Page 21 of Laying His Claim
As her sobs abated, she began to wonder; what had it felt like to be in his bed, in his arms? What had making love to Justin been like? Was it long, slow and gentle, or fast, demanding, greedy? And how had she liked it? Did she enjoy being under him, on top of him, side-by-side, freeing her arms to reach out and caress? Did he bring her to orgasm fast, over and over, or did he torment her, make her beg?
She lifted her head to look at him and to her surprise realized he was looking down at her intently. It was impossible to understand the emotion hovering behind his eyes. Immediately, she withdrew, feeling overheated and awkward.
What was he seeing when he looked at her? What was he feeling? Was he missing Old Jalissa? Did he wish she was that woman again, the woman with the crystal-encrusted dress and the red bra? The woman he’d intended to marry, and who he’d insisted, had said yes to his proposal?
Of course, he missed her. Who wouldn’t? Old Jalissa was confident to the point of being brash, bold and daring in her tastes. She reveled in her own sexuality. That woman had no problem laying herself bare—literally—and reveling in the unabashed looks of appreciation from men.
But she was no longer that woman. She had no idea who that woman even was! Whoever Justin was expecting her to be, she knew now she’d never be that person again.
She wrenched out of his arms and stood, putting a few paces between herself and him. He stood, too, looking confused. “Jalissa, what’s wrong?”
“Not her,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
“What?” He hadn’t heard her.
“I. Am. Not. That. Woman!” she clarified, jabbing her fingers in the direction of the unfortunate box of skimpy clothes. “I’m not her!”
He misunderstood. “You will be, eventually,” he soothed. “I promise. It will come with time.”
“No!” Her voice rose, echoing off the metal ceiling of the storage container. “I never want to be her again!”
Frustrated, she began grabbing up her mementos, the family albums, her parents’ correspondence, her legal documents, and shoving them into the Personal box. She huffed as she lifted it off the floor, causing Justin to grab it from her before she keeled over.
“I’ve got this,” he said.
She was so upset she couldn’t even thank him. She flicked a lock of hair behind her ear and scanned the room, making sure there was nothing important that she was leaving behind. “I’ll put this in the car and then we’ll come back for more,” he said.
“No.”
“No?” he was puzzled.
“I don’t want this. Any of this. These,” she waved her arm angrily in the direction of the boxes, “these things aren’t mine. None of them!”
He was obviously trying to be patient. “Well,” he asked cautiously, as if afraid to set her off again, “what do you want me to do with them?”
“I don’t care, Justin! Can’t you understand that? Burn them; sell them; donate them. Whatever. I just don’t ever want to see them again.”
He had the good sense not to argue. Instead, he hitched up the box and stepped through the roll-up door, and stood aside for her to step out. He locked it and mutely handed her the key. She took it with a nod, a bit ashamed of her outburst but not ready to let it go. Instead, she began leading him out to the parking lot. “Seb’s waiting at home,” was all she said.
Chapter 8
It took just two more weeks of hard work in the home gym for Jalissa’s physiotherapist to inform her proudly that she no longer needed to continue her thrice-weekly sessions. “I’ll only need to check in with you just once a month, from now on,” she said. “Isn’t that great?”
“Wonderful.”
The two women parted company and, after Jalissa saw her off at the door, she turned and headed up the hallway to her room, mopping up the sheen of sweat from her forehead. She’d worked so hard, and even though it had been agonizing, exhausting, even boring, she was miles away from the place she’d started, when she could barely stand for more than a few minutes without being overcome by dizziness.
She was eager to tell Justin, even though their conversations had become strained again. Sure, they communicated okay whenever it came to Sebastian, but when they were alone, they struggled to keep each other’s gaze. Conversations were limited to casual chat about Justin’s workday, new deals he was planning, what Jalissa was reading now, and what they were having for dinner.
But this was good news: she’d taken another huge leap toward wholeness, and she was eager to share it with him. So, she went looking for him, calling his name as she went. “Justin?”
She found him in his home office, standing at his desk with documents spread out before him, pen in hand, head bent, attention completely focused on his task. It almost made her smile to think that he was such an energetic man that sitting down made him antsy. He did most of his work standing, and even so he constantly vibrated with energy.
Jalissa had to call his name a second time before he heard her and looked up. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, so she began to stammer out an apology for disturbing him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. It’s nothing. I could come back.”
He gave her a half smile. “No, it’s fine.” To demonstrate his willingness to listen, he placed the silver Mont Blanc pen down on the desk. “Talk to me.”
Talk to you,she thought.I’d love nothing better than to talk to you. But why is it always so hard? Itcrossed her mind that maybe it was hard because what her body really wanted, she really wanted from him, had nothing to do with talking.
