Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(35)

“Y-yes, thank you.” I turned my attention to Porter and grabbed his hand. “We should be going.”

Porter was silent at the register until the cashier gave me the total, then he retrieved his wallet and paid the bill. When I opened my mouth to protest, he simply said, “Keep it. Don’t tell them. Just keep it. Besides, I owe you, don’t I?” He winked, referring to the twenty-five dollars that had been in my purse the day it was stolen.

I thanked him and nodded, appreciating the gesture. I’d never had my own money before. And now I had twenty-eight dollars. Money of my own opened up thoughts that had never occurred to me, ultimately leading to independence and a life outside the compound. With that simple gesture, Porter had shown me that it was, indeed possible. My stomach filled with excitement and butterflies.

Oh yes. Resistance was becoming much easier.

? ? ?

As promised, Porter and I parted ways a block from the compound. He pulled me behind a massive tree to say our good-byes, and apologized for assuming that I enjoyed wearing makeup for Lehi.

“It kills me, Brin. I can’t stand the thought of him dressing you up like some sort of doll.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“I would never do that to you. Ever.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. When you’re with me, I want you—no one else. Just you.”

“You barely know me,” I whispered without thinking it through.

I was finding my voice. Instead of questioning every little statement to leave my lips the way I was forced to in the Cluff household, Porter made me comfortable enough to speak from the heart. With him, I didn’t feel the need to wrap my words in pretense or correctness. I was just . . . me.

“But I want to. I want to know everything there is to know about you, the real you. Not the fake mold they’ve placed you in. The real Brinley. The one who matters.”

He pressed his forehead to mine and wrapped his hands around the back of my neck, pulling me as close as possible. My lips curled into the most satisfied smile of my life as I replayed his words in my head again and again.

Unable to deny my own desire, I allowed him in, loving the feel of him, realizing how much I’d missed and craved his touch. I ran my fingers through Porter’s sandy-colored hair as he ran his hands down my back, then squeezed my bottom, making me gasp.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said between kisses.

“Me too,” I whispered, knowing I could no longer deny the attraction I felt for this complicated man. A man who scared me and excited me. A man who could render me speechless one moment and cause me to yell the next.

“Stop fighting this. Stop hurting yourself. Promise me.” He kissed my chin, my cheeks, my neck.

“I want to, but I don’t know how,” I whispered, soothed by the feel of his lips against my skin. “I don’t know how.”

“Let me teach you,” he murmured between kisses. “Please, please let me.”

When the sun had set completely, I forced myself to pull my lips from Porter’s. With gentle fingers, he smoothed down my disheveled hair, tucking unruly strands back into my braid. When he finished, his face softened and he reached down to touch my wrist with his fingertips. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my injured wrist.

Since his eyes were no longer crazed, his lips gentle and compassionate, I knew the drugs were leaving his system. The real Porter was showing through the harsh exterior I’d encountered earlier.

The scary thing was, I was drawn to both sides of this man.

When he was gentle, I was overwhelmed with amazement and wonder. He soothed me, and when I was with him, hope expanded within me. But his forceful nature, his passionate exasperation aroused something inside me, something intoxicating. Something that drew out the resistance in me. And I craved the fire that he created between us, the fire he lit inside me.

I closed my eyes and nodded. I couldn’t lie to him, and didn’t want to avoid him any longer.

With one last kiss and promises to see each other again, I was on my way back home. Feeling hopeful rather than afraid. Feeling resistant rather than complacent. Feeling empowered rather than imprisoned.

? ? ?

When I got home, the family was gathering in the kitchen and dining areas for dinner. My sister wives were fussing over their children, spoon-feeding their babies and doling out responsibilities to the older children. Lehi was, as usual, reading the church bulletin rather than paying attention to his family.

The only eyes that focused on me when I entered the room and dropped the plastic bags on the counter were Rebecca’s. They were narrowed and angry. I had to look away; her stare made me uncomfortable. Quickly, I scurried to my bedroom.

I was placing my purse in the shoebox in my closet when my door opened.

“Where have you been?” Rebecca asked. Her voice was loud and I cringed, not wanting her to draw attention from Lehi or the other wives.

I stood to face her and squared my shoulders. “I was running errands. Leandra gave me a rather long list. Everything’s in the kitchen.”

“You went to see him, didn’t you?”

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Rebecca’s lips pressed together in a tight line as she awaited my answer.

“I . . . we . . . he . . .” My voice trailed off.

Deep down, I knew I couldn’t trust Rebecca to keep my secret if she knew I’d gone to see Porter. She studied my face with narrowed eyes as if she were holding an invisible magnifying glass. Would she notice my lips, still swollen from stolen kisses? Would she see the redness in my eyes?