The power of positive thinking. She'd thought "when," not "if."
Since getting herself worked up like a furnace wasn't immediately productive, she turned her mind to a more amusing memory of them making dinner together. She'd been told she had to stay out of the way, that they wanted her to do nothing but relax. So she sat on the couch and pretended to read a book, all while watching how the two of them worked with each other, listening to the things they talked about. Geoff had been discussing a case.
". . . this guy is a complete nutbag. But because he's allowed to represent himself, the judge gives him twice as much time. Today he brought in one of those little cymbal-clapping monkeys to explain something about his constitutional rights. So when we recessed for lunch, I picked up a handful of wind-up hopping penises at Spencer's."
"Now you're shitting me." Chris chuckled. "The judge would have busted your ass."
"Yes, she would have. But she tends to be late, so we were seated a good ten minutes before she returned. I kept one bouncing in circles on the desk. Jennings pulled out the second one and we got into it, racing them from one end of the desk to the other. I asked Mr. Nutbag if he wanted to lay odds on who hit the end of the desk first, and told him I had a third one if he wanted to play, too. If looks could kill . . ."
"Jesus, man."
"The court reporter was losin
g it. I put them away as the judge came out, but nothing gets by Judge Roberts. She gives me a look and says, 'Mr. Tywin, I can assure you that I have confiscated more than one penis in this room. I will not hesitate to take yours.'"
Chris roared with laughter. "Man, the last time I stopped in to hear you try a case, it was some boring crap about a bunch of paperwork that was filed incorrectly. You have to give me a heads-up on this stuff."
"I can't predict my moments of genius."
Having a chance to listen or watch them when she wasn't an active part of the interaction was a particular indulgence. Even if she could only hear a word or two of their conversation, like now, because they were a couple of aisles away from her.
When overhearing a conversation between strangers, there was a tendency to be discreet about it, to pretend one wasn't listening. But she had a right to listen to them, to be an intimate part of their lives. She was still part of the conversation, even without being there. And she liked this, not being distracted by the need to contribute. She could absorb them through her senses--hearing, sight, smell--and embrace the simple joy of just that.
They came into view then. Chris was listening to what Troy was telling them, his gaze periodically flicking to Geoff as they exchanged silent cues of agreement or marked the significance of something they were being told. Geoff had his back to her, but his arms were crossed over his chest, feet planted shoulder width. Chris had one hand on the top of a display rack, his other hooked into his pants pocket as he stood in a similar cocked-hip stance, listening. His gaze shifted briefly, found her, and she smiled.
He didn't smile back. His gaze stayed on her, though. She sensed he was still listening to the conversation, but he apparently wanted his eyes directed right where they were. A little self-conscious, she smoothed her jeans over her knees. Now a serious smile did touch his lips.
She'd been surer of her footing with Geoff, though her fantasies had fallen short of all the possibilities, a thrilling thought. Chris's expression as he looked at her now was an intriguing mix. He wanted to take her again, wanted her naked and under him. She could read that clearly enough, and it made her hands curl on her knees. Yet she also thought he wanted to scoop her up and keep her safe, tend to her in all the ways that defined the word cherish.
Geoff said something and Chris turned his attention back to him. She'd been holding her breath again, she realized. It made her chuckle at herself. Taking a sip of her coffee, she picked up one of the paperback romances. It was an older historical, with the clench pose on the front. A woman whose heaving breasts were barely contained by her bodice was being held by a virile-looking male whose look said he planned to do away with that bodice and the rest of her clothing quite immediately.
She volunteered for a humane society that had a thrift shop with an extensive paperback book collection, so she was very familiar with those poses. She preferred them to the modern-day ones that would use a hint of a body behind a flower or a bit of lace. They were as romantic and sexy as a doorknob, whereas this . . . It didn't matter that it was overly dramatic. She could close her eyes and imagine being that heroine, her knees already giving way because she knew he was strong enough to hold her, that she could surrender everything to him . . .
She wasn't stupid. She knew that was fantasy, that no one could surrender everything to anyone full-time. She could and would take care of herself. Because of that, she knew her feelings for Chris and Geoff weren't rooted in how they'd appeared at the right moment, stopping Anthony, her stalker ex-boyfriend, from whatever terrible end he might have planned. It was everything else they'd done since, in her day-to-day life. Things that had won her trust. That trust would allow her to give them control when the moment called for it, when surrender was an option that could free her soul, without fear of abdicating her right to run her own life.
"It's funny. When I initially put a copy of Newsweek or the New Yorker over here, I could tell a lot of women felt like they had to pick those up and completely ignore the People magazine or the romance novels. But by only having those choices, pretty much all of them will page through them while waiting for their husbands or boyfriends. At least once or twice I'll see them smile, like you're doing now."
She opened her eyes, and her heart rate bumped up in an altogether pleasant way. She'd only met Logan Scott briefly, when she was in the hardware store last time, but Sam could completely understand why he was the one changing Madison's life. She'd even felt a vicarious thrill on Madison's behalf when the shop owner let Logan's name slip.
The hardware store owner was hitting a sexy and rugged forty. With broad shoulders and a strong-boned frame, the whole package was displayed well in jeans, work shoes and a chamois shirt that outlined his powerful upper body. But it was the energy around him, and the measuring look in his molasses-colored eyes, a darker brown than Chris's, which elevated her heart rate.
Maybe it was because Sam was getting more in touch with her submissive side that she recognized Logan as a Dom right off. One who'd completely embraced that identity and made it a vital part of who he was. This was very likely what Geoff would be when he grew up, so to speak. Since Geoff could overwhelm Sam now, she understood why Madison had looked a little overcome when talking about Logan.
She'd met some tops on her visits to private BDSM parties with Flo, men who wore their sexual Dominance like a hat they took off when they left the club or bedroom. That worked for them and their partners. However, she expected being a Master was like breathing for Logan Scott. Something he was and did without conscious thought. Geoff gave off those vibes as well.
"Hello," she said. "Sorry, I was just daydreaming."
"No need for a beautiful woman to apologize for that, especially if who she's daydreaming about will benefit from it." He winked. "The ladybug gloves are a good choice for you. You might consider a second pair. They're on sale individually, but if you buy two, I'll knock twenty percent off the second pair in addition to the sale price. I have an overstock."
"I liked the lavender ones with the butterflies. I'll get those as well."
He waved her off as she started to get up. "No rush. Just wanted to mention it to you and make sure you didn't have any other questions. Troy and I are here to help you if there's anything you need."
"Okay. Um . . ."
He'd started to ease back, a considerate shop owner, but stopped at her hesitation. His shrewd eyes studied her, then followed her gaze to Geoff and Chris and back. "Madison sometimes has me talk to her clients about their interests," he said carefully. "So I'm also available for non-hardware-related questions, if you have one you think I can answer."
Yeah, the man definitely had well-tuned radar. "I was wondering . . ."