Dare to Submit Page 9

  She shook her head, grateful he was so easygoing—at least outside of the bedroom. And she was glad they could spend time together in her world too. She felt safe taking Decklan out here. She’d only recently moved to this apartment complex, and nobody knew her well enough to question whom she went to dinner with. It was only within the D.C. political world where Brad’s father’s people paid attention.

  TWELVE

  The restaurant Amanda had chosen was a quiet one on the corner near her apartment complex. The walls were painted a pale blue, the lighting low, most of the patrons their age, people who looked like they’d just come from work and others who were dressed even more casually. Decklan felt comfortable here, with her.

  They ate in easy silence. He tried the chicken piccata special; she chose the Marsala. The food was great, the company better.

  “I love this place,” Decklan said, glancing around while they waited for the check.

  “It’s relaxing. I come here a lot when I don’t want to cook. Sometimes I’ll bring my iPad and just read while I’m eating.”

  He stared at her a moment, taking in her now-makeup-free face and serious eyes and saw someone who was, at heart, a loner. Much like him. “I’m glad you let me come this weekend.”

  She smiled. “You were pretty insistent. But I have to admit I’m glad too.”

  After a shared dessert, they walked back to her apartment. As they reached the entrance to the building, a female voice called out from the parking lot. “Amanda?”

  “Mother?” Amanda stiffened, then turned.

  A well-dressed and very unhappy-looking woman strode up to her. “Of course it’s your mother. You know, the woman whose calls you’ve been ignoring. The woman you kept waiting in her car?”

  Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s not like I was expecting you. And as for not returning your calls, I’ve been busy.”

  “Yes, working as a secretary.” The older woman wrinkled her nose in disdain.

  “Personal assistant,” Amanda corrected her.

  “Same thing.”

  Amanda shook her head. “Mother, please. Not again.”

  Since the other woman didn’t seem to want to notice him, Decklan took the time to evaluate her with a lingering look. She came up lacking. Although it was obvious she and Amanda were related, blonde hair—though clearly her mother’s had been touched up with a bottle—similar bone structure, and brown eye color, the similarities ended there. Where her mother was tall and too thin, Amanda was lush and curvy. Where Amanda was warm and real, her mother was full of grandeur and illusion. Or was it delusion? Decklan wondered.

  “Mother, please what?” the older woman mimicked. “How about you show some manners and invite me inside?”

  Good Lord, she was cold. How had Amanda grown up with this woman?

  Amanda straightened her shoulders. But Decklan could sense how hard even that small act of defiance had been.

  “Now’s not a good time,” Amanda said. “I have company. We just returned from dinner.”

  Her mother glanced at Decklan, noticing him for the first time, and her frown indicated she didn’t like what she saw. Since that made two of them, he didn’t much care.

  “Marilyn Collins, this is Decklan Dare,” Amanda said, gesturing between them.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he gritted out. He couldn’t say it was a pleasure, but for Amanda’s sake, he’d be pleasant.

  Her mother glanced away from him, her eyes widening as she really looked at Amanda. “You went out to a restaurant dressed like that?”

  She glanced down at her light pink dress that hung gently but clung to every curve and a pair of basic flip-flops that showed off her pink polished toes. “I like this dress,” she said softly.

  “It looks like you put on a few pounds too. Good thing I have a wonderful new diet. We can talk when we’re alone.” She pointedly stared at Decklan.

  As if he would leave her alone with this evil woman.

  If this was how her mother had always treated her, no wonder she had deeply ingrained self-esteem issues. There was nothing wrong with how she looked or her dress. Not a damned thing.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you look beautiful,” Decklan said, resting his hand on the small of her back.

  She didn’t flinch away, accepting his show of support. In fact, she glanced up at him and smiled.

  “Who are you to my daughter?” Marilyn’s shrill voice captured his attention. She perched her hands on her slim hips, her annoyance clear.

  So much for niceties. She hadn’t even acknowledged his greeting. He wanted to shove his relationship with Amanda in this woman’s face but knew better. Amanda appeared shocked, and the more her mother spoke, with her belittling tone and disgusted looks, the more Amanda quietly pulled into herself.

  “We’re friends,” he said, hating the taste of the word on his tongue because they were so much more.

  Marilyn nodded but her eyes narrowed. Clearly she was shrewd.

  “I hope that’s all you are. Because I can already see your influence, and it’s not good. It’s bad enough she works for that … that man who wears tee shirts instead of a suit and tie, but at least his father is someone important. And now she’s hanging out with the likes of you.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Decklan figured she wasn’t impressed with his cargo shorts and tee shirt. Or maybe it was the razor stubble he favored on his days off. Personally, he didn’t give a shit what she thought of him, but for Amanda, he cared.

  “That’s enough,” Amanda said, her tone suddenly stronger. “There’s no need to talk like that to Decklan. He’s a good man, a good … friend, and he’s a cop, which takes courage and common decency. I’d appreciate it if you’d show him respect.”

  He wanted to linger on the fact that she’d stumbled over the word friends, but instead, he was hung up on how she’d stood up to her mother for him but not for herself.

  “There’s no need to defend me,” he told Amanda.

  “Yes, there is. Come on. You don’t need to listen to this.” She tugged on his hand.

  “You don’t mean to leave me standing here, do you? I raised you better,” Marilyn said.

  Decklan had had enough. “Lady, if you raised her to be the way you wanted, I wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Luckily, she has a mind of her own, and she’s as beautiful inside as she is out.”

  Marilyn’s eyes opened wide. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  “I just did.”

  Amanda stepped between them. “Why did you come by?” Amanda asked, resigned.

  “Oh, now you care? Your father wanted you to know he was going in for a stress test next week. But I’ll let him know his ungrateful daughter didn’t have time to listen.” And with that pronouncement, she strode toward her car, ignoring any questions Amanda asked.

  Her mother shut the car door and started the engine.

  Amanda turned to him, pain etched across her face. “I can’t believe her. Well, I can, but still. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It’s not me she verbally abused.” Not as much as she had Amanda. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Oh, that’s a long story.”

  “One I want to hear, but let’s go inside first, okay?”

  She nodded and he followed her inside and up the stairs. Once inside, she turned to him. “Listen, I’m going to change and call my dad before my mother gets back home and fills his head with more awful things about me. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Does he have a heart condition?” Decklan asked.

  She shrugged. “Not that I know of. And I figure if my mother could take the half hour to leave him and drive over here to lecture me, he must be okay, at least for now.”

  He inclined his head. “Go. See what’s going on.”

  “Thanks.” She headed into the bedroom.

  He hated the mood and defeated tone her mother had instilled and was determined to undo the emotional damage the othe
r woman had caused.

  While he waited, he couldn’t stop replaying the awful words her mother had spewed at her. Everything from her job to her dress, and worst of all, her weight—the woman hadn’t had one nice thing to say. If Decklan wanted a primer on what made Amanda tick, he’d just gotten one, and it made him furious.

  He heard her low voice from the other room. He shrugged and walked around the spacious apartment, taking in her home for the first time. Just as he’d expect, the place was full of warmth and personal touches. From soft, muted pastels for color to landscapes hanging on the walls, to the occasional photograph, he felt welcomed. At home.

  “Can I get you anything?” She walked back into the room, now wearing a light gray tee shirt trimmed with aqua blue and a matching pair of lounge pants with her bare feet peeking out.

  She looked sweet and a little bit lost, and he held out his arms for her.

  She didn’t step toward him.

  “Is your dad okay?” he asked, undeterred. He felt certain he could break through these walls.

  Her expression softened. “Yeah. It’s a precaution. He had chest pains. They ran some tests. It wasn’t a heart attack, but they want to do a stress test and check for blockage.”

  He nodded. “Hopefully it’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “You know, you really should get out while the getting’s good. We were never supposed to be more than one night, and this is way more than you bargained for.”

  She started for the kitchen. He took two strides and stopped her, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the couch in the main room of the apartment. “I should punish you for assuming you know what I want, but I won’t. Instead, we’re going to talk.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “I think I’d prefer the punishment.”

  He bit back a grin. “I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

  He settled her in his lap, her curves lush and full against him. He ordered himself not to react to her body when he had to work on her mind.

  “You are not going to shut down on me.” He shifted her so he could see her face. “We’re going to talk like adults, and you’re going to tell me everything. You can start with why your mother is a raving bitch, and I’ll end with showing you exactly what’s wrong with everything she thinks by worshipping your body for hours. Sound good?”

  She shook her head, her hair falling around her face.

  “I’m not going to deny we have something good, Decklan, but I come with baggage.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  She frowned. “My baggage feels like it could sink the Titanic.”

  He allowed himself a laugh at that. “Baby, your mother isn’t someone I want to see often. But she’s your mother. It is what it is. She’s not you. And we both know she’s wrong about everything she said. She just got inside your head tonight, that’s all.”

  “You’re right. I know it in here.” She tapped her head. “It’s harder to feel it in here.” She placed her palm over her heart.

  He covered it with his own. “The only one you have to please is yourself.” He paused. “And me.”

  “Yeah, trust the dom in you to say that.” Despite everything, she grinned.

  “Enough stalling,” he said in his best dom voice.

  She drew a deep breath. “Do you really want the whole pathetic story?”

  He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I really do.”

  “Fine, but remember, you asked.”

  Just like she’d asked her grandmother why her mom was so mean. Amanda remembered her childhood clearly. Back then, she’d been thirteen, and her grandma had tried to play off her daughter’s behavior.

  “I was eighteen when I heard the story from my grandmother.” God, this was embarrassing. She was wrung out and just wanted it over with. “I’d had my first … sexual experience with a guy. It was over before it started, if you know what I mean. He wasn’t even in me when he came. He blamed me. He said once he saw me naked, he just wanted it over with.” She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.

  “What an asshole,” Decklan said, his hands all over her as she spoke. He slid one palm over her hair, another down her arm, always touching her, reassuring her, telling her without words that he wanted her.

  “Yeah. Well, I can look back now and see he was probably mortified and needed to lash out. But then?” She shook her head, hating that particular memory along with so many others. “Anyway, when I got home, my mother wanted to know why I was crying. The story came out even though I knew better than to tell her. And of course, she agreed with him and started in again on all that was wrong with me.”

  Beneath her, Decklan stiffened. She appreciated his anger on her behalf, but she just wanted to get through the telling. And move on.

  “My grandmother was staying over at the time, and when Mom went to bed, she told me how wrong Mom was—and why she was so superficial and bitter.”

  He waited patiently and she went on.

  “When my mother was in middle school, my grandfather lost his job and Grandma began cleaning homes for wealthier families. My mother went to school with some of those kids. After a while, she had to wear hand-me-down clothes, and the kids at school made fun of her for it. She was angry, hurt, and turned it on the world. She blamed her parents, treated them horribly, and was determined to do better.”

  “I’m not feeling sorry for her,” he muttered.

  She grinned at that. “My mother got a scholarship to college, but she had to work part time too. But she was determined to marry well and, as Scarlett O’Hara would have said, never wear hand-me-downs or be hungry again. Unfortunately for her, when the guy she set her sights on brought her home, his family didn’t accept her. They had plans for their son, and he was going to marry within his own social class.”

  “Ouch. Although, I’m thinking considering she didn’t learn from how she was treated, she got what she deserved.”

  Amanda nodded. “She never did meet her wealthy prince. She married my dad, a nice guy from back home, who sold insurance. But she was bitter. And she couldn’t see the good in life or the fact that her husband provided well. He put a roof over her head and clothes on her back.”

  “But not designer duds,” Decklan said.

  Amanda shook her head. “Nope. Not until she began to max out his credit cards. And when she had a daughter, she transferred all those unfulfilled expectations to me.”

  “Ahh, baby, I’m sorry. You got a raw deal with her.”

  “There’s more.” She rested her head on his chest for a moment, gathering her courage to reveal the rest. “Umm … when I was younger, I was bulimic.”

  His arms squeezed her tighter, telling her without words he was listening. He was here. And it helped that she didn’t have to see his face as she revealed her deepest personal secrets.

  “It started so simply I didn’t realize what was happening. My mother kept pushing me. Nothing I did was good enough. I needed better grades, better friends, I needed to lose weight, eat right. So when I was around her, I did as she asked. And then at night, I’d sneak food I bought at school because there wasn’t any junk in the house. When my friends and I started to drive, it got even easier to buy and eat away from home or sneak the food into my room. I’d binge at night and throw the garbage away at school the next day. No one at home knew. Except I was gaining weight.”

  “Which didn’t make your mother happy.”

  She shook her head. “She came down even harder on me because she was also frustrated, and I felt pressure to lose the weight but … I couldn’t not eat. So I started to … purge. And it became a vicious cycle.”

  “God.” His voice sounded low and raw.

  Like he was hurting, for her. The thought amazed her.

  “How did you stop?” he asked.

  The answer to that was easy. “I got caught.”

  He groaned. “What did your mother do?”

  She let out a laugh. “Not by my mother. A t
eacher walked into the school bathroom looking for someone. When I came out, she was waiting. She asked if I wanted to go to the nurse and call home because I was sick. Once again, my emotions got the best of me, and I burst into tears and revealed everything. She was so kind and wanted to help. She took me to the school psychologist.”

  His arms were locked around her, her head on his chest, and she found comfort in the steady beat of his heart. “I was so lucky that I found someone who really understood. And because she cared, I really wanted to please her. I wanted to get better, to like me.”

  “Did your mother know about your issues?”

  “The psychologist tried to talk to her. She just said I was using any excuse to eat or get attention.” She shrugged. “We had to work around her.”

  “What about your dad? I want to ask if he stood up for you, but given all you’ve told me—”

  She shook her head and confirmed his thoughts. “Dad’s a good guy, but Mom runs the show. She wears the pants, says jump, and he asks how high.”

  “I should give him a lesson or two in taking control of women.”

  She grinned, that thought lightening the moment. “Yeah, can we not talk about my father and … that?”

  He laughed and agreed.

  Her heart pounded hard in her chest, as if she’d run hard and fast and now needed to come down from the rush. To her amazement, she’d bared her soul. And he was still here, not judging. She was grateful to Decklan for that—and so much more.

  Decklan didn’t know how he managed to laugh after hearing about the childhood Amanda had endured. What a mess. The people who were supposed to love and protect her hadn’t. She’d had no experience with a father figure who taught her about her own self-worth. Not like Lucy, who’d had a father who thought she hung the moon and the stars, Decklan thought.

  No wonder Amanda responded to dominance like someone starved for guidance and affection. He couldn’t help but marvel at her strength in coping and overcoming. Finally, all the pieces of the puzzle that was Amanda fell into place.

  “Just know you deserved better,” he said, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck, tipping her head, and pulling her in for a deep kiss. One that told her she was most definitely wanted, needed … and most definitely loved.