d masked the
emotion.

Once he’d adjusted the blinds, he slung his backpack over
one arm. “Let’s move over there,” he said, gesturing to the sink. The waning
day cast the apartment in soft sepia tones, the look as vintage as the
furniture. Perfect for the portrait he had in mind.

“I’ll get this,” he said, easing Marnie’s hand from the back
of her chair before she could drag the furniture across the room.

Tor set up the seating so she faced the window, her face
bathed in the available light, hair shadowed, the ends blowing slightly in the
rush of air from the window unit.

Marnie lifted her hands to her head. “Is my hair all right?”

“For me, yeah. Do whatever style you want.”

She made a face. “Are you always this easy to please?”

Tor pulled out his sketchpad and chalks. “You think I’m
easy?” He pushed out his bottom lip. “Should I be offended?”

Marnie laughed. “Are you doing my picture in chalk?”

“Initially. Once I’m back at my place, I’ll do another in
watercolor then in pen and ink, see which one of the three you like best.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“You hear me complaining?”

She sagged back in her chair, arms crossed. “Either you’re
the nicest guy since time began or you really enjoy doing your art.”

“I’m both, as long as you’re my subject. Tilt your head to
the left a bit and look at me, not at my chest or lower.”

Her gaze snapped up, cheeks reddening. She arched one
eyebrow. “Are you teasing me?”

A little. “You want me to be serious?”

Marnie laughed. “Do you ever give a straight answer to a
question?”

“Sorry. Dante’s an attorney. I picked up a lot of his bad
habits, like never answering a question directly. Same as the cops he knows.
That’s probably why he and the law like each other; they’re on the same
wavelength.”

Marnie didn’t comment.

“Just a suggestion,” Tor said, “but can you relax your
shoulders and not scrunch them toward your ears?” He did the same with his,
showing her how she looked since he’d mentioned the police again.

Embarrassment flashed across Marnie’s face as though she’d
allowed him to see how vulnerable she felt. She rolled her shoulders, breathed
deeply but couldn’t seem to relax. Gone was the woman who’d approached him
first with her kiss, a wicked seduction Tor wouldn’t forget and wanted back.

However, he knew Marnie had to come to him in her own time.
Whatever troubled her, whoever had or was giving her grief, was a subject she
had to bring up when she was ready no matter his concern for her.

“If you get uncomfortable, let me know,” he said. “You can
stand up and stretch whenever you want.”

“I’m good.”

She was too lovely for words, sharp, sweet, funny and
strong. Tor sensed she was alone in the world, without emotional support except
for Alice. Marnie had said they were friends. He hoped she’d count him as one
after tonight.

He sketched in silence, getting into the zone as he always
did at Wicked Brand. Every once in a while, the rest of the world intruded. He
heard shouts, laughter, music down on the street, the hum of the refrigerator,
walls popping in the old building, a steady drip from the sink.

Finally, Marnie’s sighs.

He’d been going steadily for a half-hour or more, suddenly
realizing the time she’d had to sit still. “You getting tired?”

“No.”

“If you want to get up and walk around, you can.”

“I know. You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile, okay?”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m not.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “The scars aren’t what you
think.”

Without meaning to, Tor looked at her arm and leg again, as
he had earlier. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“I got these when I was twelve,” she said. “Not a couple of
years ago from a guy your cops need to save me from. Everything started when I
was a kid.”

Started? How about ending? Tor didn’t understand what she
meant. Even though he’d encouraged her to open up, he wasn’t certain what he
should say when Marnie finally told him her story. Hopefully, he’d be able to
offer her the comfort she needed. “Okay. I mean, I’m listening.”

She didn’t say anything else.

He figured he should, unable to leave another conversation
dangling. “Were you in some kind of an accident?”

“No.” She looked at the window rather than at him, a
nightmare only she could see obvious in her eyes. “I got in the way of my
father’s rage. He tried to kill me.”

Marnie had spoken so quietly, she wasn’t certain whether Tor
had heard her or not. Ever since the attack, she’d kept the secret from
others—only family knew the truth. They never discussed what had happened, as
though to deny those fateful moments would make the past go away and everything
would be magically better.

“He didn’t mean it,”
her mother had always said when
he’d brutalized her.
“We have to try harder.”

Marnie had done everything she could to follow the plan,
afraid to speak or move when her father was around, not knowing what the
repercussions might be. When she and her mother had ultimately survived the
worst of his violence, Marnie had tried to pretend their lives were finally
okay. Hadn’t worked. What he’d set into motion continued to affect them like an
untreated wound festering beneath the surface, destroying everything in its
path.

“I’m so sorry,” Tor said. He put his sketchpad and chalk on
the counter and went to one knee at Marnie’s side.

Although tears stung her eyes at his obvious heartache for
her, she refused to cry, having done so too many times over the years. Time for
her to be strong, to heal and change her future. “I know you are, and I
appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“You’re not.” He rubbed his fingers on his jeans, cleaning
them of chalk then cradled her face, his thumb skimming her cheek. “Are you all
right now? Has your father been threatening you?”

“He died the night he attacked me.”

Tor’s features went slack with obvious shock.

Marnie sensed what was going through his mind and answered
the question she figured he wouldn’t ask. “I didn’t kill him in an attempt to
protect myself. By the time he died, I was unconscious from bleeding so
heavily.”

“My God, what happened?”

What hadn’t? Marnie searched Tor’s eyes, seeing worry there,
along with so much kindness and warmth, she couldn’t run away any longer.
Still, she hesitated to reveal events she’d only discussed with her therapist
and Alice. “Are you certain you want to hear this? No need to be polite. I
understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” He leaned over and brushed his lips
against hers.

The warmth of his mouth comforted Marnie as few things
could.

Tor eased back. “I want to know…if you can share. No
pressure.”

She smiled weakly. “You
are
the nicest guy on planet
Earth.”

“Since time began,” he said. “There is a difference.”

Marnie laughed, surprised she could. “I wish Mamá could have
met you.”

Tor looked stricken again. “Did he…?”

“No,” she said when Tor didn’t continue. “My father didn’t
murder her. She died almost two years ago of breast cancer. I know this sounds
awful to say but I think for her, passing was a relief. She’d had such a hard
life.”

“After your father was gone things didn’t get better?”

“Not really. It’s hard to unlearn what you’ve come to expect
as normal. When he was around, Mamá tried to make everything perfect, terrified
if even one towel wasn’t folded right or if her shoes weren’t lined up in the
closet all hell would break loose. Nuts, I know.”

“Not if you’re trying to survive.”

“We were definitely trying to do that.” She lowered her
face, ashamed but also angry at what he’d done to them. “Sometimes, when I’d
come home from school, she’d be on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen
linoleum with a toothbrush to get every bit of dirt, even though there wasn’t
any I or anyone else would be able to see. I think after a while, cleaning
became her talisman. If she kept everything sparkling, he’d be okay when he got
home after work. He never joked around or was nice, but there were times when
he’d be quiet for a few hours until he fell asleep. Of course, no matter how
hard Mamá or I tried to make him happy, his anger kept escalating over stuff we
couldn’t predict.”

Tor shook his head. “Like what?”

“He gave her a black eye when one of the buttons on his
shirt had a loose thread. He kept screaming about what a lousy homemaker she
was, how stupid and lazy. Didn’t matter that the shirt was new and the
manufacturer had caused the imperfection. My father raged for minutes at Mamá
for not being the kind of person he deserved to be married to. After he got
tired of screaming, he punched her in the face as easily as anyone else would
swat a fly. The moment she fell to the floor, his anger evaporated as though
the previous minutes hadn’t happened. While she was still sobbing, he told her
to get me ready for my cousin’s birthday party. I was five or six at the time.
Mamá’s eye was swollen shut by the time we arrived at my aunt’s house.
Everybody noticed, I could see them sneaking peeks at her, but no one said
anything. My male relatives greeted my father as if he’d done nothing wrong,
shaking his hand in greeting, slapping him on the back, talking sports,
laughing. No one ever stopped him.”

“Your mom was afraid to call the police?”

Marnie laughed sadly. “Three of my uncles are cops. Where
was she going to go? They sure as hell didn’t say anything at the party. They
looked embarrassed, as if
she’d
caused my father to hit her. Her fault,
of course. If she’d only been a better wife and mother, he wouldn’t have gotten
angry.

“By the time I was eight, her days and mine revolved around
avoiding or placating him. No one talked at meals unless he did first and then
we told him what we thought he wanted to hear. He controlled what we saw on TV,
how hot or cold the house was, what we wore and ate, how Mamá cooked the food.
I knew his rules better than I did my subjects at school. At night, I’d write
in my notebook how he reacted to whatever we’d said earlier. I’d put a smiley
face next to our answers that got no reaction from him, guessing they were
safe. If he’d frowned even slightly while we were talking, I’d remember exactly
what we said and put an exclamation point next to the words, making certain to
tell my mom the next day. I didn’t want her to use the same answer because I
was afraid he’d finally get upset enough to blow.”

“Jesus, Marnie, that’s a big job for a kid.”

“I didn’t know any different. I honestly thought all
families were like mine until I got older and had dinner at my friends’ houses.
I couldn’t believe how noisy and messy the kids were, the way they joked with
their parents at meals and whined about stuff like they had the right. I kept
waiting for their fathers to explode but they never did. Rather than envying my
friends for the great home lives they had, I doubled down, trying to satisfy my
father. Mamá kept trying to make things right by saying he’d had a bad day, his
work was hard but didn’t pay what he was worth. There were no benefits or
vacation time. That was for rich whites, not poor Cubans like us. She said he
wasn’t being appreciated or respected like he deserved because his skin was
darker.”

Marnie sighed. “Poor Mamá. She couldn’t see how selfish and
pure mean he was. He was the baby of the family. His parents had given him
whatever he wanted. His brothers and sisters doted on him. His life wasn’t
hard. What he lived was paradise compared to the hell he put my mother through
but she kept saying if we would only try harder, things would be different. Do
you have any idea how impossible it is to predict a batterer’s moods? I’d get
better odds in Vegas. The older I got, the more his violence escalated.
Perfection wasn’t enough any longer. If my mother breathed a certain way, he’d
go off. God forbid, she’d look at him too long or not long enough when he was
giving one of his many orders. He’d accuse her of mocking him with her eyes and
would punch her until she begged him to stop. By the time I was twelve, she
hadn’t been out of the house in months. He wouldn’t let her see or talk to her
family and friends anymore.”

“Wait, please.” Tor looked appalled and worried. “Did he hit
you too?”

“Never. I think that’s a big part of why my mother stayed.
He told her if she ever tried to leave, he’d get custody of me. She probably
knew he’d use me as his next punching bag and she tried to save me.” Marnie
paused, having to clear her throat before she could continue. “I tried to save
her.”

The panic she’d felt the last day with her father returned,
making her feel like a kid again, scared and helpless.

As Marnie related to Tor what had happened, she could still
smell the plantain chips her mother had made that afternoon, their comforting
aroma filling the kitchen. Sun had poured through the window over the sink, the
spotless counters and floor gleaming in the light. It had been a Sunday, no
school to escape to, no landscaping work to keep her father away.

He’d strode into the kitchen, imperious as always, his face
a mask of rage.

Marnie had tried to guess what had set him off. She’d
brought in the paper as he’d expected. Her mom had done the laundry and
scrubbed the kitchen floor earlier. A task she did every day. The house was
tidy, perfect, but his mood had been foul.

With one swipe of his hand, he’d sent the plate of plantains
crashing against the wall. Oil speckled the cheery daisy wallpaper. One of the
chips stuck for a moment then slid down, stopping on the white petals of a
flower.

Marnie hadn’t moved; neither had her mother. They hadn’t
stared at the destruction he’d caused but at his fists, waiting for the worst.

He’d grabbed the skillet and hurled it across the room, hot
oil flying everywhere. Some hit her mother’s arm. She’d gasped.

Marnie had started to cry. Her father hadn’t seen, heard, or
cared about her, his full attention and rage focused on his wife.

“Bitch,”
he’d said, shoulders pushed to his ears like
an animal ready to attack.
“Cunt. Can’t do anything right. This place is a
fucking sty.”

Her mother kept backing away, hands raised to protect
herself as she’d apologized repeatedly, confessing she hadn’t folded the towels
the way he liked, hadn’t vacuumed enough, had failed to leave the magazines on
the cocktail table exactly as they should be.

Lies. Everything had been perfect. Marnie had made notes of
her mother’s efforts, showing them to her, ticking off everything that could
possibly anger him.

He’d slapped her mother’s face, shoved her into the wall and
lifted his fist.

“Don’t,”
Marnie had screamed, the first time she’d
interfered.

Her father hadn’t heard or chose to ignore her cries.

Worried he’d kill her mother this time, Marnie had grabbed
the skillet and hit him on his back.

“I wanted him to stop,” she told Tor, her mind still
picturing what had happened. “I wasn’t strong but there was an awful thud when
I’d struck him. Mamá’s skillet was one of those heavy, cast-iron types. For a
minute, I thought I’d killed him he wavered so badly. And then he’d turned…”

Marnie told Tor what being terrorized was truly like. How
her father had looked at her in surprise, confusion, then the same hatred he’d
shown her mother. Until then, he’d been indifferent to Marnie, his fury focused
solely on his wife.

Not any longer.

“I was too afraid to run,” she said. “Honestly, I couldn’t
move. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He raised his fist. I
thought he was going to punch me in the face as he’d always done with Mamá. He
called me filthy names, told me I was as ugly as she was, as stupid, that I
never should have been born. He said after he got through with me, I’d wish I
was dead.”

She shuddered in memory. Tor took her hand.

Marnie wrapped her fingers tightly around his. “At one
point, I must have been backing away from him, though I don’t remember doing
so. Suddenly, he was at the counter where my mother had been slicing the
plantains. She kept her knives there. When he grabbed one of the biggest ones,
Mamá threw herself at him, hitting his shoulders and head. He rammed his body into
hers, sending Mamá into the wall. She fell to the floor. ‘I’ll teach you what
happens when you dare strike your own father,’ he said to me and raised the
knife.

“I didn’t feel anything,” Marnie said. “I could see my blood
everywhere but nothing hurt as he kept slashing at me. My mother was screaming.
I saw her heading for her skillet and wanted to tell her no, to run, go to one
of the neighbors, to protect herself. But I couldn’t speak. All of a sudden, I
was cold and felt horribly tired, as though I’d run for miles. I couldn’t catch
my breath. Everything went black. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital.”
She lifted her shoulders.

Tor went to his feet and helped Marnie to hers. Then he sat
in the chair she’d vacated and settled her on his lap. She curled into him,
needing his strength and warmth.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing her back. “He had no damn
right. Thank God your mom stopped him.”

Marnie pressed her face into his neck. “She didn’t. She said
after I passed out, he stopped stabbing me, realizing what he’d done. He left
the house and raced away in his pickup. I don’t know whether what happened
after that was an accident or intentional but he rammed into a tree at high
speed and died instantly.”

Tor held her closer.

“I’m not sorry,” she said, refusing to feel bad. “Even
though he was my father, he was a monster.”

“He can’t hurt you any longer.”

“Not physically but what he did isn’t easy to forget. Moving
on seems impossible at times.”

“I know. Wait, I don’t. What you and your mom went through
isn’t something I can even imagine.” He hugged her carefully. “No wonder you’re
cautious. Anyone would be. Has his family given you trouble?”

Marnie eased back to see his face. “What do you mean?”

“You said he was the baby and everyone catered to him. Did
they blame you for his death? Have they been threatening you all these years?”