Instead, I have to let her erect that wall, plate it with steel, while my balls twitch and my palms sweat. She’ll never be vulnerable around me again. Maybe not around any man again. And I have to sit, and watch, and when she rises with a sneer of derision, let her go.
After I close the door behind her, I check my watch. Emily will be on the way to the airport by now. Maybe even there, if the traffic isn’t bad. She’ll be checking her bags, starting the plod through security. I don’t want to distract her from the important business of making her flight, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to talk to my bottom more. All I need is to hear her voice for five minutes.
But that’s a selfish-bastard thing to do, particularly when she’s going through the inconvenience and irritation of a trans-continental flight for me. If her phone goes off in security, they might confiscate it.
Instead, I dial my sister, Lizbeth, and when it goes to voicemail, Miranda. It’s evening her time. She should be up no matter what shift she’s on.
She picks up on the second ring. “Darling, how are you?”
I squeeze my eyes closed. I hate when she calls me that. I didn’t like it when we were together, and I hate it now that we aren’t.
“Tough day,” I tell her, opening my eyes and pacing to the suite’s huge picture window. I take in the panoramic view of the city. There’s so much twisting inside me, it’s hard to take any pleasure in the scenery, but it gives me something to look at. “I had to interview a widow.”
“Oh, my poor darling. I know how much those upset you.”
“Yeah.” This was stupid. Her sympathy feels false and sickly. I should make an excuse and hang up.
“Tell me all about it,” Mir coos.
“There’s nothing to tell.” There’s a lot to tell, but none of it is going to be to her. “It just reminded me that life’s short. Carpe diem, you know. How’s everything? How’s the baby?”
“She’s wonderful. Did you get the ultrasound I emailed you?”
I didn’t see the ultrasound, because I’ve stopped opening Mir’s emails. This call’s reminding me why. “That’s great. Have you decided on a name yet? Jennifer still the top contender?”
“No, silly darling. That was last month. Now it’s Augustine.”
I hate that name. Mir has her fucking pretentious moments, and this is one of them. “I’m still rooting for Trudy. That’s a name you don’t hear much anymore.”
Mir gives a delicate snort of derision. It tightens my gut almost as much as Reggie Black’s parting sneer. “I’m very fond of Augustine. Such a classic name. But we’ll see. I’ll probably go through a dozen more before September.”
“Sure, okay, well—”
“Logan, don’t be glib,” she says quietly. I know that tone. She’s about to cut my balls out from under me. “You called because you’re hurting. I know how much you open yourself up when you interview victims. You make yourself vulnerable to take in their pain. You’ve told me so. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing.” A lie, when I promised not to lie to her. But she broke that promise long before I did. “I just hadn’t checked up on you in a while. I had a quiet hour, so I thought I’d call.”
“You had a quiet hour? You never have a quiet hour. Where are you? Are you in Europe? Can I meet you somewhere? I can still fly.”
“No.” I’m almost as far from her as it’s possible to be. “I’m in L.A. Heading to Mexico. I’m on a job.”
“Then you’re jet lagged as well. That’s a lethal combination. I’ve seen you like this before, darling. Are you with anyone? Someone you can work it out on? Do you have time to find a bottom? There are plenty of clubs in L.A. Do you want me to make some calls for you?”
I rub my hand over my face. I haven’t told her about Emily. Or any of the women I’ve dated since Mir ended things six months ago. Maybe it’s time. “I’m with someone.”
She’s silent for a moment. “That’s good. Who is she?”
“No one you’d know. I met her at a conference.”
A kinky conference. Mir doesn’t need to know that. Although she’s been a bottom almost as long as I’ve been a top, she still looks down her nose at our lifestyle. My lifestyle, since she’d never admit that she’s part of it. Kink is just a hobby for Mir. Like knitting or fucking flower-arranging.
“She’s a submissive? A service submissive?”
“Yeah.”
“And a masochist?”
“Yes.” I feel myself closing up like a clam. I don’t want to tell her anything about Emily.
“Can I speak to her? Girl to girl? I promise I won’t say anything to embarrass you. I’ll just tell her what you need.”
I need to hang up, is what I need. “She’s not here. She isn’t arriving until tonight.”
“No? Then tell me all about her, darling. What does she look like? Is she blonde and blue-eyed?”
Mir is blonde and blue-eyed. I didn’t consciously go for a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in picking Emily, but maybe my subconscious compass was pointing as far away from my former lover as possible.
“No, she’s dark. Small. She’s kind of elfin-looking, actually. Not a Peter Jackson, Lord of the Rings, elf. She’s a wood elf. Like an ElfQuest elf.”
“You know I have no idea what you’re talking about when you stray from the classics, darling,” Mir says dismissively.
No, she doesn’t. Mir’s never read a comic book. Never sullied herself with anything that might reek of popular culture. Would Emily know what an ElfQuest elf is? I don’t know. She
