Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

might bring him back to you again?” His control broke. “For God’s sake, have some faith in us, in me. Stop running from him. Stop being so afraid. You can do better than this.”

Something in her went still, frozen. He knew he’d said the wrong thing and

instantly wished he could take it back. She lifted her chin, spoke in a voice that was terrible for its low intensity, the enormous feelings that trembled behind the quiet words.

“It’s not about fear. It’s about never feeling clean, spending years scrubbing your soul raw so you can eat without feeling nauseous, can look in the mirror and meet your own eyes when you put on makeup, brush your hair. To learn to be strong, to run your life and not be a victim of it, knowing in your heart that everything you’ve built is sitting on a foundation that can sink at any time. And you build it anyway, on faith alone that it won’t be shattered, when everything in your life tells you that faith is a fucking joke, but you do it anyway. You do it anyway.

“Have you ever been completely helpless while someone is torturing you? Night

after night? I should have died on that building that day, but I didn’t. I’ve had to make myself a life, believing I should be dead, wanting to be dead because I couldn’t stop him from destroying them. I’ve done the best I can. The very best I can. And to have the person who says he loves me tell me it’s not good enough…”

Her face was strained, white, tearless, which made the brittle brilliance of her blue eyes even more terrible to see.

“Oh, Marguerite.” He closed the gap between them and pulled her in his arms

despite the fact she stood rigid. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

She shook in his arms, but the tight fist of fear around his heart eased a fraction as, an eternity of a moment later, her arms crept up, held him back. He stroked her hair, held her fiercely close, whispered to her, but the words were resounding in his head, pounding at him in a way he could not push away.

…to have the person who says he loves me tell me my best is not good enough…

He put his hands to her bare waist, though he felt as if he were the one naked. He even felt a tremor in his hands which he hoped she didn’t. Something was shifting between them. He’d hoped to reach the point she would open up to him the way she was starting to do. He hadn’t anticipated it would open up things in himself as well, things he’d thought he could keep out of their relationship.

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Joey W. Hill

With an effort, he beat it back and lifted her chin. “Your strength humbles me in every way. I’m a stupid bastard and I was taking out my frustration on you. Your fear tears at my heart. I don’t want you to have a moment of pain or worry.”

Her blue eyes studied his. He was afraid she saw too much of what was moving

there. “That is entirely unrealistic,” she said at last.

He felt a smile grow in his chest, sweeping the shadows back to their corners and knew Josh had it wrong. It was Marguerite who kept his nightmares at bay.

He cleared his throat. “I want to show you a special place on the grounds. Let’s go find you some clothes and good walking shoes so I can take you there.”

She gave him a long look, which reminded him uncomfortably of how she studied

her subs when they were trying to hide something from her, but at length she nodded.

“Okay.”

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Mirror of My Soul

Chapter Nine

She’d brought a loose cotton gauze dress that provided optimal comfort over her assortment of aches and pains from the prior evening’s activities. They walked hand in hand to the water’s edge and he took her on a path along it, explaining more of the history of the plantation, identifying different birds they saw, flower types she touched as they passed. Marguerite had felt the tremor in his hands when he asked for her forgiveness. As she opened her dark rooms to him, she was making the intriguing discovery that it was providing the key to some of his. She wanted to know this man she’d chosen to call Master down to his soul, in a way she hadn’t tried to do even with the submissives who had offered her everything.

However, she wasn’t as ruthless as her reputation. She suspected the past twelve hours had drained him as emotionally and physically as they had drained her, so for now they walked quietly, talking of easy things. At his prompting, she described the trips she’d made to South America, India and other parts of Asia for different tea auctions and plantation visits, the people she’d met there. His arm slid around her waist, bringing her closer as the day became cloudier and a breeze started to build in strength off the water. “We’re going to get a storm.” He eyed the sky. “We’re about halfway to where I wanted to take you. You want to keep going or turn back?”

She looked up at him. “Keep going. I’ll risk the storm.”

He tightened his hold on her and they resumed walking. “Marguerite,” he said

after a bit, his voice more serious. “I am sorry, about before. I’m an ogre like that, you know. I get impatient when the people I care about are threatened. When I feel helpless to make them feel better, safer.”

“A very male reaction. Men get angry and aggressive when things don’t go their way.” She stopped, gave him honesty. “And you do make me feel better, safer.”

He half smiled, but something deadly moved into his expression, something that startled her, though she had sensed it was in him from the first time they’d met. “I can