Page 14 of The Spiral
Chapter 6
Madeline
I don’t know who the hell he thinks he is trying to order me around. Kitchen cleaning? I’m not playing that game anymore. The days of Madeline Cavannagh doing anything a man says are long gone, certainly after whatever the hell that performance was in the ballroom.
I felt the moment his hands latched on tighter than they should have, and I felt my own eager reaction to it regardless of the fact I didn’t want anything to happen. It was my need as much as his, pure and simple, like a freight train had charged its engine and was going to railroad me into something one way or another. My protest was infuriating and a lie if truth be told, but it did scare me. He scared me. His hands reminded me of Lewis’. Cool, calm, collected, and then like a bear grappling for its prey. Holding it still and readying it for the kill it deserved.
And Ballroom? What was I thinking? Dancing my way around like some queen in her little kingdom was stupid, and wholly unsuitable behaviour for a woman trying to act professionally. It’s just, it was beautiful in some ways, almost dream worthy. It reminded me of the hopes of adolescent children, my adolescent childhood, where dancing class was all I had to get me away from the chaos at home. Before Lewis, before battered limbs.
My hand flings the phone about, desperately searching for a signal as I amble around the fields. It doesn’t find one. It hasn’t done since I entered the estate. Wealth and phone signals don’t mix around here, it seems. Great. And here I was being all haughty and storming off again, thinking I could just call the breakdown response people and stick a finger up to Mr. Downright Edible. Seems I can’t even do that effectively on my own.
Looking up into the sunlit sky, I feel the tears threatening again. They came filled with joy when he took hold of me and started dancing, happiness mingling inside me for the first time in who knows how long. Then they came again when I felt his hands tighten on me, reminding me of bruised skin. And then again as I ran for the front door, scared and frustrated with my fervent response to the thought. And then one last time, filling me with feelings of self-loathing when he saw the bruising around my eye. He was judging me, thinking me weak and incompetent. Presumably the make-up wore off with the tears, or maybe the sweat we built up dancing loosened it. I don’t know, but one thing I do know is he made me feel incapable and alone, inadequate maybe. Confused definitely.
Callie was right; I don’t know how to be on my own. I’ve forgotten how. Whatever Lewis is or was, he was always there to bail me out of trouble, simply a phone call away when I needed him. I miss that about him, about us. I don’t miss his aggression or the constant worry of what was coming next, but I do miss the sense of two, a couple, being with someone who is always there.
I stare round the grounds, blinking my tears away and reaching into my bag for some foundation to hide my past. The last thing I wanted was the look of consideration he gave me. I’m a professional, here to do a professional job. No one who has the remnants of a shiner around their eye looks professional, let alone capable. I just need to get home and forget about this one, lucrative as it might have been. It’s over now. I’ll just have to find another job in the near future.
“Was one bog not enough for you?” his voice calls from somewhere. I instantly look down at the floor, wondering what he’s talking about, to find myself perilously close to blackening mud that bubbles at my proximity. I move on the spot, turning and trying to find the way I came in behind me, but there’s no path to see. “Stand still,” he shouts, still from an unknown position.
“Okay,” I call back, halting the stupid trampling of my feets and hovering in place.
A crashing noise followed by some swearing then huffs of annoyance rage through the air at me as I keep looking for a safe route out.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he mutters, pushing a branch out of the way so I can finally see him coming at me from the left though the wooded area. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to wander off?”
“I needed a signal,” I reply quietly as I watch him move toward me. “To call the recovery people.” I’m rewarded with another huff, hotly pursued by him battling another branch from his path. “For my car?” I’m babbling, probably because I don’t know what else to say given whatever it is that has happened between us.
It’s unfortunate how handsome he is, even more so since he appears to be coming to my rescue in his pristine suit. Tall, broad, brown eyes I could easily fall into without thought, and a face devoid of any warmth until he smiles, which he isn’t currently doing. He’s grimacing, probably at the fact that those highly polished shoes are having to tentatively find their way through mud to get to me. I wish I could say it wasn’t funny, but it is, and a small snort of amusement breaks from me before I can stop it as his feet slip further into the mud, making squelching noises.
“If you think I’m carrying you out, Madeline Cavannagh, you can think again.”
Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. I look down at my already pretty muddy shoes and shrug. What difference does it make? I couldn’t screw this up any more than I already have done anyway. It’s now just about me getting out of this quagmire and finding my way home, which I’m pretty sure isn’t in the direction he’s coming at me from.
I turn, taking a step out onto a patch of green grass that I think was behind me before I stopped. It holds beneath me so I take another step, too, hoping I’ve got this right.
“Madeline, stop,” he says anxiously, though I don’t know why. He’s the one sinking, not me. I jump over to the next clean bit I see, heading back out into the field and generally in the direction of the garage, I think. “Will you damn well stand still?” Seemingly not. My feet are almost skipping over the ground to patches that seem sound, suddenly feeling remarkably in control of myself. I can do this without him. I can. I don’t need a man to complete me. I’m not incapable at all. “Madeline, watch out for the…”
Oh.
My foot squelches beneath me, my heel disappearing into wet ground and rapidly sinking in over the arch of my foot. It causes me to lose balance, and my arms start flailing about as I try to pull it back out again. All that happens is my other foot starts to sink as I press on it for leverage, making me wobble further into a fall, my bag flying from my hand.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbles at me as my arse topples backwards and hands grab onto it. Nothing’s stopping the momentum, though. We’re both going down, heavily.
The suction of my left foot popping free increases the fall, sending me flying back into him and crashing against his chest. His arms wrap around me, grabbing at bits he should not be touching, and it feels like slow motion as I watch the afternoon sun changing angle above me and let him brace my stumble.
Eventually, we’re just lying in a heap on the wet ground, his hand still wrapped around my waist and the other far too close to my left boob. It’s kind of nice, and I find myself chuckling at the image of us down here. Could my life be anymore pathetic? First I dance around his ballroom, searching for dreams that are not meant for me. Then I embarrass myself with bruising and actions of the highest unprofessional order. And now I’m lying in a bog, covered in mud, almost ready to turn over and kiss him for attempting to be a saviour.
“Nothing is funny about this position,” he says gruffly, not even trying to remove his hands.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s one I’ve never done before. You?”
And now I’m flirting, brazenly rubbing my hand down his leg and feeling the tension in it beneath his suit trousers. What else have I got to lose? Nothing. And he’s attractive, overly so. Callie was probably right. I could do with having sex with someone to get my mind off Lewis, and the man behind me is all male. Not only can I tell this by looking at him—I can tell by the feel of his muscles around me at the moment, and the way he isn’t the slightest bit ashamed of where his hands are grabbing. I don’t know him, and don’t really care to. He’s fit, attractive, and probably as interested in this moment as I am.
“You should be careful with whatever thought you’re playing with, Ms. Cavannagh,” he whispers, brushing his mouth around my ear and sliding his hand across my stomach. Why? Why should I? I’ve been a good girl most of my life. I stayed true to Lewis even though he didn’t deserve anything from me at all. And before that I was naive, virginal even. Well, not quite, but you know. And I’ve got a new life to build now, one just for me. Perhaps I should take control of it somehow rather than letting these men make me feel incompetent all the time.
“Why?” It comes out so quietly that I chew my lip as I say it, maybe hoping to pull the remark back in. There’s quiet for a while, and the rubbing of hands, which is getting nicer by the second as I gaze up at the sky, but still he’s so quiet I begin to think I was stupid to even say anything.
“Because I’m not open to anything you might want, other than fucking,” he eventually says, no remorse in the words.