Page 84 of Bargaining

I opened one eye. “What did I say?”

His fingers raked through my hair, carefully picking out clay, like I was something fragile. He rinsed off the shampoo. Hot water cascaded down my neck.

“You met my nephews at the wedding, right? Oliver, the youngest, had a birthday party a couple of years ago. Thirty small children running around in a soft play. It was one of the worst afternoons of my life.”

A laugh burst out of me at his earnest expression. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

He mock-shuddered. “No. It was. Intolerable. Believe me. I bet there have been less chaotic war zones. I had to lie in a dark room afterward. It took days to recover.”

“Your nephews must have been thrilled to have you there.”

He scooped more water into the jug and tenderly rinsed the ends of my hair. “Oliver loves to build towers. He made this enormous creation out of blocks while the rest of the children were running wild. But do you know what happened to it? Just as he was putting on the last block, some kid came running across and kickedit over. Oliver didn’t even cry. He just looked confused. That’s the part that really fucked me off.”

“This one next.” I passed him a bottle of conditioner. “Kids can be mean sometimes.”

He squeezed the conditioner into a white blob in his hands. “The kid who did it ran off with this look of glee. I helped Oliver rebuild the tower, and if any kid got so much as within a sniff of us, I gave them my death glare.”

“Your death glare? You know you’re going to have to show me now.”

He tilted his chin and stared me down with his icy eyes. It was probably intimidating to anyone else, but it only made me chuckle.

“So, this is basically a story about you terrorizing small children at a party? What does it have to do with me?”

He combed the conditioner through the length of my hair with his fingers. My scalp thrummed with pleasure at his touch.

“The point is, some kids build the towers and some kids kick them over. History is divided into creators and destroyers. Deep down, everyone would prefer to build the tower because that’s where the satisfaction comes from. The joy is in the creating. You were born a creator. My mother was the same. My father said her solos were so affecting, she could make a grown man weep.”

I closed my eyes again, surrendering to the heat and pleasure at his hands. “Anyone can learn to paint if they want to. Anyone can make music. Creativity is within all of us. It’s not some mysterious spark. I wasn’t born a creator. I think artists are made through practice and hard work.”

“But in that moment, for whatever reason, that kid wanted to destroy something someone else had built. Maybe he got a rush from punching down, or maybe he was just jealous because he wanted to build his own tower, but didn’t know how.”

He leaned forward to rinse away the last of the conditioner from my hair. “My father is a destroyer. I have no doubt he was born that way. It’s all he’s capable of. He has spent a lifetime kicking over other people’s towers. It shames me to say, I’ve kicked over a few myself. It sounds like your old tutor was the same kind of man.

“You can’t allow someone like that to get inside your head. Destroyers spread hate because that’s what they have inside. They don’t know how to do anything else. Never let people like that stop you from building your towers, because then you deprive the world of your gifts, and everyone loses.”

A pang pulled at my heart.If only it were that simple.“And if someone kicks the tower over again? You get hurt twice. It’s easier not to try.”

He fixed his gaze on my breasts. “You think I’m ever going to let anyone get near one of your towers?” He reached out and gently circled my nipple with his thumb. “If anyone tries to kick down anything you build, you tell them to go fuck themselves, and you start again. They don’t matter. Kids don’t build towers to impress art tutors. They do it because they enjoy it.”

“Did you tell a five-year-old to go fuck themselves?”

His hand plunged under the water and explored between my thighs. “No comment.”

Heat surged through my body as his finger slid over my entrance. “There can’t just be creators and destroyers, because which category are you going to put yourself into?”

“I’m a destroyer,” he said without hesitation, his finger circling my clit lightly.

My breath hitched, and I tried to keep rational thought in my head, despite his touch making me senseless. “No. You said yourself you sat there and warded all these other kids away with your death glare. You’re not a creator or a destroyer.”

“Then what am I?”

“A protector. You wouldn’t let anyone get near that tower. I think you’re the favorite uncle for a reason, and not just because you bring gifts. Your nephews see the real Cole. The one you don’t show other people. The one I see.”

His finger slipped inside me at the same time as his mouth covered mine. He kissed me until we were both breathless. My hips jerked against his hand, willing him to work faster.I shouldn’t want this. I can’t not want it.

Breaking the kiss, his eyes locked with mine. “A protector?”

“You’re not full of hate. At least, you didn’t used to be. You don’t have to be now if you don’t want to be. No one is born a creator or a destroyer. You can choose who you want to be.”