Chapter Four
As the next few days rolled on, my mind constantly dwelled on the question of whether it was the right decision to proceed as planned. I was finding it awkward to even force myself to do my weekly DE report. This week’s had been a bland, neutral commentary on some of the lamer quests in the game. But what about next week and the week after? What about after Drake and I slept together? Would I always be worried that he’d be stalking my blog?
I could opt to cut my regular DE report from the blog. Readers would protest that. I received lots of hits, re-blogs and comments on that feature. My blog was my livelihood. It brought in more money through advertisements than my hospital job currently did. Hopefully it would keep paying the rent throughout med school as well.
So, after days of mulling it over, I came to a decision. And while procrastinating making the call to Heath, I happened to log on and find him on the game.
*You tell Fragged, “Hey dude, whatcha doing?”
*Fragged tells you, “Killing trolls in the Golden Mountains. This new hidden quest chain is driving me up a tree. Come help me, I need your enchantress. They keep stunning me.”
With a sigh, I complied, running my character over to the nearest magic portal chamber to take her to the location where Heath was tirelessly hacking his way through troll parts to find some small clue to the game’s latest mystery.
*You tell Fragged, “You and everyone else who plays the game. You didn’t try to weasel the secret out of Drake, did you?”
*Fragged tells you, “No. I doubt he’d tell me anything anyway.”
*You tell Fragged, “You sure? You definitely chatted with him for a long time.”
My character was almost to Fragged’s location in the game, at the base of the Golden Mountains, when she got jumped by an aggressive mountain goblin.
*Fragged tells you, “Where are you? I’m up to my asshole in troll guts.”
*You tell Fragged, “I have aggro. Goblin jumped me. I’ll be there in a minute. Oh and by the way, I need you to get in touch with the number two guy in the auction. It’s not going to work with Drake.”
I was just finishing off the mountain goblin, my character at half her full life, when he replied.
*Fragged tells you, “Um. What?”
*You tell Fragged, “Just do it. I’m almost there—shit! Another goblin! Come help me. He has friends and I’m only at half my life.”
I watched as my red health bar—the indicator of my character’s life—started to dwindle. I punched buttons left and right, waiting for his Mercenary to show up with his mighty sword so he could stand between me and the bad guys. We spell-casters referred to the big brawny warrior-types as “meat shields” because they stood between us and the monsters while we shot them with magic spells.
*Fragged tells you, “I’m on my way. I strongly disagree, by the way. If you’re going to go through with this, then D. is your best bet. And we probably shouldn’t be texting each other about it in his own fucking game.”
Fragged arrived to save my bacon when I had only a sliver of health left. I backed up, drank a healing potion and punched my highest-level spell, “Bedazzle,” to stun the goblin and his friends. They swayed back and forth with stars in front of their eyes while Heath’s Barbarian Mercenary beat them down one at a time.
“Take that, sucker!” I muttered aloud.
I turned back to my keyboard, quickly typing in my next message to Heath.
*You tell Fragged, “So why do you disagree about calling it off with him and going to the other guy?”
I finished off the second goblin with a lightning bolt and then sent a healing spell to Fragged, who was down to a third of his life.
*Fragged tells you, “Because D. is the best prospect, hands down.”
I gritted my teeth, frustrated.
*You tell Fragged, “Are you saying that because it is in my best interest or because you have DE stars in your eyes? You are hooked on this game and I know that’s what you spent your hours talking to him about—wheedling game secrets out of him.”
*Fragged tells you, “WTF.”
His character turned to mine and made a rude gesture. In response, I flipped off the screen, though I knew he wouldn’t see it.
*You tell Fragged, “Real mature.”
*Fragged tells you, “I’m not very mature when I’m pissed. If you think, for one minute, that I was putting my own interests ahead of yours, then how can you even call me a friend, Mia?”
*You tell Fragged, “I don’t believe that. I’m sorry. I was mad. Drake pissed me off and it’s not going to work.”
*Fragged tells you, “Stop using his name, goddamn it. Either abbreviate or call me on the phone, and don’t effing insult me.”
With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the phone and called him. He picked up the phone and without a greeting, he said, “Okay, I get it. He came across about as aggressive as a mustang stallion. I have no idea what that was all about but I’m assuring you right now that he’s a far better choice than New York and I’m putting my foot down on this. Now get your ass over to my spot. These trolls are going to take me forever to kill without your help.”
“Heath—”
“No, Mia. If you want to back out with Drake, you are going to have to tell him yourself. I’ll send you his e-mail address. You let him know what you’ve decided.”
I stiffened. “Fine. I will. I can’t blog about his company and his products if I’ve had a personal relationship with him. It just wouldn’t be right.”
Heath snorted on the other end. “No, at least be honest with yourself. He scared the shit out of you because you have never been that into a guy you’ve just met before.”
“Whaaaaat?” And in spite of the fact that I was alone, my cheeks heated, my entire body grew hot and I started to sweat.
It was a good thing I had to focus on killing trolls and saving his Barbarian Mercenary’s smelly loinclothed ass or I would have died of embarrassment.
“We’ve been best friends since eighth grade. Back when you were still interested in guys, before that fucker screwed you up, I could always tell who you were into. It’s been six years since you dated that little prick and you’ve never so much as looked at a guy since. In our little meeting, you were flushed and breathing like you’d just run a marathon. Drake turned you on and that scares the shit out of you.”
My fist closed on the table and my T-shirt was starting to stick to my ribs. His character was running low on life. I prepared my gate spell to take me away from the area and out of harm’s way. I’d tell him I accidentally hit the wrong button instead of healing him.
“You have no idea what’s going on inside my head, so stop trying to figure it out.”
“Doll, when you asked for my help with this auction, you gave me the right to voice my opinion. My work is all over this venture. Quit squawking because you’re losing control.”
I wasted the second-to-last troll with a killing enchantment. He could fight the last one by himself—with only a sliver of life left. “I am not losing control.”
“Then admit that you want Drake.”
I took a deep breath. “He’d be a conflict of interest.”
“Heal, please? And that’s not what I asked you.”
My finger hovered over the heal button, but I didn’t press it. “Are you bound and determined to humiliate me? Yes, I think he’s hot. Okay? But that was never a requirement. Now, if I e-mail him and tell him he’s lost his chance, will you set things up with the New Yorker?”
There was a long silence at the end of the line. “I’ll consider it. A heal any century now would be great.”
“Drink a potion,” I snarled. Then I wussed out and shot him a small heal…just enough to let him think he might make it out before I gated out on him.
“Mia, I really think you should think long and hard about Drake.” And then he laughed his typical juvenile boy laugh. “Huh. See what I did there? I said ‘long and hard.’”
“Can you hear me dying of laughter over here?” I hit my gate spell and disappeared.
Ten seconds later, Fragged showed up next to me in ghost form. The troll had finished him off.
“Now who’s laughing, sucker?” I giggled.
“I forgot how bitchy you get when I’m right and you’re wrong. Go write your e-mail, then. I’m not playing with you when you’re in one of your moods. But for the record, I think you’re making a big mistake.”
I swallowed my frustration, at last relieved that I apparently had won him over. “Yes, yes. It’s noted.”
So after I hung up, I sat down and wrote it.
Dear Mr. Drake,
I appreciate your interest in my auction and your willingness to lay down a considerable sum to see things come to pass. But since our meeting I’ve had some time to reflect on the matter and I feel that we would not be compatible in this venture. It was clear to me at our meeting that you lack the desire to put me at ease. This was never a requirement and I know you will point that out in your reply, but as the plans for this have solidified, I’ve decided that I need someone who is willing to make those extra efforts. As well, I do not think we would work well together and though it is only for a brief time, I still think it would be in my best interest to go with one of the runners-up in the bidding. I wish you well and thank you again for the opportunity to have met you.
Regards,
Mia Strong
Holding my breath, I pressed “send” and sat back, staring at the blinking cursor on a blank screen. After a few tense moments, I released it, realizing that I was a coward. Heath was right. I hadn’t been this affected by a man in—well—never. And I had no idea why that was the case, but at the very core of this cold feeling inside me was an icy kernel of fear or thrill. It dried my throat, made my palms clammy. I wiped them on my jeans and stood, unwilling to let myself dwell on it.
Then I went about my day, tidying up the apartment in between writing blog posts and making still more tea. When I got back from vacuuming—a short break because I only had one room in my studio—I saw the “new e-mail” indicator flashing for my attention.
I clicked on it and noted the return address: [email protected] Not the address I had sent it to, which was a generic Google mail account.
I opened it up and it was very short.
Hi Mia,
I’d like to talk with you again. As soon as possible.
Adam
I sent off my reply immediately.
Mr. Drake—
My decision is made.
Mia Strong
Next I did the windows—actually a bit astonished at my burst of desire to clean. I hadn’t cleaned like this in months. I hated to clean, but I’d found that, since sending that first e-mail, sitting around and doing nothing, or even just writing blog posts, was driving me crazy.
After finishing the windows, I pulled on my shorts and running shoes, tucked my long hair up into a ponytail and decided to burn off my excess energy with a 5k run.
I was almost out the door when someone knocked. I pulled it open and started in shock.
Filling up my doorway with all of his masculine beauty was Adam Drake. In the very solid flesh. He wore jeans, a casual short-sleeved black button-down shirt and designer aviator sunglasses. He was leaning against the doorframe with one hand and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his firm bicep. He looked even more delicious than he had the day I’d met him at the hotel.
“Um,” was all I said. How the hell did he know where I lived? Something tickled at the back of my memory—a hurriedly scrawled address on the back of the nondisclosure agreement that I’d signed. My heart started its furious staccato. I could feel it in my throat, my wrists.
I couldn’t see his eyes, but he smiled—a genuine smile this time, not that sarcastic bullshit. “Hi. May I come in?”
I hesitated. My apartment was clean but very humble. This guy probably had a mansion on the harbor somewhere—I was guessing Balboa Island. Worth at least five or six million, probably more. He probably had his own boat in a slip and he lived just down the street from the legendary home of the late John Wayne. His master bathroom was likely bigger than my entire studio.
“It’s okay, Mia. I just want to talk.”
This was a far cry from the caveman I’d met the previous week. I held his gaze through the shades and then he reached up and pulled them off, folding them and putting them in his shirt pocket. The gold watch on his strong wrist flashed in the sunlight. I blinked and, not believing what I was doing, I stepped back and let him in, folding my arms over my chest.
“You caught me at a bad time,” I murmured.
“Yeah, I can see you are about to go running.”
I frowned. How had he known that? Sure, I was dressed in exercise clothes, but how did he know I wasn’t headed for the gym instead? Then I remembered that I’d mentioned that I was a runner on my blog. Maybe he’d read it there?
He entered slowly, moving as if he was afraid he might frighten me away. He glanced around the room, his face expressionless, but I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when his gaze settled on my old rattletrap computer. At least I’d been able to swap out that old blocky CRT monitor for a newer flat screen when Heath had upgraded his system and given me his hand-me-down. But it was still a source of shame, especially for a techie gaming addict like me.
My fingers dug into my arms where I held them across my chest. I shifted uneasily. “What are you doing here, Mr. Drake?”
His gaze met mine, that studious look in his eyes again. “I’d like to know why you’ve changed your mind.”
My lips thinned. I squared my shoulders, preparing for his hard sell. “I don’t believe I’m required to supply that answer, but out of the goodness of my heart I will say that Heath is the one who chose you, not me. I’m changing Heath’s decision, not mine. I’m still going through with this. Just with a different person.”
His expression remained completely neutral but there was a speculative look in his eyes. “Because of our conversation last Thursday?”
I blinked. “No. I wasn’t terribly impressed by that conversation, but that’s not the reason.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t I deserve to know why, then?”
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and looked down. “Because of who you are.”
He nodded as if expecting that answer. “Yes, I wondered when that would come up. I was surprised there was no discussion of it at the meeting and didn’t surmise that Bowman hadn’t told you until after it was over. It wasn’t by my choice that you didn’t know.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Heath Bowman is my closest friend. I don’t believe he meant any harm. He just thinks of this gaming thing as something that you and I have in common. But it’s a conflict of interest.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything and for a long moment there was silence. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet.
He smiled. “Can we grab something to eat? I’m feeling pretty hungry myself.”
We walked to the sandwich shop at the end of the street. It was a little diner with tables on the front patio under a slatted wooden cover. On a breezy spring day in early May, it was the perfect place to sit. Drake and I ordered our sandwiches and sat while waiting for them to be brought out.
My heart was doing its weird offbeat fibrillation again and when I swallowed, there was a cold excitement in my throat. Christ…just from sitting at a table with him? This guy was pure danger to my senses. What was it about him that set me on edge like this?
I cleared my throat and began. “I don’t think you’re aware of this, but my blog is my livelihood.”
“I’m aware of your blog, Emilia. I have been for quite some time.”
This caused me to sit back against the chair. The cold of the metal back seeped through my T-shirt. “Is that so?”
He smiled. “Why does that surprise you? Considering the industry I’m in and the fact that yours is one of the best blogs out there reviewing gaming material.”
I glanced at him skeptically. “Thank you for the compliment, but that’s just not true. GameShopper. GeekWorld. All of those other multiauthor platforms far outproduce me in content and hits.”
“But they reference you often enough.”
I shook my head. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea that you even read the blogs.”
He laughed. “I’m a normal person, just like everyone else.”
“But you’re busy CEOing and designing and stuff.”
“I was an architect on the game once and take an active interest in my product. I’m always looking for ways to make it better. What’s been on my mind a lot lately is appealing to a certain demographic that we seem to have trouble with.”
I knew how he’d answer before I asked the question, but I had to ask it anyway. “What demographic?”
“Female, sixteen to twenty-four.”
It was my turn to crack that sarcastic smile. “Ah, I get it. So I’m research for you, am I?”
He laughed. “No, but your blog is.”
I nodded. “It’s comforting to know that all my snarking is being noticed by those who count. Maybe someday you might take a comment or two of mine to heart.”
His tilted his head, studying me. “I think you have a lot of valuable insights to provide to the gaming community from a young woman’s point of view. We need more female gamers speaking out about what they want.”
“Great. So then you understand why I’m stopping this.”
He shook his head. “It’s an unfounded worry.”
“But if I’m reviewing your game and you and I are—how could you not see that as a conflict?”
“Because there are ways you can handle it that you haven’t thought of.”
I clenched my jaw. “Oh, is that so? Like what?”
He looked to the side, considering. “You could temporarily go on hiatus with the DE column and find something else to take its place for a few months. Or you could get a guest blogger to handle it for you.”
I laughed. “Are you actually suggesting I drop the free publicity of your game? I can’t believe my ears.”
But he’d planted the seed of an idea in my mind. One of my closest gaming friends, Katya, who played as Persephone, had been wanting to guest post for some time. I’d never met her in person but, as with FallenOne, Heath and I played regularly with her. I could probably set her onto the task. She was a diehard DE fan.
Still, I hesitated. And at that moment, our sandwiches were delivered to the table. I dug into mine—turkey and avocado on a wheat roll—with gusto. I hadn’t had breakfast and was running low on groceries, as usual, and I was still a few days out from the next paycheck.
“I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea.”
“Then let me resolve your other concerns,” he said, taking a bite of his spicy chicken po’ boy and commenting on how good it was.
“I don’t think you can.” I said in between my next bites.
“Try me.”
“I don’t think we’re compatible.”
“How compatible would we have to be for one night?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t what I’d really wanted to say. It wasn’t compatibility that concerned me. It was this scorching sexual tension that crackled through the air whenever we were near each other. Or at least that’s how it was for me. I had no idea what he was feeling. He seemed as calm, cool and collected as on the day we’d met.
I cleared my throat and leaned forward, my elbows on the table in front of me. “Mr. Drake, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am in control of this entire situation. It was my auction, my drive, my desire to see an end to an archaic value system that for centuries worked against women and to turn it on its ear.”
When he looked at me, his eyes sliced right through me, lanced me to the core. “It all sounds very noble and revolutionary when you put it that way. And here I’d been convinced this entire time that you were doing it for the money.”
I sat back, watching him. So the Manifesto hadn’t fooled him in the least. I affected a shrug that I didn’t feel. “I won’t lie. I could use the money. I want to go to medical school and I don’t want to be in debt. Some women waitress at topless bars to put themselves through college. Some dance at strip clubs or sell phone sex over the Internet. My decision was to use one night in my life to change the course of things, if possible.”
He didn’t have to know about my mother’s hospital bills and her cancer treatments or even the threat to the mortgage on the ranch property. He didn’t have to know about the way I felt like vomiting whenever I thought of any of those things, of the panic that laced the edges of every thought that concerned money. I’d let him think I was just doing this for me. I’d never claimed to be a selfless saint.
His forehead creased and he got that strange, cold look he had when he’d dismissed me at the end of our first interview. “But ultimately, no matter who it is you choose to submit to, you will end up ceding control. You won’t be in control of the entire situation for the entire night.”
I looked away but hesitated from biting into my sandwich. “I’d like to feel like I’m in control now.”
“And my coming here to change your mind threatens that?”
I tilted my head to the side, considering. “It depends on what you’ll do if you fail to convince me.”
He hesitated a moment, then set his jaw. “I’ll step aside.”
We watched each other over our empty plates—or at least his, for he had finished his sandwich and half of mine remained. I was still hungry, but that other half was earmarked as my dinner. It was another cost-saving measure I regularly employed. Any time I ate out, I saved exactly half my meal to have later. That way one meal became two.
He stared at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Didn’t you like your sandwich?”
“It was great,” I said in a cheerful voice as I asked our server to bring me a take-home box.
He scowled. “Eat the rest of your sandwich, Emilia.”
“I’m saving it for later.” I blushed, refusing to admit that I was so destitute that this half sandwich, a box of cereal and half a carton of milk were about all I had to eat until payday.
When the waitress returned, he took the box from her before she could hand it to me. He ordered two more sandwiches—one of which, I’d told him when I’d been suggesting things for him to order, was my second favorite here. “Can you bring those boxed to go? She’s decided to finish this one.”
Then he turned and looked at me. “Now will you finish that?”
It didn’t take more convincing. Though I was embarrassed, I mumbled my thanks around my last bites. His perceptiveness impressed me. Most guys wouldn’t have picked up on the fact that I was still hungry. Even Heath probably wouldn’t have. He’d never commented on my boxing up my leftovers.
Drake carried the sandwiches back to my apartment as we walked the three blocks in silence. I crunched noisily on the peppermint candy the waitress had left with the check.
“Do you always chew your hard candies like that?”
I darted a glance at him and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t suck, remember?”
And to my astonishment, he laughed. “How could I forget?”
He came in again, but only to lay the sandwiches on the kitchen counter; then he headed for the doorway.
I followed closely to see him out. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back to me. Given the narrow entryway, we were in close quarters. My heart started hammering at my throat again.
He looked at me for a long moment. “Emilia, I’m asking you to reconsider. The choice—the control— is in your hands, of course, but don’t eliminate the possibility just because of some fears that can be dispensed with.”
Despite the strong physical reaction to him, my ire rose to his challenge. “You think I’m afraid?”
He paused, studying my face. “I think there are some things you don’t understand. Like this effect we have on each other…” My throat tightened. So he was feeling it, too. My heart rate kicked up a few notches as if I was already in the middle of my run.
Breathing was difficult, too. “I’m quite aware of it.”
He watched me, eyes boring into mine. “But do you understand it?”
“I’m quite capable of understanding sexual attraction, Mr. Drake.”
“Adam,” he said quietly, his eyes lowering to focus on my mouth. My heart skipped a beat in its frenetic pace.
“Adam.”
“Why does it make you uncomfortable to call me by my first name?”
I locked gazes with him, suddenly intensely aware of how close we were standing. I could smell him—a subtle scent, masculine, clean, like the ocean and the hint of peppermint candy on his breath. I could almost feel the heat and power oozing off of him in waves. I swallowed in a suddenly dry throat.
“I don’t know.”
“I want to give you one more thing to think about.”
“And what is that?”
He leaned closer, his head approaching mine. I didn’t have the time to step back nor, I think, the willpower to do it even if it had occurred to me. His mouth met mine in a firm, sure kiss.
It wasn’t overpowering. That was the first thing that surprised me. It was a subtle give and take—gentle, at first, a warm pressure of his lips on mine. Then he took a step closer and slid a hand around my waist, the other going to my back.
He retreated, just slightly, just enough to allow me to pursue him. His mouth moved against mine, teasing, pressing it open. Now his body pressed against mine, his head angled down to reach me, for I was at least five inches shorter than him.
I opened my mouth to him then and his tongue slid in easily. Nothing tentative in this kiss. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was telling me I had the control, declaring the decision mine and then swooping in and taking no prisoners.
His hands stayed put. I was glad of that though I wanted his touch everywhere—my aching breasts, the throbbing between my legs. Goose bumps prickled up and down my arms. His tongue explored my mouth with surety, easy possession. And—to my utter humiliation—I let loose a small whimper at the back of my throat.
The arm around my waist tightened when he heard it, responding immediately, almost instinctively. He pulled his tongue back, as if inviting me to follow him with my tongue. And tentatively, I did.
I’d been kissed before—back in high school when I was normal and I actually dated. But it had been years, now, and I’d never, ever been kissed like this. My tongue entered his mouth and he made a noise at the back of his throat, not quite a growl, kind of more like a huff. It emboldened me. Empowered me. I thrust my tongue, lacing my hands around the back of his neck. Our heads moved together for long minutes and I felt like I hadn’t breathed in a lifetime.
Everything was spinning around me and I—I was spinning, too, delirious with want. Like a woman drowning in the middle of a stormy sea, in desperate need of a life raft. That sea was Adam Drake and he was pulling me adrift, stranding me in some strange and forgotten land.
When finally he ended the kiss, he pulled away so slowly that I could hardly tell our lips had parted until cool air passed between us. It was then that I saw that he was as affected as I was—his cheeks flushed, his breath coming fast, his eyes dark and drunk with desire.
I licked my lips and took a step back, but I didn’t remove my gaze from his. He stared at me for a long moment and then fished his sunglasses out of his pocket.
Before speaking, he coughed into a fist, as if consciously trying to affect that previous cool demeanor and knowing he was failing. “It was…That was just something else to consider. I hope you make the right decision.”
And with that, without even waiting for me to say good-bye or reply in any way, he was gone.
I fell back against the wall, aware of my aching, awakened senses. Every time I thought about his smell or the feel of his mouth on mine, a new shard of arousal cut me to the bone.
Thank goodness I was already decked out to run. I had planned on 5k but I ended up running twice that before I could even begin to feel the sexual energy burn off. This man had fired me up, intoxicated me. And why? Because of his gorgeous face? His solid, masculine body?
Because of his confident manner? He possessed maturity beyond his years. He seemed much more experienced than other twenty-something men I knew in college. Could life have changed him so much since his college days or had he always been that way?
I found questions like these sliding through my mind constantly for the rest of that day—all through the night as I worked. They harangued me on my day off, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanted to call and ask him to come over and give me a good night kiss like the one he’d given me the day before.
I laughed at the thought. How silly. But I surprised myself with the realization of how much I really wanted it. On day three after The Kiss, I called Heath and told him to throw away the New Yorker’s contact information. We would proceed as planned.
Still, my feelings were mixed. I had a hard time reconciling the behavior of Adam Drake at the hotel conference room the day we’d met and the man who’d come to my place and bought me lunch and, thanks to his perceptiveness, dinner, too. I’d told Heath, but I waited a few more days to tell Adam that I’d decided to go through with it. I didn’t want to appear as eager as I was beginning to feel, after all. I didn’t want to be eager at all.
This was business. And every time I relived the fire of that kiss in my memory, I had to remind myself of that. Business. Business, Mia. Just business. Nothing meaningful would ever result from this encounter between us. I’d designed it expressly to be that way. One night of anonymous abandon from which I’d emerge a new woman—or maybe just the same old me, without my virginity but with a lot of money in my bank account.
But now, this man was stirring a whole different pot. A bubbling, roiling cauldron of thrilling need. This night might be too dangerous, like staring into the sun or flying too close to the fire or…
Mr. Drake,
I’ve decided to go through with the agreement as it stands. Please proceed with the business arrangements as outlined in the packet of papers provided to you by Mr. Bowman.
If you prefer, you can speak with him if you have any questions. You’ll need to set a date at least two weeks from now but no more than three months. We can discuss locations, choosing from the list I provided.
Regards,
Mia Strong
My heart thumped in my throat when I hit “send.” I sat and stared at the screen for almost twenty minutes, numbly paging through my regular gaming news sites and clipping things for my blog. I stared at that e-mail icon until it drove me crazy that he wasn’t replying. Did I think he’d change his mind? Was I afraid he would? Or was I just dying to see what he’d say in reaction to this?
Maybe he was in a meeting or on a business trip or unable to get reception. Maybe he was screaming through the atmosphere on his private jet with a pretty hostess in his lap and a martini in his hand. I scrunched up my face at that picture, like he was some kind of young, American James Bond, and laughed at my own silliness.
After I got home from that afternoon’s run, I checked again. Nothing. Then I made dinner and sat down to watch an old Friends rerun while I ate. I’m proud to say I only interrupted my meal once to check my computer and make sure the alerts were working properly.
Maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe he’d decided it was too much trouble. After all, I had to question why he’d be interested in this deal, anyway. He was young, rich and gorgeous. Weren’t there women beating a path to his door? Why would he bid so much money on a woman he’d never met—before he’d ever seen a picture of my face—for one night? Why did he care? Why did it mean so much to him to remove the virginity of a stranger?
After dinner, I dug into my study books for a couple of hours before finally dozing off around ten. Yes, I was living the high life. When I woke up, Gray’s Anatomy was digging a sharp corner into the small of my back. I pushed the huge book to the floor and the computer chirped.
I don’t think I’ve ever jumped awake faster in my life. I opened up my e-mail and saw his address flashing with the “unread” tag on it. I plunked into my chair and, with a shaky hand on my mouse, opened it.
Ms. Strong,
May 18th. Amstel Amsterdam. 15:00 local time. Check in at the desk, reservation under my name. Pack light. Bowman will make the flight arrangements per my instructions.
See you in two weeks.
Drake
My heartbeat thrummed on every inch of my skin. My forehead broke out in beads of sweat. He’d thought everything through. Amsterdam had been on the list, of course, because of the legality issues of what we were doing. And I’d secretly hoped he’d agree to it, as I’d always wanted to go there, even if it was just for a night. Maybe I could do some sightseeing. I’d always dreamt of seeing Europe. Holland was an excellent start.
I immediately opened up another window and did a search for the hotel and gasped at the pictures I hit. Easily five stars, over a thousand euros a night. I was getting my cherry popped in style.
But…he had made all the arrangements without consulting me. And while they were splendid arrangements, I was still irked by his assumption of command—again. He’d promised me he’d let me drive this, let me be in control. It was likely that he didn’t even think about things like that. That they were so easy for him to arrange that it didn’t even occur to him that he was wresting anything from my grasp that I didn’t want to cede.
After minutes of staring at the blinking cursor in the reply screen, I picked up the phone and dialed Heath. There was no answer.
With a huff and a sigh, I closed the program and shuffled off to bed. Despite being exhausted and having to report for an early shift in the morning—as in five a.m. sort of early—I couldn’t sleep.
I kept wondering if I should be irked or not—if I should be reading so much into his gestures. Were there ulterior motives or was this just second nature to him?
My mind wandered over everything and ultimately kept returning to that feeling I got when he watched me with that intense stare. My skin flushed all over in response. And that kiss. I could remember the tiniest detail of it. Would sex with him be like that—only more?
His mouth had felt so good I couldn’t help but wonder what his lips, his tongue would feel like on my body. My nipples immediately tightened at the thought of that hot tongue sliding over them. I imagined the pressure of his hard, heavy body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress.
My hand moved between my legs, stroking faster and faster against that knotted ache that had stirred into being when we’d kissed.
My eyes screwed tight as the pleasant anticipation built. His hands on my body, his body between my legs. His back under my stroking hands. Yes.
I gasped as I tumbled down that precipice, my body convulsing with the orgasm.
At two a.m. I finally drifted off, but not before becoming aware of an unease at the edge of my fatigued awareness. I was captain of my own ship, yes. But I still had to answer to the sea, the weather, the storm on the horizon. And Adam could be any one—or all—of those things. And in my sleep-induced haze, I couldn’t help but fear that he was.