That, and the fact I pay him twice what his asking rate is. Like I said, he’s damn good and worth every penny.
“I’m going to head out shortly.” I don’t normally share my comings and goings with Laurence, but I’m nervous and the pent up energy needs somewhere to go.
He nods. “I’ll have dinner ready in the dining room for your return.”
I don’t know how he does it. When he knows I’ll be back to eat a meal as soon as it’s ready, he somehow has it steaming on my table even though he leaves long enough before I arrive that I don’t pass his car on the way.
I peek at my watch again. Another minute and I can leave. I cruise through the dining room to make sure everything’s in order. Although why wouldn’t it be? I hardly use the room, preferring to take my solo meals at the bar-style kitchen counter.
The dining room was created and decorated — by a professional interior designer, I might add — to resemble a cozy but upscale French restaurant, perfect for entertaining. There are five round tables, mahogany with ornately carved pedestal bases, each set with a centerpiece of brass filaments supporting glass globes holding tealight candles. Every table has four creamy upholstered chairs, and the walls are the color of a robin’s egg. At the center of the room hangs a small but exquisite chandelier that robes the room in warm, glittering light that’s straight out of a fairy tale.
Tonight, I get to share this room with another person. Laurence has already designated a table for us — it’s the one with just two chairs, the centerpiece pushed back to allow more room for our plates. The wine he selected is already on the tabletop along with glasses, two sets of silverware, and woven placemats that match the walls. By the time I get back, he’ll have lighted the candles, trusting that I’ll let him know if I’m delayed.
Which is all up to Emmy. She wants to see me, but will she let me woo her?
She’s a woman who deserves to be romanced — hell, who needs it. Even though we haven’t known each other for long, it’s plain to see. She’s strong and smart as hell, but world-weary too. She can stand on her own, but being cherished would make her burdens just a little lighter and easier to bear.
I want to be the man to cherish her. I want to be the one she spills her secrets and tears and most joyous laughter to. I want to be the one she turns to when she needs the warmth of an embrace and the touch of another human form against her own.
I want it more than I ever could have imagined when I followed Emmy to kickboxing class all those months ago.
And now that I have a chance to win her heart and be that man for her, I’m putting everything I have into it.
I check my watch. My heart kicks my ribs when I see that it’s time.
Wearing something between a grimace and grin, I head for the garage. I have a woman to make my own, if she’ll have me.
Emmy
Usually I hang back after kickboxing class to chat with Wendy or get some extra stretches in.
Not tonight. I grab my new flowers and hightail it to the locker rooms to shower and change. Which is in itself another change from my usual — I typically wait until I get home to get cleaned up.
But tonight isn’t typical.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping. Judging from the flowers, I don’t think I’m wrong. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling so nervous that I tremble enough to drop literally everything I try to lay my fingers on, from the thin gym towel to my underwear.
At least I don’t drop the potted violets.
In spite of the clumsiness born of my excitement, I’m ready in ten minutes flat. I draw a shaking breath, unsure of what awaits me on the other side of this evening, and head for the club’s front doors.
Outside, the sun’s warmth steadies me as my eyes instantly find Oliver. He’s close, parked at the curb a few car lengths down from the entrance.
I can’t help it. I break into a grin when I see him leaning up against a silver SUV. It’s difficult to force myself to walk over to him like a self-respecting woman instead of flat-out dashing to his side.
Therapist that I am, I make note of the fact that two nights ago I was running away from this man. Tonight, it takes real effort to not run to him.
When I’m close enough to smell his intoxicating aroma of leather mixed with something like bourbon, I thrill at the sight of my smile reflected back at me on his lips.
“Hi,” I say, finding myself breathless.
“Hi,” he returns, grin growing. And god, those eyes. The silver in them matches the filament glimmering in his hair, and the heat in them makes my clit throb.
Hell, the sight of his whole body makes my core turn molten. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in clothes that aren’t made for sweating buckets, and he looks damned good. His black buttoned shirt is polished but still casual, and it allows me a look at a piece of his muscular chest. He wears a thick leather belt that makes me think of cowboys and rodeos, and jeans that look soft and worn in just the right way. They hug his ass perfectly.
He is a vision — a vision that makes me almost physically squirm on the spot.
I can’t believe that I ran from this man. I can’t believe that I let fear control me for so long, and almost steal this person from me.
Now that I’m aware, though, I refuse to let it happen again.
“You’re here.” I breathe the words as if giving them voice might make him vanish.
His forehead creases. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“I think you didn’t deserve my bad behavior, running out on you like I did.” I step closer, plucking at one of the buttons on his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
He combs his fingers through the under-layer of my hair, making my neck prickle. I don’t miss that his fingers tremble as much as mine would be if I wasn’t holding onto the potted violets for dear life. “I was so worried I’d done something wrong, that you were hurt.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. I let fear run the show — and run me out of there.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not exactly something you’d expect from a therapist.”
He ignores my self-judgment, slate eyes clouding with curiosity. “What were you afraid of, love?”
I shiver at the word love on his lips. God, I had no idea what I was missing. And now that I do, I have no intention of walking away from it. “Of you. Of this.” I take a shuddering drag of air. “Of letting myself be vulnerable.”
“And what do you think now? Do I still scare you?” His voice is steel, and fuck it’s good.
I hesitate, turning his questions over in my mind while trying to ignore how the growl of his words reverberates in my pussy. “I am still afraid,” I admit. “I’ve seen a lot of crappy relationships in my line of work, and I’ve always tried to protect myself from getting hurt like my clients have been. But now I see that in closing myself off from pain, I was also closing myself off from something beautiful.”
I caress his cheek, then run my palm over his bristly jawline and down his neck to rest on his shoulder. He leans into my touch, and the pressure of it both brings tears to my eyes at his trust while lighting a lustful fire in my belly.
I want him so badly.
“Will you forgive me?” I whisper, stepping even closer and moving the flowers to one side so that our hips press together and I can feel that he’s as aroused as I am.