Текст книги "The Gilded Chain"

Автор книги: Lauren Smith

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Chapter 12

You can’t escape. There’s no way out now.” He caged her body beneath his as he leaned over the bed and kissed her. Biting her bottom lip, he sucked it into his mouth before ravaging her lips.

“Helpless, my sweet little Callie, so trusting, so brave. Now you are truly mine.” Wes’s words sounded like a promise of dark, erotic things to come as he gave her one more drugging kiss.

Her body trembled, fear and excitement taking over completely. What did he plan to do to her?

Wes straightened and walked to the edge of the bed. His hands snaked out, gripping her ankles. He was too strong, could easily control her now. Her breathing turned to soft pants as her desire for him and her excitement flowed through her.

“Keep them open or I’ll paddle your ass a rich shade of red.” It was her only warning. He bent over the bed and wedged his shoulders between her knees. She tensed. “Relax,” he encouraged more gently.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. She could do this. His palms skated down her inner thighs and his warm breath fanned her exposed sex. A little shudder of vulnerability and awareness rippled through her. He lifted one eyebrow at her when her legs trembled beneath his hands. Her legs almost started to jerk closed, but he pressed harder on her, keeping them open as he held her still on the bed.

Callie lifted her head a little more so she could look down the length of her body. What she saw stole her breath.

Wes, poised above the most secret part of her where none had seen or touched her before. His disheveled hair fell across his eyes as he breathed deeply. His shoulder muscles tensed and moved with each small adjustment he made as he drew closer. His long dark brown lashes fanned up as he met her gaze. He was all masculine power, all raw lust and desire, like a sex god. Inescapable, completely consuming. And he wanted her. Whatever he saw in her own face seemed to encourage him because he bent his head and licked.

The gasp that escaped her was loud and shaky. The sensation was strange, warm, and soft, yet each lick shot her to a wild edge of need. He licked again, a different spot, a light thrusting of his tongue, a circular teasing and then a sucking on her tender bud. That was all it took. She burned to flames as a powerful orgasm swept through her, but he didn’t stop. He added one finger, pushing it into her swollen channel, drawing out the ecstasy until she quivered helplessly around him, unable to think past his touch and the feel of his hands on her body.

Then he unfastened his jeans and lowered them down his hips, taking his black briefs off with them. Callie tensed at the sight of his cock. The man was hung. There was no way he’d fit inside her.

“Don’t get scared now,” he chuckled. “Too late for that.” He held out a strip of cloth, a blindfold, and then climbed over her, sealing it over her eyes and knotting it behind her head. She felt like a horse with blinders on, not sure what was going on around her. The sudden surge of panic hit her like a freight train and she started panting.

“Wes…Wes I…”

A fingertip pressed her lips closed. “Deep breaths. I swore not to hurt you, except for the obvious part of taking your virginity. You must trust me, Callie. The loss of sight is to decrease your fear and heighten your senses.” His voice was clear, almost in her ear, so rich and seductive that her body sagged back on the bed, much more relaxed by his assurances. She listened for sounds but couldn’t make out what he was doing. Soft classical music began to play, which meant he must have turned on the sound system on the dresser. Rustling, like the sound of things being removed from plastic packages, was soon covered by the increasing volume of the music.

“Art is not always pencils on paper or paint on canvas. Art is any form of perfection.” Wes’s voice was close again and she felt his warm breath by her ear. “Listen to the music. Embrace every note, every melody and countermelody. Feel the soul of the music. What do you see when you hear it?” Something soft, like silk drifted down her neck, like a fingertip, but it didn’t feel like skin to skin, but something softer.

“What is that?” she demanded.

Wes chuckled. “I’ll allow that one question, but no more questions when I blindfold you. Answer with ‘yes, sir.’”

“Y—yes, sir.” The word “sir,” a word of power and respect, made her feel a little nervous and excited at the same time. Not because she wanted to be subservient to him, but it was comforting to feel like he was in charge here and she only had to obey him to please him. It removed a lot of pressure from her as to what to do.

“Good girl. Now what you are feeling?” He paused, dragged the object in slow swirls on and around one of her nipples and it pebbled at the stimulation. “That is a paintbrush dipped in cold water.” The sliver of the brush’s tip swept over her nipple again, and she hissed at the coldness and how it made her come alive. “Now, tell me what you think. How does it feel?”

She waited a moment, trying to sort out what she felt. “It feels good, but in a sharp way,” she whispered, a little shy for expressing what she felt sensually.

His chuckle rasped over her bare skin. “I may have no artistic talent, but I do enjoy this and I believe I do it quite well,” he mused aloud and then his mouth left a trail of hot kisses up her throat, her chin, and then to her mouth.

The strings of the classical piece were bittersweet, a hint of sorrow and the promise of hope. Images filled her head and her heart as all she could do was listen, feel, and kiss Wes. There was a fluttering excitement of exploring Paris with Wes…exploring herself with him…

The bed shifted as Wes climbed over her and her thighs were nudged apart with gentle but firm hands. The blindfold was tugged from her eyes and she blinked dazedly. He was above her, arms braced on either side of her head and she felt him. A small nudge against her resistant flesh.

“Tell me what you can feel,” he growled as he shifted inside her another inch. Callie moaned at the foreign sensation.

“I feel good…but I ache.” It was all so—a swift thrust of his hips and she cried out at the stabbing pain. He silenced her with his lips, swallowing any noises she might have made.

“It’ll be over soon,” he murmured soothingly, coiling one hand in her hair as he held still inside her. “Focus on my mouth and the music,” he urged and then slanted his mouth over hers again.

“So much pain,” she whimpered against his lips. It was like a hot poker stabbing her inside.

“Shhhh.” He kissed her. “Relax and kiss me.”

She tried to do as he commanded. And then she heard it. The soft trill of birds. Her birds. The sweet little noises they made and the sound melted her, calmed her. Her knees clasped around Wes’s narrow hips, but out of encouragement rather than pain.

“Better?” he asked. His blue eyes were electric, sparking with desire and yet shadowed with worry.

She gave a jerky little nod. “Better.”

His body rocked back and then forward and the sensation stung a little but it was more comfortable now than painful. Wes slid a hand between their bodies and circled her clit with a fingertip. The added sensation kicked her body into a hungry need for more. A flood of wet heat eased his entrance into her body and he must have sensed it and he began to fuck her, slow, deep penetrations that made them both share moans each time he drove into the hilt.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel like heaven.”

Callie felt a blush heat her cheeks. “You feel good, too.” She wasn’t at all sure what a girl was supposed to say to a man making love to her, but she wanted him to know how good he felt. The weight of his body, the way her knees clutched his hips, the way he was in complete control. Every move he made ratcheted her pleasure higher and higher. She attempted to raise her hips a few times.

“I’ve dreamed about this, Callie,” he confessed in a dark whisper, his face inches above hers. “Taking you to bed and fucking you in a thousand ways. I had no idea how good it would feel, how good you feel, wrapped so tight around me. God, it’s incredible.”

She squeezed her inner muscles in sheer reactive instinct to his word, and he cursed, but his face was taut with pleasure not anger.

“Do that again, when I’m all the way inside,” he coached and rammed back into her. Their hips pressed pelvis to pelvis until no inch separated them, they were as close as two people could get. A strange emotion filled her chest and spread outward as she stared up at Wes. It was partly heat, but something softer, deeper, more lasting and more frightening because it would not easily fade. Being with him, not just physically, but here in Paris, touring, laughing, living…it was starting to hold a meaning for her, a purpose. Something she’d never thought she’d have outside the ranch in Colorado.

Wes had made that possible.

“What are you thinking about?” He withdrew from her and slid back in. The roll of his hips was leisurely as he nuzzled her cheek and then stole an openmouthed kiss before allowing her to answer.

“You, only you,” she whispered as pleasure started to creep into her. A climax was close, like a shadow behind a thin curtain. She had but to pass through the filmy barrier. Just a little harder, a little rougher. “Don’t be so gentle,” she said, giving a little feminine growl.

Wes lost control. Her answer spurred him into a frenzy. He pinned her wrists to the bed, even though she was already chained. His hips pummeled against hers and she could only accept the pace and his power as he drove into her again and again. When the orgasm hit her, he came only a second later, both of them fighting for breath. The world around her shattered like a dying star, exploding with light and warmth. She almost swore her body floated back down to the bed from a place in the clouds. Above her Wes dropped heavily against her, barely able to hold himself up. His usually cool, seductive hardness was gone. In its place was a look of wonder and fascination tinged with wariness.

“Was I too rough? You never used your safe word.” He seemed to be desperately trying to collect himself and regain control.

Callie couldn’t speak, not right away, and this seemed to worry him because he hastily got out of bed and unchained her wrists, removing the cuffs. Then he cupped her face and forced her eyes to his.

“Are you all right, darling? Please say something.”

She covered his wrists with her hands and smiled dreamily up at him. She felt…wonderful.

“I’m good. Better than good. Wonderful.” She felt suddenly shy despite everything they’d done and she dropped her hands from his wrists and tried to pull away.

“Stay right there,” he ordered and went to his closet where he fetched a shirt and a pair of boxers from his dresser. “Put these on.” He assisted her, even though she tried to swat his hands away. Before she was done, he’d pulled back the sheets of his bed and settled her there.

“Wes, I’m fine—” He silenced her with a shake of his head.

“Rest. I put you through a lot. I’ll go check on dinner and get you something to drink.” He threw on a pair of jeans before she could stop him.

She stared at the empty doorway in shock. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone after…She glanced at the rumpled bed and shivered. She could sit here and mope or go after him.

With caution, she climbed out of the bed, wincing with each step as she entered the bathroom. She pulled Wes’s boxers down and tended to the sore spot between her legs. She’d taken quite a pounding for her first time. A little bit of blood coated her thighs and she washed it off with her hands, trembling. After she pulled the boxers back up, she was disposing of the bloody towels when she realized she was being watched.

Wes stood at the entrance of the bathroom, a glass of water in hand. A scowl darkening his features more than his usual demeanor did.

“That’s more blood than I thought…” He stared at the bloodied cloth, and then his eyes shot to hers. He set the water down on the counter next to her. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”

Callie frowned right back at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t be stupid, Wes. I’m fine. I figured there would be blood. It’s not like I haven’t bled down there before.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, but her flippant response didn’t seem to amuse him, either.

“I’m serious, Callie. I might have hurt you. Damn, this was a bad idea. You aren’t ready—”

Smack!

Her hand exploded with pain as she whacked him open palmed across the cheek. She barely bridled her anger and hurt at his insinuation that she wasn’t ready.

He touched his reddening cheek in shock, dark red-brown brows lifting.

“I. Am. Fine,” she snapped. “Stop trying to baby me and quit hurting me by suggesting I’m not ready. It’s too late for that. We slept together. You can’t give me my virginity back just because you’re bored already. Don’t try to hide that from me. I’m fully aware it took you only a few days to seduce me and get me into bed. Shame on me for making it easy for you to win that stupid bet.”

Tears stung her eyes and carved cold paths down her cheeks. This wasn’t how she’d pictured her first time. She hadn’t been foolish enough to expect romance, candles, or declarations of love, but she wasn’t expecting this, either. Not after Fenn had broken her heart and she’d vowed never to love again. The warmth in her chest hardened into stone and was on the verge of fracturing. She couldn’t do this. Not again, not so soon after Fenn. Stifling a sob, she tried to run past Wes but he captured her by the waist and dragged her into his arms, fiercely holding her so she couldn’t move. Her breath hitched and the anger churning inside her deflated, and all that was left was humiliation. She was bruised and battered on the inside.

Damn Wes and his beautiful life. I don’t need it or him.

She struck out at his chest and he let her do it, but the blows weren’t hard and she collapsed against him after only a moment of trying to get free. He made soft shushing noises, and as much as she hated it, the noise soothed her, as did the distant sounds of her lovebirds.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was gruff and awkward, as though those two words had never left his mouth before, which was probably true.

“You’re the first virgin I’ve ever been with. I’m not sure what to do.” His admission made her give a hiccupy laugh.

“What you should do is not run away from me. I want to be held, Wes. Held and talked to, that’s all.” She needed his physical closeness. Some primal urge inside her required his presence and his touch, as though that would reassure her all was well.

“That I can do.” He let go of her and wiped the tears from her cheeks before he picked her up and carried her through his room and downstairs.

He settled her on the couch and tucked her in with a couple of thick blankets, then went into the kitchen. When he came back, he had another glass of water and he made her drink it all before he turned on the TV. He put in a movie without asking and it was a good one. An action movie with some comedy that distracted and entertained her.

Then Wes returned to the couch and settled in beside her, sliding her body over so that she was tucked into his side. For a minute, she didn’t move, but then the temptation was too strong and she wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him, letting herself finally relax. This was what she had wanted all along, this right here. A warm, wonderful man to hold her after making love. She nuzzled his chest, inhaling his scent and she sighed.

“I’m learning, Callie. This is all new to me. I don’t know how to be with you.” The words were so quiet she thought for a moment she might have dreamed them.

“Just be, Wes. That’s all you have to do,” she murmured sleepily. After that, she was aware of nothing more than him holding her and the distant sounds of Paris outside.

Chapter 13

Fucking hell. This was not going according to any of his grand plans. Wes traced the fine blue veins on the back of one of Callie’s hands where it lay on his chest. The plan had been to bed her, make her submit, then still be clearheaded enough to keep his distance. That wasn’t what happened though.

He’d taken her body, her virginity, and something inside him had changed. Like mighty rivers carving canyons, it was unstoppable. What he couldn’t see yet, no matter how he tried, was how was it changing him? What would he be like at the end of this? Satisfied? A damn mess? Who the hell knew. And the blood…He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his head. He shuddered.

Pain. He’d hurt her, and not in the fun, erotic way he’d planned with a little spanking. No, this had been real pain. He should have prepared her body more for him, but the waiting had almost killed him. Yet she’d powered through it and climaxed like an angel beneath him. He was hopelessly addicted to the sight of her eyes as she came apart. The light of surprise, the slight lifting of her brows and the parted lips as she sucked in a shocked and delighted breath as her world splintered apart in dozens of overwhelming sensations and pleasures. It was like nothing he had ever seen. He, the man who had looked upon some of the most famous pieces of art, the most rare and stunning ones, could find none to compare to Callie when he made love to her.

Made love. She had made love, but Wes didn’t know what he’d done, didn’t know his own heart. Love wasn’t for everyone. Love was a danger, a burden. He could do without it. But if Callie fell in love with him, that wouldn’t be so bad. It might be nice, to be loved, even if he couldn’t reciprocate, except physically.

Callie murmured something softly in her sleep. Her fingers on his chest curled into a fist, tightening, and her brows knotted as though worries carved those little lines. He didn’t like to think that bad thoughts or concerns plagued her dreams. Wes lifted her hand and gently uncurled her fingers, pressing kisses to her knuckles. She relaxed again.

Her palm was a little wide and her fingers a little short and rough with calluses. The hands of a woman who worked hard, not the dainty and long manicured fingers of the women he’d been with in the past. Those women had never worked for anything, never had to fight to survive, or had to face losing their dreams because they’d had to make sacrifices. But Callie had. She’d done all of those things and she was only twenty. A sharp stab in his chest made him wince. He didn’t like to think of everything she had missed out on in life while working, not when he had the ability to change her life.

A distant chime sounded and he tensed. The oven timer. The pot roast had cooked for four hours now. It had to be ready. But Callie was dead to the world. It took him nearly five minutes to cleverly maneuver himself off the couch without waking her. He draped a blanket over her and made sure a pillow rested beneath her head before he padded over to the kitchen. He wiped his palms on his jeans and searched the cabinets for oven mitts. When he found a pair, he slid them on and approached the oven.

This was easy. Right? Remove the item from the oven and voila!

He opened the oven and stumbled back at the wave of fierce heat. When he reached inside to grab the roaster’s pan handles, he could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his chest and forehead. The side of the oven clipped his left forearm and he cursed as it seared his flesh.

“Damn it!” He nearly dropped the roaster onto the counter before he hastily ran his arm under cold water. How had Callie made this look so easy? Then again, he remembered flour covering every surface of his kitchen. Whoever said cooking was easy was lying through their teeth.

After seeing to the minor burn, he removed two plates from the shelf and started carving up the roast and loaded it onto the plates with vegetables. It didn’t look all that impressive in giant lumps on the plate, but it smelled divine. He needed this to be perfect though, for Callie. Using his cell phone, he searched the Internet for plate arrangements of pot roast, and with a cocky little grin, he fixed the food in a pleasing way and dropped sprigs of fresh basil over the meat. It was a good thing he was a quick study and he was able to get it just right. It almost looked like it could have been prepared by a chef from Fouquet’s. He chuckled, far too proud of himself, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading.

“What’s so funny?” Callie’s amused, sleepy voice from behind him had him whipping around, using his body as a shield to hide the plates from her view.

“You should still be sleeping,” he chastised, but he winked at her to show her he was only teasing.

She ran her hands through her tousled hair and smiled. “The smell of a good pot roast could wake anyone out of a dead sleep, even Rip Van Winkle.”

“Rip Van Winkle?” Wes asked, surprised she would reference an old classical short story.

“Yeah.” Callie giggled, the sound pleasant and enticing. “Mom used to read me stories like Rip Van Winkle and Sleepy Hollow when I was a toddler.”

“Really? That’s not exactly light reading for a child, you know.”

She shrugged and walked toward him. Her eyes were bedroom soft and her lips looked plump and kissable. God, the woman tested his control without even trying. He wanted to drag her into his arms and plant her on the nearest flat surface and take her again.

“Children remember magic. They remember tales that hold that magic. My mother read me the classics. Even though the deeper historical and political points made no sense to me at four years old, I will never forget the man who drank moonshine and fell asleep in the woods, only to wake twenty years later.” She tapped the tip of her nose, winking at him. “Magic.”

As she talked, he’d found he was enjoying this playful banter—light, yet personal conversation. It wasn’t at all what he did with other women, and he certainly hadn’t expected to like it so much. He took everything seriously because seriousness was the only way to stay in control. Yet Callie made him feel so light-hearted sometimes. It was nice.

“Now, quit hiding whatever is behind your back.” She tried to reach around him but he caught her wrists and trapped them at the small of her back and grinned lazily down at her when she struggled uselessly to escape his hold. With his free hand, he fisted his fingers in her hair and lightly tugged her head back.

“I think you need a little kissing before dinner.” He smiled against her lips as he teased her and she melted against him. Her dark gold lashes fluttered and the sight made his cock hard enough that he was uncomfortable in his jeans.

“Then kiss me, damn it!” she growled like a little puppy.

“Fuck, you make me so hot when you act like that,” he said and laughed.

Confusion tinged her warm hazel eyes. “When I act like what?”

“Like a puppy, so young and sweet, with just a little bite to you.” He trapped her in his arms and moved them back so he pinned her against the fridge. “Makes me want to wrestle you to the ground and fuck you senseless.” He nipped her chin, then possessed her mouth, relishing the shock of her reaction to his words. Sometimes her natural sensuality and her innocence were an explosive combination.

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to try that and a lot more,” he teased between steamy, slow kisses. The way she responded to his kisses alone was beautiful. She put her whole heart and body into it, the flames of her hunger and the desire heating his own body until he swore he’d ignite.

Unable to resist, he cupped her between her legs, but she bit his lip hard and he stepped back.

“Sorry,” she said and gasped. “I didn’t mean to bite you. It’s sore down there.” She ducked her head but Wes refused to let her indulge in any more self-pity.

“You are right. Too soon to go at it again. But it is time for dinner.” He gave her what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. It was killing him to wait to have her again, but he would wait, so long as she needed him to. He, a man who swore never to wait for anything or anyone he wanted, had to bide his time. Callie was too precious a thing to risk. Too precious.

*  *  *

Dinner turned out perfect. Callie mentally gave herself a pat on the back. Of course, pot roast was easy so long as you had everything to throw into the pan in the right amounts. Wes had likely eaten much fancier and far more expensive meals than this, but she had a feeling it was the first time he’d actually helped cook. The look of pride in his eyes when he’d showed her the artfully arranged plates was obvious, and incredibly sweet. But hot too…There was nothing like a man who had worked hard on something and was proud of it. She knew Wes worked hard on his art consultations, but because of his wealth, everything else was too easy for him.

“I have to admit, this was an enjoyable experience.” He set his fork and knife down on his plate and pushed it across the large dining room table.

“What was?” Did he mean the food or the sex they’d had earlier? She’d have to agree in either case. She felt different. Changed. Her virginity was gone and in its place was a secret knowledge of darker, more sinful pleasures and a knowledge of how things could be with a man like Wes. It was more than satisfaction. It was thrilling, a pure rush of excitement, anticipation, and then, at last, pleasure. So much pleasure.

“Both aspects of the evening,” he clarified with a little twinkle in his eye. “Are you finished?” He gestured to the empty plate in front of her.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded. Her stomach was pleasantly full and she wanted to take another nap. Was sex and good food going to overcome her years of natural work ethic? Probably. She almost giggled. It had been half a week away from the ranch now and she wasn’t used to having so little to do. No horses to tend to, cattle to feed, fences to mend, men to cook for. Of course, when she went back, much of that would no longer be her duty, since Fenn had already hired fifteen able-bodied ranch hands to work full time on the Broken Spur.

Wes rose and collected their plates, setting them in the sink. The distant tinkling sound of porcelain and china assured her he wasn’t planning on doing the dishes. She would have wanted to help if that was the case, and right now she didn’t want to move at all. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Seconds later they flew open again when she was being lifted up in Wes’s arms.

“Wore you out, did I?” he said and chuckled. Callie was not the sort of woman who liked to be carried about, but she’d seen Fenn haul Hayden around over his shoulder. There was something feminine about it, and no doubt a silly part of her wanted a man to do that to her, to prove he was strong. Not to prove that she was weak. There was a difference.

“Not going to insist I put you down?” He seemed amused at her relaxed reaction to him carrying her.

“Nope. If you had any idea how tired I was, you wouldn’t, either.” She tightened her hold around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the rich scent of his skin. He didn’t wear cologne, didn’t need it. And she preferred a man’s natural scent anyway. Men were supposed to smell like pines and winter and wild winds. Not like a bottle of rotted plants crushed and soaked in chemicals.

“Are you sniffing me?” Wes asked, a rough laugh escaping him when she ducked her head and blushed.

“I like how you smell, too,” he said more softly, that rich seductive lilt in his voice like honey. “Makes me hungry for you, for your body, for your kiss. It makes me think that if dreams had a scent, they would smell like you.”

She stared up at him, astonished at the almost bashful, poetic musings that slipped from his sensual lips. These were not words spent to entice or seduce, but rather confessed to her with a sense of curious wonder. There was so much about him she wanted to know. She didn’t want to feel like he was a stranger, not after everything they’d shared so far.

“Wes, what’s your favorite color?”

“Favorite color?” He climbed the stairs that led to their rooms and carried her into the bathroom.

“Yes. Color. What is it?”

He set her down on her feet and started to run a bath in the massive tub that was more like a hot tub than anything. Once he seemed satisfied with the water’s temperature, he straightened.

“My favorite color.” He crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “Yellow.”

“What kind of yellow? There are a bunch.” Callie thought of cadmium yellow, trying to ignore the wave of homesickness for the ranch.

Wes walked up to her and settled his hands on her hips, gazing down at her. “The yellow of a lantern’s warm glow in summer.”

There in his eyes, a secret shimmered effervescently and Callie ached to see it.

“Why that color?” she probed gently.

Wes sighed, the sound ancient and full of a century’s worth of sorrow. “Before my ninth birthday, my life was rich in love, in color, in friends. I didn’t know the darkness in men’s hearts, didn’t know the evil that drives people to hurt others to get what they want. I was just a boy. Innocent. I used to camp with my friends, Emery, Fenn, and Royce. The four of us were inseparable. And that last summer…” A man’s rage and a boy’s fear collided in his eyes and roughened his voice. “That summer our innocence perished. The lantern-glow yellow is the way back to those memories for me. It’s a way to remind myself of what was, but is no longer.” His hands were on her hips and they tightened slightly, as though he needed to root himself in place and holding her was the only way to do it.

Callie knew of the kidnapping of the Lockwood twins, had recently learned just how horrible things had been for Fenn and Emery. She could only imagine how hard it would be for Wes, as a little boy, to lose one friend and have another one come back emotionally damaged. Even though she had been only four, losing her mother had scarred her soul. There was an emptiness inside her that could never be filled, a void that could be filled only by the presence of a mother she would never have.