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Even so, this shouldn’t have happened. No, it should not have happened. Not to her or any woman.
And she couldn’t tell her dear, sweet Padraig Finnian any of it. The man just wouldn’t understand.
Shelby had hoped that before she left Vienna, she might have some time to herself, time to put the pieces of her life back together. Maybe then, when she returned home, she might go about her life as a coffeehouse waitress, and Padraig’s fresh-faced girlfriend. She’d let time handle the rest.
But she didn’t have the luxury of time. Her worlds – the masochistic one and the normal Shelby Ryan world – had suddenly collided in a hotel room in Vienna. The sex slave Shelby was no where near restrained as she should be. Not back in her box, not safe inside that sheltered place inside her psyche. She was not back to normal, not yet the pleasant young woman she always appeared to be in Padraig Finnian’s company. Nothing could have been more comforting than having Padraig there to hold, and nothing could have been more unsettling.
***
That first night, they ate in a pleasant restaurant, sipping wine and enjoying divine food. Padraig’s treat.
“You must be holding out on me,” Shelby declared, suspiciously. “This is going to cost a fortune.”
“So what if it does? It’s money well spent, lass. I imagine that you didn’t get food like this when you were…” he did not want to finish the statement. His head was bowed and cocked to the side, his eyes peering up at her, smoldering, sexy and sincere.
“No, I didn’t get food like this.” The silence that followed became uncomfortable. “You want to know about it, don’t you?”
“Not if you don’t want to tell me, I don’t. You tell me you want to put it in your past and walk away, I ‘ave no problem with that. I just doan want it troubling you.”
“Padraig, I can’t talk about it. I can’t. Not now. Maybe sometime. But not now… It’s just too fresh, too vivid, too awful to think about. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to tell you. I mean, you have the gist of it…but the emotion is a raw wound. It’ll take some sorting out, some distance. I’ll have it handled, I know I will. Then maybe…”
He nodded, pacified enough, at least for the moment. “All right,” he said, although he seemed to be inspecting her the way men had been inspecting her for weeks, as if he was trying to crack open her skull and pick out a piece of her brain where her memories lay unguarded. How far he got, she could not be certain. What he surmised on his own from what he’d been told, she had no idea. But this terrain was too dangerous and she too vulnerable to walk down those precarious roads without some perspective. Only time would give her that.
Back in the hotel room, Shelby was tense and edgy. Maybe it was the room, the Petit Maison with its gold and gilt and fancy linens, and the fact that Padraig was a common working man with simple tastes that made him look so out of place inside this luxury The two didn’t mix. If she’d been home it would have been easier to handle her boyfriend’s presence and find the intimate place they often shared. Only a few short weeks before there’d been no trouble connecting. In fact, they’d been separated for months at a time, and could still find their way back into each other’s arms. The sexual bond between them had seemed to heal whatever pulled them apart, always strong, never shaken.
Yes, the sex always came back first.
Until now. There was more awkwardness than erotic feelings between them in the Vienna hotel room. Once she kicked off her shoes and motioned her boyfriend to the couch, she stared around the room, nervously. She was grateful to be staying in a two room suite where the bed was safely behind the bedroom door. No unspoken sexual messages that way.
“Would you like another glass of wine?” she asked.
“Rather have a beer,” he answered.
“Sure.” She looked through the small wet bar, and pulled out a German brew. Not his Guinness, but it would be better than wine. She held it up for him to see.
“Why not?”
His cool reserve was killing her. The way he looked at her with the square jaw, insightful eyes – his presence more enigmatic than ever. Was he speculating about her incarceration? Searching for clues, picking her brain again with unseen fingers? Maybe she should just have told him everything – but she couldn’t bear to talk about Jessup, the sleazy guards, Madame Pavlenco and the rest…
“I’m taking you home tomorrow,” he finally broke another awkward silence with the bold announcement.
“That’s good,” she said, settling down in the chair opposite. “I want to be home. I want to be in my own bed.” She sighed heavily, then tentatively took a sip of wine. “But maybe you want to stay here and see the sights? It’s a beautiful city—”
“I’ve seen enough. I want you home not here. This place gives me the creeps.” He quickly scanned the frilly femininity of the room, then downed half the beer and slammed the bottle o
n the coffee table a little harder than he’d planned.
“Me too,” Shelby said with a nervous laugh.
She could feel a simmering fire in her belly warm her as she continued to drink the rich merlot. But too much in one night and suddenly it began to sour her stomach. Her head began to ache. She set the glass aside and popped up from her seat, too anxious with him just staring at her waiting.
“Maybe we should see if there’s a soccer match?” she said.
She turned toward the TV, but he stopped her. “Maybe you should come sit with me?”
His words sounded more like a command than a suggestion. Not unlike Padraig’s direct style, but the bravado seemed a little strong even for him. Then again, maybe she was unjustly thinking of her brutal masters – seeing their rough commands as his too. Padraig didn’t give orders, and yet, she felt compelled to obey him. How little time it took to revive the habit Mr. Darcy had trained in her; taking orders had become second nature again. The practice was comfortable, safe, even with Padraig.
Sitting next to him on the couch, his arm immediately went around her. The snug feeling was significant, even his familiar scent welcomed her inside his space. This was not half as difficult as she thought it might be; all the small things she loved about him were still in place. Who’s to say that recent memories had to prevent her from being close? That her weeks of captivity had to still clutch at her harshly? She relaxed back and for a moment pretended to be Shelby, just Shelby, Padraig’s Shelby.
