Chapter 30

Emma was still dazed from the whole crazy experience the week before. Although she hadn’t seen Arran since he dropped her off that night, she was going out with him later that evening and was truly looking forward to seeing him. They’d talked a few times throughout the week, and although they hadn’t spoken about the experience, it was clear that their relationship had kicked up a few notches. He’d definitely been more flirtatious and assertive since the party, his confidence unquestionably inflated in the best way possible.

Luke, on the other hand, never called her. She texted him several times but his responses were always short and direct, curt even. She wondered if it had anything to do with the party and even asked him outright, but he denied it. He said he’d been under the weather for a few days and had fallen behind at work, that he was just really busy. She had no reason to doubt him but still, something made her uneasy. She was going to give him a few more days and approach him again. They had gone weeks without speaking in the past, months even, but since she and Andrew had split, they had seen one another at least once a week, sometimes more. If she was being completely honest, she missed him.

Emma was home early for a Friday. Jennifer was away that afternoon at a conference and insisted that Emma take the rest of the day off. It was an unexpected offer but she welcomed it. They’d been busy all week working on a special project that was quickly reaching its deadline and both of them had been pushing hard.

She had just taken a shower and was lounging on the couch with her laptop, researching the Frye Art Museum. Jennifer had told her about a fascinating exhibit featuring Nicola Abernathy, a fifty-something American woman who, over the course of 10 years had traveled around the world creating art in different forms, painting, sculpture, photography, collaborating with different artists she met along the way. It had been rated one of the best exhibits in the country, boasting an amazing collection. She thought that Arran might appreciate it as much as she would and she really wanted to go.

The phone rang. She quickly retrieved it from her purse, unable hold back her smile when saw Arran’s name on the display.

“Hello,” she sang, easing into the sofa, “are you done work for the day?”

“Hello, Darling,” he greeted cautiously. Something seemed off.

“What’s the matter. You sound down.”

“It’s been a long day, everything is fine.”

“Yeah? Are you still up for going out tonight?”

He hesitated for a moment, pausing as though preoccupied by something. Emma waited for the shuffling and muted conversation to end before repeating herself, suddenly reminded of the many distracted conversations she’d had with her ex over the years.

“Arran?”

“Yes, sorry. I just had to take care of something important. What were you asking?” he replied flatly, clearly in work mode.

“Are we still going out?” she asked hesitantly.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could go to the Abernathy Exhibit at the museum? It closes Sunday,” she offered hopefully. Arran hesitated for a moment too long, making Emma wonder if he’d been interrupted again.

“Hmmm, I don’t think so. We should just stay in. This day has been bullocks. I’ll just pick up some dinner and come to your place. I’m in the mood for some Indian. Right then?”

Emma pulled her breath in slowly, unsure why she felt so apprehensive. The man had a shit day, if he didn’t want to go out that was fair, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to be selfish and insist on her own way but at the same time, something wasn’t sitting easy with her. It was the flavor of his words, the way they were seasoned with authority and delivered without any concern that she might want something different. She was bitterly intimate with the tone.

As though her silence gave him pause, he suddenly spoke up, this time his words more sincere, lighter. “Emma, I will make it up to you another time, you have my word on that. To be honest with you, the thought of sharing an expensive bottle of wine and shagging ourselves silly was more of what I had in mind,” he purred playfully.

Relieved, Emma smiled, swallowing her doubt and chiding herself for being so sensitive. It was kind of sweet that he wanted to stay in and have a romantic evening with her, and the truth was, she wanted the night to end passionately anyway. His way made it easier to skip the formalities.

“Ok,” she agreed softly, “but not Indian. I’m not a fan of Indian food.”

“What? It’s fantastic, Darling! Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to a fabulous dish. I know you’ll learn to love it if you just give it a chance,” he gently insisted, punctuating his words with a confident chuckle. Emma was pretty sure he was wrong, but kept it to herself. At thirty-one, she knew what she liked and didn’t.

“Well, another time maybe,” she appeased, ignoring the irritation creeping up her spine. “How about you just bring the wine and I will order in some Italian for us. I know this authentic Italian restaurant that makes the best lasagna, with gobs and gobs of cheese.

It’s frigging fantastic!”

“Lactose intolerant, I’m afraid. Not sexy.”

“Ah,” she replied, avoiding the image it evoked, “how about sushi?”

“Hate it.”

“Greek?”

“Um...,” he hesitated.

“Let me guess, too greeky?” Emma teased. She inhaled slowly, trying desperately to think of something that would please him.

“Ok, bring the Indian...but nothing too spicy for me, ok?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Not because she gave a shit about the food, but because she heard it, the people-pleasing, the submission, the surrender. Months and months of healing and she found herself right back where she started, prioritizing someone else’s needs above her own, placating a man. She felt nauseous. Luke would have kicked her ass.

“You got it,” he approved quickly, oblivious to her discomfort. “I should be out of here in about an hour and then home for a shower and shave. Shall we say 7:30?”

“Yes, that works,” she agreed, allowing her frustration to settle. In spite of being disappointed with herself, she really was looking forward to seeing him. Thoughts of the thorough shagging they ‘anonymously’ shared only a week earlier trumped every single one of her doubts. She hadn’t stopped thinking about her ‘mystery lover’ since he made her deliciously cum, three fucking times.

“Wear something pretty. Something I’ll want to tear off you,” he growled flirtatiously. Emma giggled, surprised by how hot his request made her.

“We’ll see...” she purred, deliberately tormenting him.

“Do as I say, Emma, or I may have to spank you,” he warned her mischievously.

Emma’s smile faded slightly as she considered his words. She knew they were meant to be provocative, but for some reason she found herself resisting them. She hated how distrustful she felt and chalked it up to her own insecurity, her painful past. Once bitten, twice shy.

Poor Arran, she thought, he didn’t deserve to be second-guessed at every corner, but why did he keep triggering her?