Page 2 of Wanted by the Lawman

How he chalked her emotions up to being “prissy” sent her closer to an unwavering edge. “I don’t like the attitude either. Or the games, so I won’t be needing this tonight.” Reaching up, she dragged off her wig and pushed past one steely arm, happy he didn’t resist. Taking a step away from him, she threw the wig at his chest and he caught it. A slow smile lifted his lips, showing off an even row of pearly whites, but it didn’t deter from the iciness of his stare. She gave her natural brown hair a finger comb, sending the pins popping out and her wavy tresses tumbling around her shoulders. The feeling was liberating. “I’m tired of all this.” Her words came out in a plea. “The dressing up. Pretending all the time.”

“I’ve never forced you into doing anything you never wanted to do, baby.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, pushing his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “We’re together in this.”

“I don’t mind a little role playing, but this…wanting me to dress up in costume every night is getting old. I have more slinky lingerie in my closet than regular clothes. More wigs than a drag queen. I’m starting to think you can’t get a rise with me unless I’m dressed up like your personal hooker.”

“That’s not true. You’re sexy, but you know how you, dressed in a slutty dress and a bombshell wig, get me going.” He wagged his brows which made her skin crawl. He eased from his spot and took a step toward her, but she sidestepped him.

“Yeah, I do, and that’s my point. A man shouldn’t have to watch porn all the time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with porn. A lot of men watch it.”

“Yeah, but name one time in the last year that you haven’t had a movie playing while we were having sex.” She received only his silence. “Exactly.”

Dressing up to be someone she wasn’t didn’t entice her as it once did. Tapping into a fantasy world and losing more and more of her true self no longer settled well with her. When she’d met Rory, she was waitressing at a dingy diner, working double shifts to work her way through school. She had goals, but when he swept in, utilizing all his charm, his money, and his ease at making her feel special, her ten-year plan suddenly became a memory. At first, things had been a fairytale and he’d treated her like a princess, but every time she started talking about going back to college, he’d held her off for one reason or another. Lately, she felt less cherished and more like a dimwit, not from a lack of education, but from Rory’s underhanded comments.

At thirty-one, she wanted more than to be treated like a man’s sex-slave. She was smart. Too smart to hide her intelligence behind a rhinestone trimmed bra that made her thirty-four Bs look like thirty-six Cs. Or the spankies that reminded her she liked her chocolate and pasta. The last straw should have been when he, unknowingly to her, scheduled an appointment with the plastic surgeon for breast augmentation. And yet, she allowed him to fool her into believing he wouldn’t be so stupid again. If and when she decided to have “work” done she could make her own appointment, but he shouldn’t hold his breath. She was happy with who she was, although disgusted that she’d lost herself.

“Is this about the drinking, baby? I know I promised. I won’t drink anymore tonight,” his words were garbled.

“Now that the bottle is almost gone,” she murmured. He didn’t hear her, and she wouldn’t repeat it. Wynn marched out of the kitchen, up the winding back stairs that led to their master bedroom. The luxurious suite with the king bed, large upholstered headboard, the five-hundred count sheets, Egyptian carpet, and the expensive makeup lining the vanity once made her feel like a lucky woman, but now she saw that she was handcuffed to a life where she never fit in.

Rory was behind her, a little wobbly on his feet, but it didn’t take him long to catch up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m changing out of this dress and putting on something more comfortable.” She reached into her drawer and pulled out jeans, the ones with the holes and the missing pockets. She stuck each foot in and wiggled them up her legs, zipping and buttoning them. Pulling the dress over her head, she dropped the designer label onto the end of the bed and padded across the room to her walk-in closet. Switching on the light, she turned a full-circle, examining the racks and shelves. She had nothing to wear, in a sea of clothes, but she didn’t care much what she wore if she didn’t have to put the red, strapless dress back on. Choosing an old T-shirt left over from her pre-Rory days, she dragged on the comfortable cotton and tugged the hem down her hips, hearing a seam rip. He hated when she wore her thrift store finds, but in all honesty, she’d never been happy dressing in designer clothes and expensive heels.

Growing up poor, she’d always found her clothes at second-hand stores. Her mother had taught her how to shop frugally and find quality items for less. Rory never appreciated that about her, or her desire to design homes without emptying bank accounts. When she’d moved into the condo with him, she was grateful that he’d let her switch out some of the décor to make their home more comfortable, but the museum feel that still existed in most of the place had never been to her liking.

When she turned she found him blocking her path. “Excuse me.”

“What the hell has come over you?” He looked her over from top to bottom, his nose wrinkling and his eyes growing cold.

“Move, Rory.”

“Or what?”

His raw tone made her throat constrict. He was notorious for pouting or throwing a temper tantrum if he didn’t get his way which was quite ridiculous for a man who was nearing forty. He’d never threatened her or raised a hand in an intimidating way, but then again, she’d never stood up for herself.

“Get. Out. Of my way.”

“You’re being a bitch,” he sneered and stepped back, but made it so that she couldn’t pass him without brushing against his chest.

“Sure, Rory. I’m a bitch, one who is tired of all the bullshit.” She sat down at her vanity, lifted the lid to a bottle and dipped her fingers in it. “I’m sick and tired of the suspicious business dealings of yours.” She smeared the cream all over her face. “The late nights at the office.”

“I told you, Wynn. I work hard to provide you with this lifestyle.”

“What about the police questioning you?” She lifted her gaze, meeting his through the mirror.

“They don’t have proof that I did anything wrong.”

She turned on the cushioned stool. “Interesting choice of words, yet not once have I heard you say that you’re innocent.” Giving him an annoyed look, she swiveled back, plucked a tissue from the box and removed her make up. “I can’t believe all this has been going on under my nose. All those social gatherings and parties you’ve asked me to attend. They were crooks, weren’t they?”

“Watch what you say,” he said in a menacing tone.

“You see, Rory. I’m exhausted of watching what I say. You’ve become a ticking time bomb, and the alcohol is the flint. I won’t apologize anymore and overlook how you have some crazy ass fetishes that are getting sicker. I’ve tolerated you picking out the clothes you want me to wear, the wigs, down to my thong, long enough. I’m not who you want me to be. I’m not sure who it is you want, but I have a feeling you’re finding her at the men’s club.” At his gasp, she nodded. “Yeah, Rory. I know you spend a lot of time there with your business buddies.”

“I close business dealings there.”

“I bet you do. Fact is, I don’t even care any longer. That’s sad for both of us. I’ve wasted three years.” She crumpled her tissue and tossed it into the trashcan.

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