The last week had been one fucked-up, crazy dream. I had loved and hated it. And like any dream, someone or something would waken me any moment. Then I'd be back to my illustrious life as a best-selling novelist.
Yet, as I kept telling myself that, reality did not change. I still stood in the foyer of an Italian restaurant, ready to face the man who had opened the proverbial red door in a hall of unending white ones called my life. The door to unknown pleasures and yet more fears. Fears of what I would experience...and fears of never again experiencing those things to which he'd introduced me.
"I'm meeting Mr. Hughes," I told the hostess.
She smiled and led the way toward a table near the back of the restaurant away from the regular dinner crowd. Brian was already seated but stood as we approached.
"Ms. Rockland, it's good to see you."
"Likewise." I was unsure what to do as he remained standing at his place. Even the hostess looked back and forth between us, as if waiting for further directions. Brian eventually took his own seat again and gestured to the chair across from him. I forced myself not to roll my eyes as I pulled out my own chair and sat. "You look very professional, as always."
His chin dipped as acknowledgement, then his eyes lowered, slowly rising to meet mine again. "You look...nice."
His lower lip twitched as if he wanted to frown but was afraid of breaking his stoic demeanor. The man already looked like a god, but a smile every now would have done wonders. Geesh.
I tried not to let his hesitation bother me. Despite changing my clothes three times, I was satisfied with my final decision, which had been my original choice. I had just been having a bad case of the nerves. Still was. In the end, I was more comfortable in my slacks and loose blouse this evening than the tighter, more revealing outfits he'd previously seen me in.
He, of course, wore what I assumed was his trademark dark suit and tie.
Impeccable. Meticulous. Those were two more words I could throw in the pot that described him which included cool, calculating, and dominating. Even when it came to his looks.
I focused on the knot of green and black material at his throat for a long moment, remembering how I had been entranced by that part of his body just last Friday while he sat in my hotel room interviewing who he had anticipated to be a male author for the erotic "story of the season."
Albeit, my novels were pretty graphic when it came to the sex scenes, they weren't anywhere near 'mommy porn' as the "Fifty Shades" books had been dubbed. More along the lines of "Nancy Drew" meets "The Hardy Boys" with a little Harlequin twist. Brian had explained it had been the explosive popularity of my male-perspective "Dex Knightly Mysteries" within women's circles that had driven him to track me down. Or rather, the mysterious Drake Alexander, my nom de plume taken from the names of my two older brothers.
I tried not to make it obvious as I glanced around. I didn't see Drake—my brother and recent confidant when it came to all things kinky this past week—anywhere near us. Maybe he hadn't been able to get a seat nearby...or change his plans.
But then, my eyes met the warm smile of a familiar face, and I felt my heart skip a beat. A mixture of relief and sudden apprehension that I was being watched flitted through my brain.
I briefly returned the smile then shifted my eyes back to the tall man seated before me. I tried to envision him in a more relaxed look. His worn pair of black jeans, perhaps. His unbuttoned, black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a smattering of hair on his muscular chest. And then I thought of how he had looked with those clothes removed. The part of me that longed to see him either way again jerked to attention.
I took a long sip of water to settle her down. One step at a time, old girl.
Brian's fingers lightly stroked the top of my free hand that I had rested on the table. "I'm glad you agreed to come."
When we'd parted a week ago, he had denied me that pleasure. I suppressed a snort and the desire to continue the train of thought on that unintentional innuendo. Now he was allowing me to take the lead and make my own decision?
Slowly, I pulled my hand back. It was so damn difficult. Memories flashed before my eyes of his fingers encircling my wrist, of his light touches drawing me into him while we sat at another restaurant, another time.
Now, I wanted to keep my distance. I forced myself to breathe evenly, bringing my gaze up to his. A very bold move for a submissive to do before a Dominant. But we had ceased to be on those terms, as far as I was concerned. At least until we hashed this out. Those blue eyes stared back, unblinking. So unreadable.
I wondered what went on his head. A shiver raced up my back as I remembered the contraption he had built and I'd been strapped down to. The thought-process that must have gone into designing it. Yeah, probably best not knowing his mind too much too fully. I picked up my menu. "Let's order. Then we can talk."
For a moment, I thought he was going to object. His lips pursed, and his fingers flexed on the tablecloth. But he nodded and opened his menu. I had a feeling he'd had no intention of eating. Quite possibly, he thought he'd take me back to his car and his bedroom after a quick drink. But then we'd be right back where we were now...where we were last Saturday night.
We placed our orders with the waitress, and when we were alone once more, Brian went to reach for my hand again.
I used unfolding my napkin as a reason to put my hands in my lap. "What did you want to talk about?"
His hand smoothly changed course, collected the bowl of his wine glass from underneath like a proper wine connoisseur, and lifted it to his lips. I tried not to think of those lips. How they'd kissed my neck while I stood half-undressed before him until my knees gave out. Kissed the top of my head after my first orgasm. Kissed my lips, my breasts, my pussy, my butt cheeks. I brushed aside the memories and noticed that he had ordered me a glass as well. I had no intention of imbibing. I needed to keep a clear head.
"Brian? You've been quite persistent to track me down this week. Now that I'm here, what did you need? More information for the article, perhaps?"
He blinked and set the glass down. "No. The article has been submitted. As I said on the phone, I wanted to apologize."
I waited for him to continue, but he appeared to be finished as he took a piece of bread from the basket, buttered it, cut off a piece, and placed it in his mouth.
I sipped my water, eyeing the bread myself as my stomach growled softly. But the basket was on his side of the table. He didn't even offer it to me. I clutched my napkin and darted a gaze over his shoulder.
Behind him, the warm smile parted and slowly formed a single word. Even from this distance I understood: relax.
I took a couple of deep breaths, counted to ten, and pasted on another smile for Brian. "I'm sorry, but can you elaborate? What are you apologizing for?"
The waitress chose that moment to deliver our salads. At least I could eat something now. I thanked her. Brian gave her a dismissive tip of his chin, and she moved on to another table.
"Well, I'm sorry for scaring you," Brian said. "I realize the timing of answering all your questions was probably off. You were coming down from a high. I should have waited to broach the subject of our arrangement until your full mental faculties had returned."
I slowly lowered my fork, struggling to swallow the lettuce I had just placed in my mouth. The audacity! Who did he think he was? Even now, he was trying to control me...acting as if I would have agreed to his enslavement if I had not just had sex with him. I thought of Drake and Daphne. How their Master/slave relationship was mutually consensual. How they enjoyed being in the company of each other outside of their scenes as well as within them.
My fingers twitched. I wanted to grab my untouched glass of wine and throw it in Brian's face. I decided to keep what was left of my sanity instead.
"Will you excuse me? I need to use the ladies' room." I pushed back my chair and grabbed my purse. Somehow, I managed to walk towards the designated sign.
I rounded the corner, entering a hallway. The kitchen was off to my right, the restrooms in another, shorter hall on my left. Straight ahead was a door with an Exit sign above it. My feet moved towards it of their own volition. But before I could reach that door, a strong grip on my arm stopped me.
I raised my free hand and started to turn. "Get your fucking—"
Another hand—not Brian's—caught my open palm before it hit. Familiar, masculine fingers curled around mine, tucking my hand to a broad chest.
"Oh, God! I'm so sorry." My legs wobbled as a tear escaped.
"Shh." Malcolm wrapped me in his arms, pulling me closer. He pressed my head to his shoulder and smoothed my hair. "It's okay, Becca."
The texture of his polo shirt was soft and comforting against my cheek. The scent of his spicy yet sweet cologne invaded my head for a moment. I had to remember to thank my brother for his quick thinking. It was better this way, too. I would have been so embarrassed for Drake to have seen me like this.
"I can't do it, Malcolm. This was a mistake."
"You were doing great from where I was sitting. What happened?"
I managed to relate what few words had transpired between Brian and I. "He's an ass. He was last week. Why did I think he'd be any different today? I thought I could talk to him. Change him. Make him see what I wanted. I thought he was really sorry for how he'd treated me. I was so wrong."
"Becca, you had to take the chance. Now you know." Malcolm tilted my chin up and rubbed his thumb at my tear-stained cheek. "Do you want to leave?"
"Would you consider me a coward if I said yes?" I so wanted to lay my head on his shoulder again and sob. But I resisted to break completely. Especially while standing in the back hall of a restaurant.
"No, I would consider you very brave for standing up for yourself. I have my car. I'll meet you out front?"
I nodded and went into the bathroom to touch up my face. When I felt presentable again, I returned to the table and remained standing. I waited until Brian looked up from his barely-touched salad.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hughes, but this arrangement will not work out. I am not the woman you want me to be, and you're not the man I need. I expected so much more from this whole situation. But thank you for the experience. I look forward to reading your article."
I didn't wait for him to respond. I just turned and walked away. I held my breath until I stepped outside. As promised, Malcolm was waiting by his car. He opened the passenger door, and I gave him a small smile as I slid in and fastened my seatbelt.
We were both quiet on the drive over to my place. He pulled up to the curb and shifted into park.
