Fearless (10 page)

Wordlessly Lainey grips my hand, waiting.

“We went back to his place. When we went out to dinner the first time he ordered wine for me without even asking whether I wanted a drink or not and I kind of teased him about it, so at the sushi restaurant he was making a big deal about not ordering for me. But I had no idea what anything was so I kind of jokingly told him I gave him permission to take charge for the evening. Then, when we were back at his place and about to, uh, you know… I kind of told him I wasn't very good at orgasms. He reminded me I'd said he could be in charge and he totally took me up on it. He told me to hold onto the headboard and gave me the most explosive orgasm I have ever had in my life. Not that I have that much to compare it to, but I'm pretty sure it would have been top three by anyone's standards.”

“Oh. My. Word.” Lainey breathes.

I take a deep breath, getting turned on again at the memory. “Then we made love and I fell asleep. When we woke up, he made me come again, and then one thing led to another, and another. I had four orgasms. Four! There's something about the way he just takes charge that makes me capable of doing things I never imagined I would do.”

“He's dominant,” Lainey states.

“You can say that again,” I grumble.

“No, he's Dominant. Like alpha-male, dominant/submissive, BDSM dominant.”

I look at her blankly.

“You have no idea what I'm talking about?”

I shake my head.

“Geez, Emma. Don't you ever read?”

“Of course I read,” I say indignantly. “I'm a writer. But clearly I'm not reading the right things.”

We laugh, but it makes me wonder if she's onto something.

When I get home later, I boot up my laptop. I had texted Beckett before going out, telling him I was going to be out late and he'd texted back a simple “Be good,” so I don't expect to hear from him again tonight. I'm glad because I have too many questions I need to find answers to before I talk to him, and knowing him, he'd worm everything out of me before I have a chance to do some research.

I stay up far later than I should, reading about dominant/submissive relationships and a whole lifestyle I know nothing about. The term BDSM encompasses a huge range of experiences and I'm not sure how much of it, if any, Beckett participates in. Maybe that's just his personality. There's no doubt about it though, Beckett fits the description of a dominant alpha-male to a tee—charismatic, confident, powerful, demanding, and authoritative. And the way he can make me obey him with a single look….I get turned on just thinking about it. By the time I finally shut down my computer and go to bed, I'm not sure if I'm turned on by the idea or completely squicked out.

The next morning, I arrive at Dr. Black's house ready to work, despite having slept a total of four hours last night. Agnes answers the door with her usual cheerfulness and once again Dr. Black and I spend the morning on the terrace and the afternoon in the sunroom. Dr. Black explains the science behind his dissertation for his PhD, which proposed that the cure for many diseases might be found in the lush diversity of the Amazon rainforest. Although I really had been afraid the scientific aspect of Dr. Black's story would be too technical for me, he explains things in a manner that is so thorough and logical that it's easy to keep up.

“I was at Harvard working on my PhD,” he says, “when scientists discovered that the venom of a Brazilian viper snake had properties that helped lower blood pressure. Eventually that discovery led to the development of the blood pressure medicine Captopril. That got me curious about the rainforest. Did you know that the Amazon rainforest can have more than 400 species of trees in a two and a half acre area, and many more plants than that? There are over 80,000 species of flowering plants in the Amazon, the majority of which still haven't been identified. One teaspoon of Amazon soil contains over a thousand microbes that have never been identified! One teaspoon! I realized the medical potential of the rainforest was huge.”

I'm so engrossed by Dr. Black's story that I'm surprised when the alarm on my phone beeps, letting me know it's time to leave so I'm not late to pick up Nikki. As I pack up my laptop and recorder, I say apologetically, “I'll be here next Tuesday as planned, but next week is the last week of school. My daughter has finals and I'll have to pick her up at one o'clock on Thursday, so I'll only be able to come in the morning.”

“You have a daughter?” Dr. Black asks.

“Yes. She's thirteen,” I say.

“Well, you should bring her back with you! She can swim in the pool while we work. In fact, tell her to bring a friend. This neighborhood is lousy with old people. It would be nice to have some young people around here.”

I look up at him in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” he replies. “Now off you go. I wouldn't mind a bit of a rest. I will see you next week. And keep that son of mine in line.” I could almost swear he just winked at me. “He can be a little overbearing.”

I laugh as I say goodbye to both Dr. Black and Agnes, who walks me out, and I get into my car. Beckett's dad is as open and friendly as his son is brooding and stern. It's hard to believe they're related. Of course, thinking about Beckett and those stern looks of his sets my pulse racing. I shake my head, determined not to think about Beckett and the questions I now have about him. I will get my answers tomorrow night. There's no point in getting worked up over something that may be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, that's easier said than done. When I go to bed, I toss and turn. When I do finally fall asleep, I dream of Beckett, dark and forbidding, standing over me in a pair of faded jeans while I lay tied to his bed, spread eagled, vulnerable and open to him. I wake up aroused, something that has never happened to me before, and the confusion I feel, coupled with the frustration of denying my body the release it wants, makes me cranky and on edge. For the first time ever, I wish I had listened to Lainey and gotten a vibrator after my divorce. Since I don't have one, I do the next best thing. I put on my running shorts, sports bra, and Brooks running shoes and go for a punishing five mile run.

The run takes the edge off, but all day my mind keeps wandering to images of me tied up while Beckett does whatever he wants to my body.
You never know what you might find you have an appetite for.
Beckett's words from last weekend swirl through my head, along with Lainey's urging to see where it goes. That's easy for her to say, I think darkly. Lainey was born with the sexual confidence of Athena.

And then it's seven o'clock, Nikki is safely off to her dad's house, and the homemade cream cheese lasagna I put together earlier today is in the oven. Not surprisingly, my doorbell rings promptly at seven. I smile and shake my head. The man is chronically punctual. There are butterflies in my stomach as I open the door and drink in the sight of him—gorgeous, imposing, and impossibly sexy in a pair of jeans and a slightly form fitting t-shirt that outlines the hard muscles of his chest. My mouth goes dry. I love a man in jeans, and the way he fills his out, coupled with the lingering images from my dream….I force my gaze back to his face. He is looking at me with a combination of amusement and heat, and I can feel my face flush.

He steps through the door, his mere presence making my entry feel much smaller than it usually does, and I take an involuntarily step back. In one fluid movement, he kicks the door closed behind him and presses my back against the rough textured wall of the entryway, his warm hands seeking, and finding, the bare skin of my midriff beneath the white lace top I'm wearing with jeans. Although his touch is light, his fingertips barely skimming my skin, my breath catches at the pleasurable hum of electricity that courses through me at his touch. In the five days since I've seen him I'd almost convinced myself I had exaggerated the sexual pull of him, but if anything the reality of it is stronger.

His fingers close around my waist as he pulls me closer, bending his head to take my mouth greedily.

“I've missed you,” he whispers, lightly nipping my bottom lip.

My hands, which have been gripping his hard biceps, creep up to run through his hair, pulling him back for more. I pour all of the longing and need I've felt all day into the kiss.

“Me too,” I say with a sigh when we finally pull apart.

“I promised myself I wouldn't touch you until after we'd had dinner, but that's proving to be harder than I thought,” he says grimly.

I love the desire I see in his eyes and how desirable it makes feel. Then I remember my conversation with Lainey, and the things I've read, and I turn away.

“Dinner's almost ready. Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask.

Beckett's eyes sweep my living room as he follows me into the kitchen.

“I like your place,” he says in that unsmiling but thoughtful way of his. “It suits you. Comfortable but eclectic.” He nods to my sofa piled with pillows in bright hues of turquoise, yellow and green. “And colorful.”

I nod. I long for the comfortable familiarity between us last Sunday when we sat together on his sofa eating breakfast together. Now there's an unspoken tension, and I feel self-conscious around him. My body, however, hasn't gotten the memo. The reality of him, impossibly gorgeous and equally imposing, is setting every nerve on high alert.

I choose a bottle of red wine from my small wine rack, conscious of his eyes on my jean clad bottom as I bend over and grab two wine glasses from a glass faced cabinet. Opening a drawer in the island, I pull out a corkscrew and expertly remove the cork. I'm so intent on the job that I don't notice Beckett come up behind me until his strong arms are banded around my waist, drawing me back against his chest. My heart thumps at the heat and hardness of his chest against my back, the strength of his grip around my waist.

“You're pretty handy at that,” he observes.

“You'd be surprised at the things a girl learns to take care of herself when she has to,” I say lightly.

“I don't like the idea of you taking care of some things yourself,” he says deliberately, his voice low and even.

“Not that!” I blurt out, equally embarrassed and outraged.

“No?”

“No!”

“Never?” he presses.

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, not usually,” I say. Embarrassment has definitely won out, and I'm glad my back is to him so he can't see me blush.

“You please me Emmaline,” he says huskily, releasing me.

Turning, I hand him a glass of wine, his approval inexplicably unleashing another fluttering of butterflies in my stomach.

He leans against the farmhouse table in my kitchen, arms crossed and completely at ease, watching me as I take the lasagna out of the oven and toss the salad. As I'm easing squares of lasagna onto two brightly colored plates, I sneak a glance at him from beneath my lashes.

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask, exasperated.

“I like the view,” he says mildly.

Oh! The butterfly wings start beating faster. To him I say, “Well, stop! It's making me nervous.”

“Good,” he says placidly. “I like keeping you off balance.”

“Well, you must be thrilled then,” I say sarcastically, my body brushing his as I lean past him to put the plates on the table. “I've been off balance since I've met you.”

He totally takes advantage of my position to run his hand over my butt and then gives it a light smack.

“Watch it,” he says.

Since he doesn't smile as he says it, I can't tell if he's serious or playing, especially given the things I've read about domination and submission. I'm going to need a lot more wine to have this conversation so I ignore him, sliding into the chair opposite from him.

“Sit down,” I say, gesturing to the chair.

He sits, and the knowing look he gives me makes me think he knows exactly how off balance I am, and is enjoying it immensely.

“Tell me about the benefit tomorrow night,” I say, taking a sip of wine.

“It's a gala to benefit the American Cancer Society. I would have been invited anyway because of my work on behalf of prostate cancer, but my dad's prominence as one of the most influential cancer researchers means our entire family is pretty much obligated to attend. This year, Dad is also the key-note speaker.”

“Your dad will be there?” I ask, pleased. It will be interesting to see the sweet old man in his element.

“Yes, and my brother Griffin too. Drake would be there if he could, but he's out of the country right now.”

“I get to meet your brother?” My excitement and relief at the thought of Dr. Black being there is offset by nervousness about meeting Beckett's brother.

“You do. He's usually off somewhere exotic, but he's on assignment in Houston for a few months. I have no doubt he will adore you.” Beckett takes a bite of the lasagna and whistles appreciatively. “This is the best lasagna I have ever had.”

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “It's my specialty.” We eat in silence for a few minutes and then I add, “I've never been to a gala before. Is it usually dinner and a speaker?”

“Yes, and there's almost always a theme and entertainment that goes with the theme. Depending on the event and the organizer, these things are completely over the top, and this one definitely falls into that category. The American Cancer Society is a big charity and the socialites of Houston love the opportunity to pull out all the stops.”

“What's the theme for tomorrow night's benefit?”

“'A Knight to Remember,' with a ‘K'. It's a medieval theme.”

“Medieval? What do people wear?”

“Typically period costumes,” he says wryly.

“Period costumes?” I ask incredulously. “Are you serious? Now I see why you didn't want me to go shopping earlier this week! Where am I going to find a medieval costume?”