He clears his throat, and I falter, daring to turn my head toward him. He’s looking straight at me. I pause, not knowing what to do until he pats the bench beside him. I stupidly glance behind me, making sure he’s not looking at someone else. He’s not.
I quietly move toward him, drawn to obey by some unspoken power in his eyes. I sit, and there’s not enough room on the bench to avoid my thigh touching his as I settle on the cold bench.
“It wasn’t easy finding where you worked,” he says smoothly. “Once I realized you weren’t actually my employee, that is.”
I look down, biting one side of my lip. “Why did you want to find me?” I ask quietly.
He looks thoughtful, as if he hadn’t even considered his motivations. “You intrigued me,” he says finally.
Silence hangs between us as I’m lost for what to say. Even if he is gorgeous and wealthy, I can’t help feeling a little put off. “So you stalked me?” I might be accusing him of stalking, but as little sense as it makes, being stalked by a guy like him doesn’t have the same creepy vibe it might from another man. It’s actually turning me on.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Call it what you want, but I’ll walk out of your life if you wish it.”
I frown. Out of my life? Why does the innocent phrase spark desire in me? Why does the idea of this man being in my life appeal to me so much? “I don’t know what I want yet,” I say eventually. My mind goes to Club Crave and the masked man who paddled me, the man who had me dripping wet with anticipation and desire. I feel a slight pang of unease at accepting Mr. Steel’s attention, but then I remember how the masked man left me without a word. I didn’t make any commitment to him and he certainly didn’t to me.
“Then maybe I can buy you a coffee?” suggests Mr. Steel.
I don’t know if I’m driven to accept his offer because the list of reasons to say no is so short or because I’m trying to get back at the masked man somehow, but I accept his offer.9LoganI take her to a small independent coffee shop and order her a caramel mocha. I get myself a black coffee. I had intended to come clean right away, to tell her I was the man from the club. I wanted to tell her why I left so suddenly. I wanted to explain I had conflicting feelings from the mess my ex wife made and how it complicates things for me. Most of all, I realized I want to move things forward with her the right way. I don’t want it to be cheap and anonymous. I want her to know who I am, and I want to make sure the terms are clear and open from the beginning. No lies. No confusion. Just pleasure.
I’ve already found myself pushing beyond the point of comfort. Revealing the truth now would be a betrayal. It would be ugly, and it might jeopardize our already fragile bond. I’m surprised by how unwilling I am to take that risk yet, even though I know the damage caused by withholding the truth will only get worse the longer I let this go on.
I smirk over my coffee as I watch her talk about her business.
Her eyes are slightly wide while she talks. I recognize the look. Whether it’s cars, computers, sports, or movies, everybody has a passion. Hers is her business, and I fucking love that about her already.
“I had to try, you know?” she asks.
She must not drink coffee regularly, because the caffeine seems to be having a profound effect on her, both opening her up and relaxing her.
“I do,” I say. “I leveraged everything I had to build my businesses starting capital. At the time it seemed like an impossibly reckless decision, but I stood by it because--”
“Because the alternative would have been worse,” she interrupts. Her voice is a little hushed, almost thoughtful like she’s thinking aloud. She gasps a little and covers her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I just interrupted you.” She sits up straighter and gestures like she’s zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.
I smirk. “You had better unzip those.” My words hang, the rasp in my voice betraying more of my internal thoughts than I intended. The flush in her cheeks shows me she didn’t miss any of my meaning, either. “Because you were making an interesting point.”
She clears her throat and looks down, running her finger through the water-ring left by her cup. “I was going to say most people don’t understand. They don’t get how you could risk everything for the business because they imagine how devastating it would be to fail. But they don’t realize it would be worse to let the idea die. Sometimes I think I’d rather lose everything than watch the possibility of what my business could be slip by.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m not making any sense, am I?”