In His Arms: A Nature of Desire Series Novel Read online

  He said he homeschooled his daughter, so the only time Daralyn had been seen was when they came to town with her in their company. She’d been a tiny, skittish shadow in baggy clothes, her uncle’s hand firmly clamped on her shoulder.

  They did bring her to the Baptist church, even though they discouraged conversation with anyone, and went home without attending any of the Sunday afternoon socials.

  Though they were considered “somewhat peculiar,” people assumed they were okay. They made regular church appearances and had roots in town, which were reinforced as they settled in and years passed without them causing any waves. The first thing made them “seem” like good people, and the last two meant they’d earned the right to be left alone, no matter how eccentric they seemed.

  In hindsight, they’d all been clueless about something that should have been so fucking obvious.

  Daralyn had been out of that hellhole for five years now, so Rory didn’t know why he was getting himself worked up thinking about it. Maybe because the more he went over what had happened before she got into the van today, the more certain he became that he should have gone with her.

  The rhythmic sound of an axe being swung told him Thomas was behind the house. Marcus would be close to where Thomas was.

  Rory pushed himself up the ramp onto the porch and followed it to the back.

  Marcus was on the phone, no surprise. He owned a gallery in New York, and was always scouting talent, promoting talent, buying or selling. Rory’s mother had once tartly suggested he have the cell surgically implanted into the side of his head. Marcus had told her he’d thought about it, but it would mess up his hair.

  When Rory came around the corner, he saw Marcus was in one of the roomy rockers, painted a clean white with a blue patterned seat cushion. He wasn’t relaxed in it, though. He leaned forward with a tablet under his long fingertips while he spoke in the strong, smooth voice that fit the rest of him.

  He glanced Rory’s way and gave him an absent nod, gesturing toward the backyard. Thomas was currently stripped down to jeans, splitting cords of wood for the stove and fireplace inside.

  Rory shook his head, and pointed to Marcus. A flicker of surprise went through Marcus’s green eyes, but he inclined his head and held up five fingers. A few minutes, then.

  Rory positioned himself at a companionable but polite distance and settled back. An electrified fence enclosed several acres, in order to give grazing room to the two cows, one female goat and a wandering pig with the girth of one of the cows. A flock of chickens hung around near their coop, clucking or roosting. Thomas had planted a garden back here, a hobby patch by local standards. It was enough to provide him and Marcus with some fresh vegetables in season, though, and flowers for Daralyn to cut for table vases. The vegetables were done for the fall, but a few flowers were still holding out, since they weren’t likely to get a prolonged cold spell until sometime in November.

  In a couple weeks, Marcus had a fundraiser slash new talent scouting opportunity coming up. Since he was talking to whoever was on the phone about a silent auction, it sounded like his call was about that.

  Rory had never been to New York City. He couldn’t imagine living there, all those people crammed together. But when Marcus or Thomas talked about the museums and art, the little coffee houses and colorful people on the streets, or parks like the elevated High Line or the view from the Rockefeller Center observation deck, Rory saw how closely Daralyn listened.

  Thanks to his adaptive challenge group, Rory was comfortable traveling, having gone on several trips with them. While he still preferred visiting wide-open spaces, versus crowded cities to broaden his cultural horizons, he’d be okay doing things like that with her.

  He returned his attention to his reason for being here. Rory was as inflexibly straight as a railroad tie, but there was no denying his brother-in-law was insanely good-looking. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and over his forehead, feathering and layering perfectly without any apparent effort. His features were chiseled, mouth firm. Those piercing green-like-sea-glass eyes could make a woman of any age forget what language she spoke. Rory had seen it, any time Marcus came into the store. Even his mom or Les, both used to being around him now, could still sometimes be caught just staring at him, as if he wasn’t entirely real.

  Rory wondered if they’d ever noticed that was how Marcus looked at Thomas. He expected they had, because as much as women liked a pretty face, it was the emotional stuff that really won their hearts.

  Marcus’s obvious love for Thomas, his possessiveness combined with his devotion to his well-being, elevated the female attention for Marcus to a whole different level of adoration.

  Women.

  Daralyn sometimes went completely mute around Marcus, but Rory suspected there were other reasons for that. Though Marcus always spoke to her kindly, he never asked her anything that could be phrased as a statement. “Daralyn, I’d like a cup of coffee.” “Daralyn, I’ll drive you home.”

  Marcus clicked off the phone and removed the earpiece, putting it on the table with his phone and tablet. He stretched out his long legs and settled deeper into the chair, cracking his neck. As he picked up his half-full wine glass, his eyes shifted with undisguised appreciation to Thomas swinging the axe, the roll of muscles, the stretch of the jeans over ass and thigh.

  “Could you pretend he’s my sister and not ogle him like that when I’m around?”

  One of Daralyn’s words. Ogle. Ogling. She usually put them in a sentence to help her remember the meaning. Rory wondered what sentence she’d used for that one.

  Marcus slanted him an amused glance. “Sexist prick.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You know what I’m saying.”

  “Well, my only other option is to ogle you.” Marcus tossed him a look. “Showing up all sweaty and muscular, with your masculine stench.”

  “Control your lust, you twisted perv.”

  Part of their usual banter, so all good. But when Rory attempted his usual fuck-off grin, he could tell Marcus registered it was a little forced, thanks to the sudden bout of nerves. Shit, this was stupid. He said it straight out before he could change his mind.

  “So you said to come talk to you when it’s time. About Daralyn. I’m here to talk. If now’s good.”

  Marcus’s gaze could go from neutral pleasant to cool and laser-focused in a blink. Rory had seen it fluster Thomas, though Thomas was no pushover. The part of Rory that had him here now understood why that look could unsettle Thomas, the way Rory’s similar expression could do the same to Daralyn. It made him feel better, more reassured, while at the same time…unmoored. Daralyn’s new word. He almost smiled at the thought.

  “Okay,” Marcus said. “Where do you want to start?”

  Rory told him about what had happened before she left for school. Some of it wasn’t easy, because though it sounded general enough, the things he’d said and done, the chain around her wrist, had a motivation that became more blatantly clear under Marcus’s intent regard.

  “I know it’s important for her to get out there and make things happen for herself,” Rory said, shifting. “But there’s this feeling in my gut when I know she needs more…structure, for lack of a better word. It’s like she’s asking me for that, in a way without words.”

  In the extended pause between them, Rory wondered if he’d totally misinterpreted the situation, what Marcus had been trying to tell him that day in the driveway. Marcus removed that concern with one question.

  “What did your gut tell you today?”

  “That I should have gone with her,” Rory said instantly. “I’m wondering if she’s pushing herself too much, out of some misguided idea that she owes us proof that our faith in her isn’t unfounded.”

  He shook his head. “I went through that. Thinking I had to prove myself to everyone by rejecting any help.” He probably still had too much of that, but he recognized when it went in a destructive direction. Mostly. “Sorry. I’m getting off track.”

>   “Not necessarily.” Marcus tapped the rim of his wine glass. “It’s all related. By giving her the bracelet, you made your first real step toward calling your relationship what it is. Acknowledging where it’s headed. How much do you know about the look of that?”

  Rory knew he was going to redden to the roots of his brown hair, but the hell with it. “I’ve looked at things online. Some interesting stuff. Some scary and repulsive things.”

  “Well, it’s the Internet. Equal capacity for both.”

  Rory lifted a shoulder, met Marcus’s gaze. “I also heard Thomas call you something once. And when I look at Daralyn…or rather, when she looks at me…I think I feel that. No, that’s chickenshit. I know it. But I don’t know shit about any of this, so how can I feel that so strong?”

  Marcus’s eyes flickered. “Thomas didn’t need a manual to know he preferred men. That came from his gut, his heart. His cock. His mind. That said, do you know how to read anything other than a farmer’s almanac?”

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  Marcus’s lips tugged in a smile. “I’m going to send a couple books to your tablet. That way you don’t have to worry about your mother seeing shocking print material in your sock drawer when she does your laundry.”

  “She won’t let me do my laundry,” Rory muttered defensively. “She says I do it wrong.”

  “Rory, Les is in medical school and Thomas doesn’t live at home. You pay your share of the bills and live with your mother to take care of her. There’s a big difference in that.”

  “We take care of each other,” Rory said. He appreciated Marcus’s comment, though. He’d razz Rory about plenty of things, but not that.

  He could transfer himself out of his chair into a bed, a shower, a bathroom. All the basics required to make living on his own an option, but it had taken time to get to that place, mentally and physically. During that time, his mother had helped care for him, encouraged him, dealt with his bullshit and his temper.

  Once he moved past that, he could have lived elsewhere, but to prove what? He and Thomas had talked about it, talked about their dad and what he would have wanted.

  Elaine wasn’t helpless or feeble. Hell, she wasn’t even elderly, not really. Marcus didn’t appreciate the reminder, since there was about a fourteen-year age difference between him and Thomas, but Elaine wasn’t much more than a decade or so older than Marcus. She had an active social life, volunteered regularly for their church, and was an avid gardener. She pitched in at the store whenever needed, though Rory had made sure she could start giving more of her efforts to her church and community work, finally enjoy with her friends the leisure time she’d earned a hundred times over.

  Yet for all that, he, Thomas and Les all felt better having someone at home with her. The nest had emptied out fast, and their father had died shortly before that started happening. The house was always in need of repairs, with several outbuildings and a food garden that covered about an acre. Way more than one person could maintain. While the store and Thomas were both making enough to hire people to fix some of the stuff, Rory and his mom were of the same mind on that. If they could do it themselves, there was no need to waste the money.

  The day might come when Rory would get his own place nearby, like Marcus and Thomas had done, but for now, this arrangement worked. Though she’d never hold her children back by saying so, Elaine liked having someone in the house other than just herself.

  “You’re starting to embrace this side of yourself, whether you realize it or not,” Marcus said. “There are theories about this stuff possibly being hereditary.”

  Rory’s brow creased. “You lost me.”

  “We were with you at dinner a couple weeks ago. Your mom was tired, and it was time to clear the table, wash the dishes. Elaine was doing that thing she does, wanting her sons not to be bothered while she flitted around them. You told her to sit down and drink her coffee while you and Thomas cleared. She sat.”

  Rory tried to remember. “I wasn’t disrespectful about it.”

  “Not in the least. But you were adamant, and firm. Firm in a way she responded to.”

  “Are you saying my mother…”

  “I’m saying Thomas told me your father was a very authoritative person. Your mother loved him, fit with him. Thomas said as you’re getting older, you’re acting more like your dad. I’m not going to plant any whips-and-chains images of your parents—”

  “Hell, thanks for that. You just did.”

  Marcus’s eyes sparkled. “It was likely more subtle for them anyway, disguised by their time period, the father as head of household, things like that. But my point is, your father’s behavior and mannerisms groomed something already within you.”

  Thomas came up the steps, picking up the bottle of water left there. He leaned against the porch rail. “Hey. When did you get here? Are you…”

  He trailed off at Marcus’s significant glance.

  Rory realized he was regarding Marcus in an almost mirror pose. Unblinking, his jaw set, back straight, his overall demeanor reflecting a watchful casualness. It was the posture of someone talking to a peer.

  Thomas looked from Marcus to Rory and back. A corner of his mouth twitched, and he shook his head. “Don’t know how I ever missed it,” he muttered.

  “He’s your brother,” Marcus replied. “So…”

  “Yeah. Right. Eww.” Thomas shuddered, but as he turned to leave, he bumped Rory’s foot with one of his own, nodded to him and headed back down the steps.

  “Hunh.” Rory watched his brother move to the wood pile, lean his ass against it and gaze out at the field, taking his break while giving them their privacy. “So he already knows.”

  “Soon as I started pointing out the things in you I’d noticed. We’ve talked about it a couple times, when you might come talk to me. If you would.”

  “Probably why I waited. Everything I learn from you I might have to visualize for Thomas.” Rory echoed his brother’s mock shudder. “Eww.”

  Marcus’s firm lips curved. “Keep that in mind. I have a multitude of ways to traumatize you, because I’ve had your brother in every possible…”

  “Nope. Lalalalala…”

  Marcus grinned and brought the conversation back to topic. “You love her.”

  “Yeah. I do.” Simple, straightforward.

  “How much?” Marcus’s face went blank, no cues. Which meant Rory looked for the answer inside the limitless well of feeling the question inspired.

  “Like whatever God is,” he said. “More than I understand or know, but want to spend a lifetime finding out.”

  At the surprise in Marcus’s face, Rory lifted a shoulder. “My mother’s belief in God looks different from mine or Thomas’s, but she and my dad taught us the important parts. It’s there, if you listen for it. When this happened to me,” he touched the push rim of his chair, “I had to become a way more active listener.”

  “Well said.”

  “Thanks.” Uncomfortable with the praise, Rory pressed on. “You’re going to give me books, homework. Okay, fine. But tell me the traps and pitfalls. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

  “You’re going to do the wrong thing, make mistakes.”

  “She’s had enough of that in her life. I want to do my damnedest not to add to it. Tell me where it’s likely to happen.”

  Marcus pursed his lips. “Fair enough. There’s a fine line between being an alpha asshole and being the Dom a sub needs. So you coming here today, to try and learn, that’s smart. Daralyn is a submissive with a lot of unknowns, in terms of how she’ll react to any relationship, let alone a Dom/sub one. You’ll need to be even more intuitive than most Doms on picking up cues.”

  “I can do that.” He already was. And though they both knew what they were talking about, Marcus actively using the language—Doms, subs—took it to a different level. Made it real. He was really doing this, going down this road. No more hypotheticals. “What else?”

  “Don’t back away fr
om your instincts by second guessing yourself,” Marcus said bluntly. “Which often happens because you’re worrying about the first mistake. It’s trickier terrain, because sometimes the way you need to react looks a lot like the alpha asshole.”

  “Hmm.” Rory thought that through. “Like when Thomas told you that the two of you were done, and not to come after him. But you did anyway.”

  “You do pay attention, Padawan. Better than I give you credit for.”

  “So how do you know when you’ve stepped into the shit of the first mistake?”

  “You don’t always. But when police and restraining orders get involved, it’s a good bet that you’re in that territory.” Marcus chuckled. “Seriously, just read what I send you, stay aware of her cues, and follow your instincts. But no matter how you try, Rory, you are going to make mistakes. Don’t overreact to them. Just think it through, and change the strategy. Don’t abort and retreat when it’s not necessary. That can be equally bad. There’s a reason they put a safety net under the high wire. It cushions the fall, helps a person get back up there again.”

  He’d had to learn the same lesson for his chair. Mistakes happened, and getting bogged down in the failure or embarrassment didn’t help anything.

  “Okay.” He pushed his wheel forward and back, thinking. “Should I…uh…go to one of those clubs?”

  When he’d looked at that kind of thing online, it hadn’t grabbed him. Marcus’s suggestion about his parents might be unsettling, but the structure he’d described struck a very real chord. Maybe the truth for him and Daralyn was somewhere in that realm.

  “One day, if you want to, sure,” Marcus responded. “But what’s between you and Daralyn at this moment might not be ready for that. If the reading material isn’t enough, though, there’s a BDSM group in Charlotte. They hold a Dom/sub 101 class every month, and it doesn’t matter if they have one attendee or fifty, the class happens. You can go to one by yourself, or with Thomas and me.”