Never Say Never Read online

  Trent took possession of it so that she could go and get drinks, and he had already queued up the latest episode of Broad City for them to watch, although his eyes, as always, were on the food and her, more so than the television program.

  He ate every meal as if it was his last, filling a paper plate high with green olives, radishes, celery sticks, baby carrots, Cuties sections, applewood smoked ham shavings, jalapeño pepperoni and raisins, to start with.

  He'd appropriated nearly two thirds of the food she'd brought in, and Stevie knew that he'd eat it all, too. The man was a bottomless pit, and yet he didn't have a spare ounce on him, unlike her, who ate like a friggin' bird and gained weight by just breathing.

  "Didn't your family ever feed you?" she'd asked the first time she'd cooked him dinner and he'd eaten every bit of the beef stew she'd prepared, as well as all of the homemade honey cornmeal biscuits and three fourths of an apple pie. Granted, he was a big guy, but she'd made enough food for an army!

  His bald, short, horrifying answer made her wish she'd kept her nosy questions to herself.

  "No."

  "No?"

  He'd paused in the act of biting into a biscuit, answering her in a terribly matter of fact tone. "My brother and I were taken away from my mother. She was a meth addict and all of her money went to drugs. We were literally starving to death before they found us. I was eight. My brother was six. He didn't make it."

  Stricken at the thought of someone treating their children that way, Stevie reached across the table and covered his big hand with hers. "I'm so sorry, Trent."

  He was more troubled over the fact that she was crying for him, and he loved her even more for her tender heart. "Don't be, honey. What happened to me made me who I am. I'm successful because I made a vow that I would never have to listen to my brother cry himself to sleep because he was hungry ever again. Then, when I'd lost him, I vowed that I would never go to sleep hungry again." He smiled lopsidedly at her, not liking how sad she looked. "It wasn't until I saw Gone With the Wind for the first time that I realized how much I had in common with Scarlett O'Hara."

  "I bet she looked better in the drapes, though," Stevie mused through tears, because she knew he didn't like to see her unhappy, especially not because of him.

  Chapter 6

  Stevie was surprised at what she'd learned about him. That speech he'd made about himself was just about the most words she'd ever heard him string together at any one time, and they were all shocking, every one of them.

  It got her thinking that she knew very little about him, and rather than ask him and make him uncomfortable, she resolved to do a bit of probing on her own, and she decided that her best resource was pretty close to her, although he hadn't been, for a while.

  "Dad?" Stevie settled down in her favorite seat in her small house, the little bow window that looked out into her backyard where she had both regular birdfeeders and humming bird feeders up, although, in truth, the critters that benefited the most from her efforts were probably the gray squirrels, who, since she'd moved in were the size of house cats.

  "Stevie, it's good to hear from you, Peanut!"

  No one had called her that in years, because it was her father's nickname for her. It suffused her with warmth that he even remembered it.

  She wiggled a bit in her seat and was rudely reminded that she needed to do so gingerly. She'd made the mistake of sassing back to Trent last night and not bothering to couch it as a joke because she was in a terrible mood.

  Not one of her better ideas.

  Normally, she was pretty even-tempered and good-natured, but once a month it was every man for himself. She couldn't even remember what he'd said to get her riled any more, or what she'd said back to him that had gotten her into so much trouble.

  But she certainly could remember what he'd done about it!

  She'd never expected to get up close and personal with the seat cushions of the chairs in her dining set, but she'd certainly done so last night. When she'd bought them, she'd been looking for big, comfortable, cushy seats because she and her friends loved to get together on Friday or Saturday nights and have Game Night, which sometimes lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

  At the time she'd been purchasing them, however, she hadn't realized that she should have been looking for something that was both absorbent and tear-stain resistant.

  They had been in the middle of dinner. She had been surprised that he had actually allowed anything to disturb his enjoyment of it, frankly.

  Something had come out of her mouth that he had objected to, and he had stood up abruptly, grabbing her wrist as he did so or she would have been out of there instantly. He'd come around to where she sat, guided her to stand behind the chair her bottom had just been warming, and bent her over the back of it. It was just high enough that, as he put her hands on either side of the seat and cautioned her not to let go of it until he gave her permission to, she would either have to remain on her tiptoes or let her legs just dangle.

  She chose to remain on her tiptoes, which gave her at least the illusion of having some kind of control over the situation.

  Although she knew it was just an illusion.

  His voice was almost soothing as she heard the sounds she dreaded most, the distinct metallic clink of his belt being unbuckled, but every bit of her stiffened in response anyway.

  "I'm sorry to have to do this, my love, but you have been cranky since I came through the door. I can handle you in a bad mood. I understand that sometimes you have a crappy day, everyone does, and it affects your usually sunny disposition. But when it descends into disrespect, I will address it, and in a way that you are not at all likely to enjoy."

  And she most certainly did not.

  He'd had her howling with pleasure nearly every time he touched her, this was the first time he'd had her howling with pain. This time was even worse than the first time he'd used his belt on her – when she was in her early twenties – it seemed, although it didn't seem to take any longer, if she remembered correctly, and she remembered pretty much every instant of both of those first two times because she'd played them over and over in her mind.

  They were the two stars of her spank bank.

  This time, however, was definitely not going to be anything of the sort.

  The belt sung innocently as he whipped it through the air, and her anguished response set it to singing again. It was a vicious cycle that didn't end until Trent thought she had learned her lesson.

  When he was through, he replaced his belt around his waist while she remained bent over, her throbbing red bottom on indecent display while she tried to control her breathing as she sobbed just as heavily as if he was continuing to thrash her harshly.

  Then he helped her stand up and lifted her into his arms, paying careful attention not to touch that thoroughly striped behind, carrying her into her bedroom and laying her down on her side. Instead of huddling around her, as he usually would, he lay on the bed in front of her and held her to him, rubbing her back as she sobbed her heart out on his shoulder. He undressed her like a child then popped her into one of her own t-shirts to sleep in, hers instead of his so that it wouldn't come down over her bottom and potentially irritate it.

  No panties, of course. She never had need of those around him.

  Once he had her comfortable, he simply held her, rubbing her back soothingly until she fell asleep in his arms.

  "Peanut? Are you still there?"

  Pulled out of her reverie, Stevie asked after her father's health, and he allowed that he was beginning to feel a bit old, but nothing more, not that she'd really expected he was going to tell her anything. Then he came out and asked her why she'd called.

  Her father never had been one for small talk.

  "I was just wondering if you minded me asking you some questions about..." Suddenly, she wondered if Trent might consider that she was betraying him somehow by doing this – by going to her father rather than asking him directly.

 
"Trent?"

  Stevie's eyebrows went up. She hadn't expected that her father would be quite that insightful. "Yes, if you don't mind and you don't think he'd mind," she added.

  "Oh, I don't think he would. It's not like he doesn't know he's not very forthcoming about much of anything about his life before he joined the company, although I have to say, my girl, that I think it's a sign of just how good you are for him – how good you are for each other – that he's started talking so much more. You draw him out of himself, out of his shell in a way I've never seen anyone else do it. Compared to how closed-mouthed he used to be, he's a regular Gabby Gertie!"

  Stevie had to laugh at the idea of Trent being characterized that way, but she was glad to hear – and surprised to find that she really was, actually – that her father thought she was a good influence on him. "So what do you know about him?"

  When she put the phone down almost an hour later – a record long conversation with her father, even before their rift – she knew a hell of a lot more about the man she was sleeping with.

  She was beginning to see the error of her ways, and this was just the tip of the iceberg.

  She'd learned that he'd been desperate for the job when he'd applied for it, that it was not for a position as her father's assistant but rather a much more lowly job in sales. He had offered to work for a month with no pay in order to get it, which had impressed the man interviewing him so much that he hired him on the spot.

  He did so well in sales – even when he was working for free – that he got promoted and then promoted again. Within less than a year with the company, he was at her father's elbow, still living dirt cheap, still buying his suits at Goodwill and living at a flop house, but absolutely dedicated to the job and working with a single minded determination that got Elliott's attention – and admiration – very quickly.

  Trent was smart and caught on easily, and despite the fact that he only had a community college undergraduate degree and a local state college business degree, he proved himself invaluable to Elliott in every situation.

  Regardless of how forthcoming her father seemed to be, she had a feeling that there was more to the story that he wasn't telling her, for some reason.

  Stevie had heard enough, though, and that night when he got home, she had his favorite dinner, meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, brown sugar carrots, and homemade chocolate cake.

  "Wow, what's this?" he asked, pulling her to him.

  She was in a frilly pink apron that covered her front and not much else. "Oh, just something I threw together."

  His heart nearly stopped when she turned around to go into the kitchen and bring out the rest of their dinner. That apron was the perfect frame for a bottom that still showed ample signs of having been attended to recently.

  He was always hard around her, but now he was painfully so.

  Especially, since he'd spent the day in a distracted haze, musing about the lovely, unexpected thing that had happened this morning when they'd both awakened just before the alarm.

  Stevie had snuggled up to his side in the dark, which he adored. He let his arm snake around her to pull her even closer. "Mmm, just what I need first thing in the morning."

  How could she still blush with him? And he wasn't even saying something blush-worthy, just something sweet?

  "I-I just wanted to tell you something," she whispered, hiding her face against his neck.

  Every nerve Trent owned went on alert, and he instantly realized that there was no way to prepare for what he thought she was going to say to him, which was goodbye. Why she'd do it first thing, before their day had even begun, he didn't know, but he knew he was going to do everything he could to fight for her.

  He wanted to delay it, he needed time to prepare.

  And then, she said it.

  "I'm sorry for last night. I was in such a bad mood and I shouldn't have said what I did."

  He had never been so touched in his life. She was apologizing to him even though he'd taken his belt to her bottom, and judging by the way she was moving and the fact that she had awakened on her tummy, he'd bet it was still quite painful. "I understand, honey. I do." He kissed the top of her head. "But I'll always call you on it. I'll always correct you for it, if you are disrespectful to me because I will do my very best to never be that way to you. And I know that, as much you dislike it, it makes you feel safe and loved and looked after when I discipline you."

  She didn't say anything, but nodded her head against his neck.

  Relief and elation had him high for the rest of the day, only to come home and see the lovely dinner she'd made for him.

  When everything was finally on the table, he bowed before her and offered her his arm, seating her formally at his right hand as he took his place at the head of the table.

  Then he completely ruined the effect by leaning close to her and stage-whispering, as if they were sharing a secret, "Okay, what did you do? Wreck the car? Overdraw the checkbook? Forget to wear your pearls while you were vacuuming?"

  They'd had a laugh several nights ago about how fifties their unusual little arrangement was, and, when she was home from school, she was very June Cleaverish, and she found she liked it. She loved cooking, and it was great to cook for someone who was so effusively appreciative of her efforts. So far, she'd never cooked anything for him that he hadn't loved.

  They had found – the more time they spent together – that they were a surprisingly good match. He was the CEO of a big company, but – probably because of his origins – he was very down to earth, and so was she. She was quite content with her life; she'd never wanted to be anything but a teacher, and until recently, she'd found it very fulfilling.

  Now, she found him very fulfilling.

  Much more so than school.

  Nevertheless, she frowned deeply back at him. "I haven't done anything wrong."

  His eyebrow rose, saying, "I'll be the judge of that, young lady," in a tone that earned him the nervous butt wiggle in her seat that he had been going for.

  She gave him as close to an outraged look as she dared, trying unsuccessfully to ignore how her bottom had begun throbbing again. "Stop it, Trent!"

  He caught her left hand in his right, bringing the backs of her fingers to his mouth for a barely-there kiss and a salacious wink. "Never! Now that I have you in my clutches, I will never let you go!" he chuckled in a truly evil manner, and she giggled, which was his aim.

  As usual, he devoured her food as readily as he devoured her, sitting back in his chair with a glass of wine. "You outdid yourself, my love. It was absolutely perfect."

  Stevie smiled. "I'm glad you liked it. But there's something...serious that I'd like to talk to you about."

  His heart lodged firmly in his throat for the second time that day, but he wasn't one to delay potentially uncomfortable or bad things. Instead, he met them head on.

  So he pushed his chair back from the table, took her hand and guided her over to his favorite big overstuffed recliner and sat down, then gathered her onto his lap.

  Holding her there, safe and secure, her head tucked beneath his chin, he rumbled, "So, what is it?" as neutrally as he could manage.

  Now that the moment was at hand, Stevie found she was losing her nerve. Her feelings for this man were changing rapidly, and that was making her feel both guilty and insecure about what she was going to say. If someone had told her several months ago that she would even have been considering it, she would have laughed them off the planet. But he had come to mean more to her – enough to her – that she was acutely aware of the weight of it in her mind and on her tongue.

  For a long while, she simply twirled his tie around her finger nervously, until his hand came up and closed over her.

  "You're going to strangle me with that. I hope that was not your intent..." He meant it to be a light-hearted joke, but of course it didn't come across the way he intended.

  "No, definitely not."

  After another long pause, he began to stroke his hand la
zily up and down her back. "So what did you want to say to me, little one?" He only prompted her because he was practically sick to his stomach worrying that she was going to tell him that she wanted to end this...relationship, or whatever it was that they had, and he couldn't fight that which he didn't know.

  He'd rather hear whatever horrible thing it was that she was going to say to him and deal with it than sit here forever, dreading it.

  But even that gentle entreaty didn't spur her into saying what she wanted to say.

  "Stevie."

  She swallowed hard. There was just the slightest hint of a warning in his voice now, and she knew that she was close to wearing out his infinite patience with her.

  Moving restlessly within the confines of his arms, she finally stretched herself out facing away from him, with her back to him.

  "Is it better if I don't look at you?" he whispered.

  "Yes, please," she whispered back.

  "Okay, I won't, but baby girl, you've got me on pins and needles here, and it's only making it worse for me, the longer you drag it out."

  "You are?" she asked, as if the idea had never occurred to her.

  He snorted. "Of course I am! I don't know what you're going to say. You could confess to being a serial killer and having various boyfriend pieces or parts buried all around this place, you could tell me that you used to be a man, which I have to admit that I'd be very surprised to find out, considering how closely I've...uh, inspected certain parts of you, but I suppose you really never know. Or," he gulped hard, knowing she'd heard him because her ear was right there. "You could very well want to tell me to fuck off."

  "No, that's not it," she got out immediately upon hearing the last one, not intending to torture him just because she was a chicken shit. She knew he had feelings for her, and she didn't want him worrying that was what she was going to say. It must've been very prominent in his mind, because he didn't use language like that, and it had all the more impact because she knew it.