Wednesday. Today was not a good day. She rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling. Her cell chirped with a text on the nightstand.
Prince groaned on the floor and rolled over with a sigh to get more beauty sleep.
Happy Birthday, baby! I know you said not to call, but you didn't say to not text. Are you going out with friends tonight? Love, Mom
She sighed and started typing. Thanks. Just gonna stay in tonight and get some work done.
Isn't your boss giving you the evening off?
Her boss. She snorted. If only her parents knew how well her boss could kiss, they'd probably be dragging her out of the house. He left Sunday for an urgent business matter and won't be back for a couple days. Didn't tell him it was my birthday. Gotta go now.
Do you want Dad and I to call? We haven't talked in awhile.
Mom, I talked to you guys last night. I'm good. Gonna watch a movie or something tonight. Gotta work.
Are you okay? You sounded stressed last night. He's not being mean or taking advantage, is he?
She had been stressed trying to field the fifty questions from her parents making sure Jason wasn't a twisted pervert. Her mom had even reported that her dad had his friends at the FBI screen Jason for a criminal background. No, he's very polite.
Be sure you're using protection at least. You can call us anytime, and we'll come get you.
Oh god. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with her mom. On her birthday. Mom, we're not having sex! Bye
She dropped the phone on the bed. Thirty. Ugh. When had she gotten so old? No husband, no babies, no house, not even a car to show for it. Jason had given her a one-week paycheck on Saturday to help keep up with bills. She didn't tell him that equated to nearly two months' of her normal salary. At this rate, she just might go buy a brand new car in a month. That'd be one item checked off her 'thirty' list. Her phone rang. Leave it to her mother to call anyways. She blindly reached for the phone and answered.
"Yes, I'm having sex with my boss." A car honked in the background. She blinked.
Silence. "Not quite the greeting I expected, but I'm game," a deep voice chuckled.
"Jason?"
"I hope you don't have another 'boss,'" he laughed.
Closing her eyes, she groaned. "I thought you were my mom."
A long pause came over the phone. "Should I be worried about the context of your conversations?"
Her face burned up. "She and dad grilled me last night about if you're being decent. Then she texted this morning to use protection if we...oh god, nevermind." She buried her face in the pillow.
His voice sounded light with laughter. "Your parents are busy this morning. They called me a minute ago and said I should give you the day off. And your dad threatened me with a shotgun. How come you didn't say today is your birthday?"
She shot up in bed and gasped into the phone. "Oh my god, they didn't! Are you serious?" she asked, utterly mortified.
He laughed. "No, they didn't. I couldn't resist saying it."
"Jason!"
"Sorry," he chuckled, not sounding remorseful one iota. "I was calling to tell you happy birthday. Traffic is backed up on Brooklyn Bridge, so it's taking longer to get to the jet than expected. I thought I'd be home by the time you woke up."
"I thought you're gone for a couple more days." She frowned.
"I just told you that so it'd be a surprise, but I miss you and couldn't wait any longer to call."
The intimacy in his voice sent shivers down her back. She smiled. He cared enough to miss her. Giddy butterflies fluttered in her stomach. "I miss you too. Wetexted last night."
"I know, but it was only a few minutes between meetings. And I'm spoiled having you around all the time. Are you doing anything tonight?"
She frowned. "No. Why, are you?"
"Would you like to go on a date? I have the jet out of storage, and there's an opera tonight in Chicago. You could have dinner with your parents first, if you want."
Her face nearly split in two from her grin. "Are you serious?"
"Or we could see what's on Broadway."
"New York?"
"Yes," he laughed. "I'd offer a San Francisco opera, but I fear I'd fall asleep on you after being on Eastern time for four days."
"Jason, I'd be happy with just a movie at home."
"I know, but you only turn thirty once. Live it up, Emma." The smile was apparent in his voice.
She groaned. "Don't remind me I'm getting old."
"Don't tell me you're trying to avoid your birthday. You're hardly old, sweetheart," he laughed. "You can go wild tonight and still blame it on your ignorant twenties."
"How did you spend your thirtieth?" she laughed. He grew quiet. Oh no, he must've been engaged.
"In the hospital." He sounded so solemn all of the sudden.
"Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't think first."
"You couldn't know," he sighed.
She nibbled her lip. Time to change the topic for him. "How old are you?"
"Why, are you going to ask me what I did for my fourtieth?" he chuckled.
She smiled. At least he wasn't still upset. "You don't look that old. And if you are, I'm offically grossed out that I kissed an old man."
He belly laughed. "I'm thirty three, youngster."
She laughed.
"So think about what you want to do tonight. I have to get on the plane in a minute. I'll be home in a couple hours and expect to find you not working. Happy birthday, Emma."
"Thanks, Jason. Have a good flight."
Bouncing out of bed and looking forward to the day now, she got dressed and went downstairs to find Pete and Trudy in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs. "What do you wear to the opera or Broadway?"
They looked up and smiled. "Happy birthday!" Trudy grinned.
"Happy birthday," Pete smiled.
"Thanks." Her cheeks grew warm and she smiled.
"There's a surprise on your desk," Trudy smiled.
She went into her office to see two long boxes almost as wide as her, with big ribbons on top on her desk. She opened the note attached to the box with the red ribbon and read Jason's handwriting.
For the opera
Carefully opening the box, she set aside the large lid and lifted back the red tissue paper. She gasped. A gorgeous red, off-the-shoulder evening dress lay inside. She lifted it out, ever so careful. The long flowing skirt fluttered to touch the floor. The very fine, delicate chiffon wrapped around the torso and crossed at the chest up into the sleeves. It was simple, yet so very elegant. Then she spotted silver, glittering heels in the box beside a silver clutch purse. A red velvet jewelry box lay inside. She picked it up, unsure what to think. Opening the jewelry box, ruby teardrop earrings and a ruby-studded necklace sparkled. This was all so much, and the second box on the desk likely contained another dress. A tag fluttered on the side of the red dress. Probably $150 knowing him. She shouldn't look...but she did. $540. "Holy crap!" She dropped it like burning coals. If anything else had tags, she wasn't going to look.
The second box was labeled for Broadway. A black evening dress with a flowing skirt but delicate flower lace from the long sleeves to hips was cocooned inside, along with black heels, a clutch, and diamond jewelry. This should be fun, but she sighed when a third box propped on the chair caught her eye. Inside that lay a black mink coat. The tag stuck out of the collar. $3,500.
She set the coat box on the desk and dropped into the chair, looking at all the gifts. Her stomach knotted. Flying to a fancy event, deciding what she'd wear, assuming she would be available to go on her birthday, flaunting how much had been spent...it seemed a bit too much like the wooing and controlling of Gaston, but on a much grander, less pushy scale. Maybe she kept choosing controlling men. She fired up her laptop to do work and get away from it all to get some perspective.
He walked into the study a couple hours later and frowned. "I said no working today." He walked around the desk and brushed a kiss over her cheek. "Happy birthday."
She looked up at him, ready to launch into conversation. The words died on her lips. Besides his usual suit, he wore a hard, skin-toned mask that covered half of his face. It had the smooth contours of a face but none of the details. It looked like a blank mannequin without even the etchings of an eye, ear, or lips. "You have a new mask?"
"No, actually. I wear this if I'm in public, but it's not comfortable, so that's why I was wearing the ski mask at home."
"Oh." She blinked. The cheekbone didn't jut out quite as far as his other side, and the brow didn't seem as pronounced. The hard-looking material seemed to mold into a pliable rubber at the jawline to cover the side of his neck.
"Does it bother you?" He frowned.
"No, it's just different. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It gives the illusion of looking a bit disproportional."
He looked away and shifted before meeting her eyes again. "It's made to match the contours of the burned side so it fits snug. A beam fell in the fire and crushed that side of my face. It was reconstructed the best the surgeons could," he said, his voice quiet.
"Oh, Jason. I'm sorry, I was rude." Her face flamed in humiliation at embarrassing him. How much worse could things be for him? Not just no eye and ear, but severe burns, difficulty eating due to deformity...and now a crushed skull. The image of him in her head grew more and more deformed at every turn. Maybe that Internet comment been right that he really didn't have much of a face left. Perhaps he was right that it would frighten her to see him. Her stomach twisted in knots. Her imagination started running wild, but she slammed the brakes. He was a good man, capable of so much love. Looks did not define the heart. It might take some time, but eventually she would be able to look at his whole face and see beauty.
He shrugged, dragging her back to the conversation. "It's a natural question. I'm not this close to most people, so I don't think most people even notice it."
She nodded and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "Jason, we need to talk."
His smile died and he sat a hip on the edge of the desk. Something in his eye stoned over, as if he'd thrown up a wall to brace for what she was about to say.
"These gifts are very beautiful and generous, but I'm not sure they're appropriate."
He blinked and seemed to relax. "I thought you were resigning." Even so, it was a job for which anyone could replace her, and he had even commented that they only lived a couple hours apart. Odd that he seemed so relieved. "How do they seem inappropriate?" He frowned.
She bit her lip, weighing her words. "They're just so much. I could see maybe...are those real jewels?" she cut herself off.
He nodded. "I'm not going to give you fake ones when I can afford to give you something nicer. Do you want me to take back the dress you aren't won't be wearing?"
The man seemed utterly perplexed. She was being rude. She should just accept one outfit and tell him thanks.
"I want you to like what you wear this evening," he coaxed and reached out to stroke her cheek.
She caught her lip between her teeth.
"Sweetheart, be honest. This is your night." His fingers curled around the edges of the desk. "Hit me."
Taking a deep breath, she launched into it. "Everything is beautiful, but I don't want entire outfits chosen for me like I'm some 'little woman.'"
He nodded, his eye focused on her intently, as if deciphering a language.
"How did you know I'm a size 6?" She frowned up at him. A red flag that he knew it?
"I asked Trudy what she thought you'd be before I shopped." He held up a hand. "If it's off, it's not because I think you're overweight or something."
She nodded. Perhaps he just thought he was giving a nice birthday present. "I like that you selected things yourself, but even just a sundress would be nice. These are far too expensive."
He frowned severely. "How do you know the price?"
"The tags..."
"What?" He got up and dug in the boxes. "I'm not seeing tags. The sales clerk said she cut them off."
"The red dress and coat have them. I didn't look if the others do."
He found them and sighed in disgust. "My apologies. Don't worry about prices. I want you to like these." He resumed his seat on the desk. "What else?"
"I sound like a brat."
"No, you sound like an independent woman who knows her mind," he smiled. "No one ever told me women are so interesting. Explain what else."
Folding her hands in her lap, she continued. "I don't wear furs. Leather is one thing when the entire animal is used for the meat and hide and everything, but not when they butcher only for the hide."
He looked like he was about to smile. "You're a bit of an animal rights activist. May I give you money to buy a dress of your choosing?"
"No, that's not the point."
He shook his head in confusion and folded his arms over his chest. "I need you to spell it out because I don't follow."
Maybe just saying it would be best. "My ex did the wining and dining and picking out clothes, but not on such a grand scale. I don't want the domestic abuser."
His eyebrow rose as it dawned on him. "Emma, dates aren't normally going to be like this. This is your birthday. I usually don't go out because people stare and make comments, and I don't want to subject you to that. I want you to enjoy this, that's all. I know that materials don't buy a woman. I wanted to spoil you because it's your birthday and because you've been so generous coming the hospital."
She stood and stepped up to him, his scent enveloping around her. His hands rested on her hips as they held each other's eyes. "I'm simple and practical. If you insist on spending a lot, spend under $100 on me and send the rest anonymously to a children's charity."
A smile crept across his lips. "Anonymously?"
"Yes. It isn't giving if recognition is expected."
Something in his eye nearly glowed with happiness. He ran a hand through her hair. "You're far from simple, Emma. You surprise me at every turn." His voice sounded husky, and he leaned in closer, tilting his head to the side a bit. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.
A warm blush swept through her. He hadn't been talking about just her body. Butterflies in her stomach floated down to settle in her lower belly. Her heart beat faster when their lips met and her eyes fluttered closed. The mask hid nearly half his mouth, but his hot tongue stroked over her lips. The tip of his tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting and caressing. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her body against his. She hesitated for an instant before kissing back and boldly stroking his tongue.
He half growled, half moaned into her mouth. In a quick swipe, he shoved the papers to the other side of the desk without breaking the kiss. He pressed her down and climbed on top.
Her heart thundered wildly in excitement as his weight settled down just enough to pin her and for his heat to penetrate. His thigh pressed between her legs. Pleasure burst at the contact. She gasped and arched up, breaking the kiss as her head fell back. Her leg instinctively wrapped around his thick thigh to hold him there. He didn't miss a beat, his mouth capturing the long column of her throat where he licked and massaged with his lips.
Her hips slowly rotated against his thigh as her body grew damp and readied to take him in. His hard arousal pressed through his pants against her hip, prepared to claim her. "No shirt," she whimpered and tugged it out of his waistband. Oh god, she needed to feel his skin. Those hard, naked swells of muscle that contained so much power.
"Emma," he sighed in soft protest against her collarbone and continued his exploration.
Tugging his shirt to bring him back up to kiss his lips, her hands slipped over his shoulders and eased his suit jacket down his arms. He shrugged it off without breaking the kiss and then leaned his weight down again. His hand glided through her hair in an erotic massage, ever so gently tugging. Tingles followed his fingers, but her hands fumbled losening his tie and then unbuttoning his white dress shirt. If he wouldn't remove his shirt, she'd settle for this. Her hands dove inside. His skin burned hot and creamy smooth, covering rippling muscles that coiled beneath. His broad shoulders flexed with his movements, even his burn scar was thin enough to not veil his power. Pleasure surged, and she gasped as her leg tightened around him, shifting his pelvis so his manhood pressed between her legs. Her legs wrapped around his thighs as instincts swam up. Oh god. Her hips started rocking.
He gasped into her mouth and his hips gently thrusted, his back slowly arching and rolling under her hands as rocked her over and over. His hand cupped her breast and squeezed, as if instinctively reacting by grabbing anything to stop his instincts. His touch hardened the tips of her breasts, and heat surged down to her belly. "Emma," he gasped, his body trembling in her arms.
Her pants matched his, and her fingers softly scratching his back. Oh god, it was coming. She soared toward the clouds with him, her body slowly tensing. "Jason," she breathed. He broke the kiss and grabbed her hips between his hands, giving a hard thrust that would have slid her on the desk. Her lips parted in a soft 'o' as her body hummed and everything glowed white behind her eyelids. Heat swept through her body, wave over wave, and she slowly relaxed. Her eyes slowly opened, the afterglow of pleasure making her so relaxed.
His face looked flushed, and he panted. He stared at her, looking shocked and confused. The hardness of his erection still pressed against her without release, but he didn't seem to even notice. "You found pleasure with me?" he whispered.
She frowned. "I thought it was alright, that you wanted it too." She sat up, their faces inches apart. He didn't move.
His brow furrowed. "But...why did you want my shirt off? You touched my shoulder and still found pleasure."
Her heart twisted seeing him so utterly unable to comprehend a woman desiring his body. She looked into his eye and said softly, "It's only skin."
"But, in the burn unit severe patients had to see a social worker or psychologist. She said a woman probably wouldn't orgasm if she saw or touched my scars while lovemaking."
She held his eye. "In the hospital I did when you kissed me in that empty room."
He took a step back in surprise, his shirt hanging open. Then he glanced down, seeming to remember his shirt hung open, and started buttoning it.
"No," she said, her voice soft. She stood and eased his hands down before gliding her hands over his chest in slow strokes. Looking into his eye, her heart nearly broke to find confusion and nervousness there. "I don't see it, Jason. I see an incredibly sexy man whose muscles I desperately want to see naked and flexing when lifting heavy things after you're healed from surgery. I see a man who is kind and beautiful." She kissed the unburned part of his chest while her hands followed the contours of his very well muscled burned and unburned areas of his chest. Then her hands glided down to rub the washboards of his abs. "Heavens, Jason, you shouldn't have muscles like this," she sighed in adoration. Kissing his burn might be too much for him yet. He didn't move. "If you don't believe me, make me orgasm again," she whispered with her lips against his chest.
That got to him. He sighed and sagged against her a hair, his heart beat picking up speed. Then his hands locked on her shoulders and he eased her back a step. "As much as I really want to follow through on that challenge, I don't trust myself to stop again. We don't need to be announcing we're expecting and having your dad hunting me down with his FBI friends." A smile touched his lips.
She smiled and held his eye, very curious about something. "He'd probably force you to make an honest woman of me or shoot you."
His smile died, and he pulled back. "I'll return these gifts."
She searched his face, her heart heavy that he avoided the subject. "You would take the bullet, wouldn't you?"
He held her eyes and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I wouldn't ever put you in that situation, Emma."
But that wasn't what she'd asked.
"Are you certain there's nothing you want to keep?"
She let the conversation drop for now and shoved away the hurt. Her eye fell on the ruby earrings.
He must have followed her gaze because he walked over and pulled the earrings out of the box. Then he brought them over and pressed the earrings in her hand.
"Jason, they're too expensive." She couldn't look away from the beauty of them, though. A dark shadow cast inside them. Lifting them up to the light, she squinted. "Are those roses?"
"The jeweler was somehow able to put real ones inside. The studs are real rubies, but the tear drops are glass."
She walked around the desk to pick up the necklace. In the middle of the strand of rubies lay a rose encapsulated in that teardrop too. "I've never seen such a thing. Where did he get roses so small?"
"Here." His voice was soft and quiet, right beside her. "Trudy mentioned that you adored the white roses in your room. They're white-red ones looked black in the red glass."
She looked up at him, her heart melting. "You had these made for me?"
He barely nodded. "But you don't have to keep them," he added.
Custom designed jewelry from roses he grew. They were too precious to not keep. "Jason, you should have said. They're beautiful." He must care more than he let on to have such a thoughtful gift fashioned. She looked up at him and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Jason." Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek.
A smile danced across his lips, and he absently touched his mask.
"Does your eye hurt?" She frowned. Last week seemed so long ago, making it easy to forget he was still fresh from major surgery.
"No. I don't have one." His smile grew.
Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but smile. At least he could joke about it. "Does your face hurt?"
"I think I need to get this mask off. It's starting to rub the bandage. Let me go work on a different dress."
She caught his hand. "Jason?" Biting her lip, she looked up at him. He had put a lot of thought and heart into the gifts, simply wanting to give something nice and not be cheap when he didn't need to worry about money. She should have known not a hint of control, much less domestic abuse red flags, had been behind the gifts. "May I keep a dress? I thought you were showing off the prices and being controlling." Her face flushed. "I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize," he said quickly and grabbed a box to bring it over. "I see how it came across all wrong. You can keep everything, if you want." He set the box on the desk and pulled out the black dress a bit. Then he brought over the other box and fussed with arranging that red dress. He stepped back for her to look.
She stepped up to the desk and fingered the red dress. It would match the jewelry.
"I thought you'd look stunning in red, with your dark hair and your complexion. And you can wear either dress to either event."
Looking over her shoulder at him, she smoothed a hand over the red skirt. "What event do you want to go to?"
"It's your choice. I had trouble getting Internet on my phone. I'll check what's on Broadway." He walked around the desk to sit at her laptop and started typing.
She picked up the satin clutch. The material was cool and smooth in her hands. There wasn't movement from the corner of her eye. She looked at him. He watched her closely.
"Emma, if you like anything, you don't have to feel guilty about accepting something. I promise I do give money to charities, so you aren't taking it from anyone."
A soft laugh escaped her. "It never occurred to me that you don't give to charities. It's just so much money, and I don't need something this expensive."
He leaned his elbows on the desk. It seemed so odd to see him disheveled with his shirt half unbuttoned and him not sitting all tall and proper in the chair. "Tell you what. You take these, and I will keep any future gifts below...$500."
"$100."
"$300," he countered. "Why am I arguing what I spend on your gifts? You shouldn't be privy." He waived his hand and resumed looking online. "Take it." He nodded at the box.
She laughed. "You can't order me to take a gift."
He delivered a stern look from beneath his brow. "You're at your desk, so you must be working. Hence, I'm your boss right now. Take the box or you're fired." His eyes returned to the screen.
Walking around the desk, she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and rested her cheek against his. "You wouldn't fire me," she smiled.
His hand wrapped around her arm as he clicked the Broadway link. "No," he chuckled.
Phantom of the Opera popped up.
Oh god, he didn't need to be reminded. She shot up and tried to turn his chair around. "Cripes, you're heavy." Giving up, she dropped back over the armrest to land in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He burst out laughing and caught her. "Well, hello."
"Hi," she smiled. "What if we have dinner here, and then we can go to the opera in Chicago?"
"Are you sure?" His laughter faded, but the smile remained.
She gave him a look. "How insensitive do you think I am?" As if he would enjoy a show about a man whose face was burned and he became a recluse who never found love?
"Alright, I see your point. Would you like the opera, though?" The soft tips of his fingers stroked a stray lock of hair from her brow.
"I would like even sitting in the dark with you." She rested her head on his poor shoulder. "You should go take off your mask before it irritates your wound."
"I just want to stay here for a bit," he sighed and cocooned her in his arms.
"Can we watch a movie tomorrow night?" She snuggled up to his heat. Curling up in a chair with him under a blanket in the dark sounded heavenly.
"That sounds perfect, sweetheart," he whispered. He leaned over and shut down the computer. Then he sat back and held her close.
Author's Note: I hope you caught that he so easily shut down the Phantom of the Opera screen and curled up with Emma rather than pulling away at the reminder of his disfigurement.