2: In Which She Breaks Her Promise (Sort Of)

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2: In Which She Breaks Her Promise (Sort Of)

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"What exactly is my job description?"

Bates looked up from the gloomy destruction of what had been good furniture in the living room, a pained look on her haggard face. "Excuse me?" She'd had that same expression painted on her face for the past week. She just looked like she'd been sucking lemons.

"I'm taking care of Ophelia, right? Babysitting, child-minding, caring – whatever you call it," I said in a rush, ignoring the bored look that crossed her face. "It's just that...well, I think she needs therapy."

"Therapy?" Bates snorted, placing a hand on a barely-there hip. "Miss Harding, do you suddenly possess a PhD?"

"No," I said, matching her sarcastic tone, "but I do have eyes. It's as if everyone else in this house doesn't – you, included. She's just a child, but I can't even begin to understand what's forced her to become such a little adult."

"Miss Harding, I've got bigger things to worry about than a mature little girl," said Bates, stepping aside to allow the cleaning crew – wheelbarrows and all – into the room. "Like how fast I can replace an entire room before Devin realises. Oh, and how long I can continue to dodge his money-grabbing agent. And did I forget to add that I have to replace this whole room today?" She turned to watch all six men get to work picking up shards of glass, splinters of wood and ripped settees.

I scowled at her. "I would have thought the wellbeing of Devin Shaw's only child would be at the top of your list of priorities, but I clearly must have been delusional."

Bates waved a dismissive hand.

"Ma'am, is there anything in particular you'd like us to do with all this debris?" a portly bald-headed man asked, holding up the leg of a chair.

"Eat it, for all I care," Bates muttered, and the man gave her a puzzled look before shrugging and tossing the leg into a wheelbarrow.

"What happened here, anyway?" I asked no one in particular, properly surveying what used to be the gorgeous living room. Even the flat screen on the wall hadn't escape the damage – a big hole was proudly displayed in its centre.

"Devin happened," Bates replied, sighing heavily. "Devin happened."

***

 "Checkmate," Ophelia announced proudly.

"What?" I fixed my gaze on my king and sure enough, the poor guy was cornered by Ophelia's queen and bishop. "Oh. Nice one."

Ophelia looked across the new coffee table at me, pouting. "This is the third time, Rory. Maybe you should stick to fairytales."

I rolled my eyes at the cheek of this child, adjusting the cushion beneath my bottom. "Of course."

Truthfully, I wasn't even concentrating. Chess was one of my favourite pastimes and sure, Ophelia was a surprisingly calculating adversary, but I had never been beaten so severely before.

Maybe that had something to do with Devin sitting a few feet away from me.

It wasn't that he was looking at me. Hell, he probably thought Ophelia was playing with Casper the Friendly Ghost for all the attention I got. Instead, he was reading the newspaper. According to Ophelia's whispered utterances, that paper was two years old.

Despite that little piece of strangeness, the thing that was completely unsettling was that I had seen him utterly and completely butt-naked, and he was acting like it had never happened.

Of course, he wasn't the first man I'd seen nude – not by a long shot – but he was the first I'd seen in...well, ages. The fact that he was walking around like nothing had happened – while I was forced to skulk in the shadows trying to avoid him – was infuriating. I'd at least expected an apology. It was equally annoying when I realised that since what I'd christened the Nudist Beach incident, Devin Sightings were more frequent. Now if that wasn't torture, I didn't know what was.

Let's examine the facts, shall we? I thought, watching Ophelia set up the chess board for the fourth time. Fact Number One: Devin is every bit as sexy as he was on TV. Suddenly uncomfortable, I felt myself grow hot at the vivid memory of his naked body. It had only been a week ago, after all, and he was sitting right here. Fact Number Two: He deserves a Razzy for World's Shittiest Dad. I caught Ophelia's eye again and she gave me a wide smile. One of her front teeth was missing. Fact Number Three: He pays well. Or, rather, Bates pays well.  Fact Number Four: I could possibly be living with the male version of Mr. Rochester's mad wife because this man is definitely off his rocker.

Bates had managed to ship in an entire lounge set within twenty-four hours and, despite her abrupt dismissals whenever I brought the subject up, she was keeping mum about what exactly she meant by "Devin happened".

Maybe I don't want to know, I thought, risking a sideways glance at the object of my sudden nightly sexy dreams. Dammit. Why am I a sucker for V-necks?

Men in V-necked shirts could accomplish world domination, as far as I was concerned. I could get carried away discussing the merits of a man's exposed neck, wispy black curls of chest hair alluringly peeking out of –

"Your move, Rory," Ophelia said impatiently. I got the feeling that she'd been repeating herself.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to play another round, sweetheart," I said apologetically. I leaned in. "Why don't you ask Daddy to play with you? I need to take a shower."

"He won't want to," she whispered back. "He never does."

Anger burned inside me for her. "Ask him."

She shook her head. "It's OK. I'm gonna help Lydia in the kitchen." Without waiting for my protests, she got off the rug and scurried out of the room.

"She's too scared to ask you to play with her. You know that, don't you?" It felt safer not to look at him; to pretend to focus on packing the chess pieces into their box.

The flicker of a page was all the response I received.

"Real men aren't afraid to be fathers," I went on before I could stop myself.

"Is that so?" Devin surprised me by asking coolly. "What makes you think I'm afraid?"

I rose to my feet. "I think Ophelia knows the answer to that question."

It felt stupid not to make eye contact, but that's exactly what I continued to do as I left the room. I couldn't face looking into his eyes and feeling like an incredibly hormonal teenager. Hell, I probably made horny teens look mildly animated.

A cold shower. That's what I need.

Within five minutes, I'd gotten myself into the well-stocked bathroom in my bedroom and decided that a bubble bath would be more revitalising. Leaning back with bubbles frothing at my neck, I could've passed out in bliss. I had to sternly remind myself that masturbating was against The Vow.

Come on, you twat. You've held out for so long! Don't ruin it now!

I scrunched my eyes shut. Don't do it... Don't do it... Don't do it... Don't – oh, what the hell.

Four years of no sex, no pleasure – and I was throwing that away because of Devin fucking Shaw, of all people.

"Your body is a temple," Father Logan's gruff voice echoed in my head. "In marriage, your body becomes your husband's..."

I couldn't help it. I was going to break fast this way and I felt guilty as sin. Slipping my hand between my thighs, I told myself that this was a far lesser sin than actually going out and having sex with someone – anyone – to satisfy myself. My pussy had been expecting me. Opening itself up to my sensuous touch, it throbbed and ached painfully. Practically rusty and falling apart, my clit was swollen beneath the pads of my fingers. It felt like I could come at the slightest touch – but I didn't.

Pace yourself, I thought. What if I can't make myself come? 

The idea that I wouldn't even remember what I liked was scary.

After three minutes of fiddling with myself like someone playing with the dials of a car radio, I nearly smacked myself in frustration.

"Well, this is embarrassing," I mumbled, opening my eyes. 

Thankfully, there were no witnesses to my pitiful attempt to pleasure myself. Was that even possible? Or was I the first ever case of Failure to Masturbate?

"Father Logan, I swear, this is just a one-time offence. I promise," I said to the air. "Please don't judge me."

I closed my eyes again.

The first thing I saw was what I imagined to be Devin naked.

Even before I touched myself again, I was wet. It was that simple, that easy.

And then the door opened.

It was stupid but, horrified, I shot into the air and frightened Ophelia, who saw nothing wrong with barging in on naked adults. Jumping probably wasn't the smartest thing to do because that was how I slipped and fell backwards. Pain exploded across my back and lukewarm, soapy water rocketed up my nostrils and splashed out of the tub and onto the marble floor.

"Are you okay?" Ophelia asked hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Rory. I did knock."

"Fee?"

"Yes?"

"I can't move."

She came up beside the tub. "Is it broken?" she asked, awed.

"Is what broken?"

"Your back."

"No, but it's probably bruised," I replied, surprised that I wasn't concerned about the fact that the bubbles had dissipated and my naked body was on display for this inquisitive six-year-old. I was positive that she was too young for this horror show. "Sweetheart," I said gently, "could you call Lydia?"

"Lydia?" Fee repeated, wrinkling her nose as she looked down at me. To her credit, she wasn't staring at my chest. "Lydia will break her back picking you up. I'll call Devin."

"What?" I spluttered in incredulity, trying to get up. Pain so acute it was incomprehensible spurted through my entire body. "Fee, no. I said Lydia. Lydia."

She skipped out the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. I tried to sit up and failed dismally. My eyes travelled skyward.

"This is my punishment, isn't it?" I lay back. "Fair enough. I deserve it. I haven't been faithful enough. When was the last time I went to church? When was the last time I got onto my knees and prayed?" I sighed heavily. "Well, if You're listening right now, I pray that Devin's gone off somewhere and Lydia –"

"You know," came Devin's sonorous voice, "if you wanted to return the favour, you could've just stripped."

I felt heat enflame my cheeks and instantly covered my breasts with one arm and my crotch with the other. It felt incredibly silly but there was nothing else I could do in that moment.

"What favour?" I managed to spit out, disturbed by the solemn expression on his face.

"Oh, we both know what I'm talking about," he said quietly, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"You don't have to do this," I protested, instinctively shrinking away.

"You'll catch a cold."

"I'll take my chances."

"And sue me? People have done so for far less."

Oh, shit. Just great. Just bloody great.

Devin's eyes – long-lashed and such a beautiful hazel-gold – seemed to drink my naked body in like a dehydrated nomad. Long-lashed and intense, they saw into my very soul and in that moment, I wished I weren't so clumsy and that everything didn't hurt.

"You should be careful," Devin said calmly, bending over to scoop me into his arms. "This bathtub can get incredibly slippery."

He smelled of something spicy, something that wafted into my nostrils and refused to budge; something that turned me on.

I shook the idea away. "So I noticed," I said dryly. Mortified, I noticed how erect my nipples were. They stabbed the air like tiny knives of arousal and I was positive that Devin had noticed. "I think I can walk now," I said quickly.

To my relief, he set me on the ground and reached for my towel. "This is the second time I'm rescuing you," he said, in that quiet way I was beginning to recognise as his annoyed tone. "Let's not make it a habit."

I tightened the towel around myself, wincing from the motion. "I slipped in the tub. Hardly a rescue."

A dirty look suddenly crossed his face and disappeared as soon as it came. "I haven't had sex in two years, Rory. Consider yourself rescued..." He turned to leave "...from me."

Once again, I felt heat stain my face. Shivering and trying to ignore the throbbing in my back, I cleared my throat.

"Is that supposed to sound scary?" I said boldly, and he stopped in his tracks before slowly turning around.

"Scary?" he echoed, his tone irritated. "You don't know the meaning of the term." He pulled me to him, his arm snaking around my waist. "This would be scary." His free hand pulled my towel away and I squeaked in surprise when it palmed one heavy breast and tweaked my painful nipple. "So would this," he continued, his hand slapping the curve of my rear, "and definitely this."

Devin's mouth came down upon mine, hard and furious. He pulled away instantly and released me. "I should fire you."

Fire me? I thought in disbelief, breathing heavily. What did I do?

I was speechless. For starters, this had been the longest conversation I'd ever had with Devin Shaw and, secondly, I was positive that he wasn't as crazy as he let everyone believe he was – just incredibly, agonisingly sexually frustrated.

He tore his gaze from me and whirled around.

"Wait," I called out, finding my voice.

"What is it?" he snapped, not even bothering to turn around again.

"Why did you...trash the living room last week? It's been bothering me."

"Trash it?" he repeated, looking over his shoulder. "Rory, I was looking for my phone."


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