by Lynda Aicher
Her shoulders relaxed as the knot in her chest loosened. He felt it too—whatever it was that was growing between them. And that...was too big for words.
She held her purse on her lap and embraced her wants for one brief moment. This could be something. It had the potential to be, if she allowed herself to go with it. Whatever it was. Her stomach dipped, heart too. A wave of warmth flowed through her, fueled by the opportunities she’d set free.
Every moment was a chance at something new, and she’d been scooping them up her entire life. Why was she so afraid of this one?
Because it had the potential to hurt her the worst. Or give her the most joy.
“How was your day?” Carson asked once they were on the road.
“Good. Busy.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yours?”
His laugh was a short huff. “The same.”
“Gregory’s excited about a potential client the firm is courting.” Her smile grew from the inside. The mundane day talk was just filler chatter, yet it was another side of normal they’d missed before.
Carson nodded. “Trevor has a way of getting whatever he goes after.”
Her short chuckle was one of agreement. “I don’t know him that well, but he doesn’t come across as a guy who accepts no as a final answer.”
His evasive shrug provided little insight into their boss. “Have you ever been to Carmichael’s?”
Her respect for him increased when he changed the topic instead of gossiping about Trevor. “No. But I’ve heard it’s really good.”
“My mother introduced me to it,” he said. The corner of his mouth lifted. “She’s somewhat of a foodie now.”
She shifted to face him better, intrigued. “Now? She wasn’t before?”
“No.” His smile grew before it fell away, the memories obviously filtering by. “Money was too tight, and we were all too busy to be picky about what we ate.” He glanced at her, shrugged. “She had three boys in four years. We ate a lot.”
She laughed, nodding. “I can imagine. My mother complained constantly about my brother’s endless stomach when he hit his teens.”
“Pure survival instincts prompted me to learn how to cook,” he added, his smile waning again.
“It’s a good skill to have.” One her brother never learned since their mother had deemed kitchen duties women’s work.
They fell into silence as they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog was creeping in on a wall of dank clouds that seemed to coast over the water. The fog would reach the bridge soon, but how far would it invade tonight? There was no way to tell, and she both loved and hated the mystery.
He took the Sausalito exit into the little nook situated across the bay from San Francisco. The town held that quaint, artsy tourist feel that leaned toward elite without being obnoxious. The window displays varied from sculptures and pricey decorations to baked goods and toys.
Carson stopped at a valet stand before a restaurant built on a dock over the water. The scent of fish and algae floated in the air beside the tantalizing food smells when she exited the car. She inhaled again and appreciated the simple beauty of their surroundings. People strolled on the sidewalks, and bikers utilized the road with the slow-moving cars. Everyone was out enjoying the last of the daylight.
A wind blew off the bay, and she scanned the stunning view of San Francisco in the distance—a mass of staggered monochrome buildings against a pale sky filled with fluffy clouds tinted pink and orange from the setting sun.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Carson asked as he came to her side, gaze on the view.
“It is,” she agreed. “Sometimes, it’s hard to believe I live there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She searched for a tangible reason but only had vague outlines. “Maybe because in some ways I’m still that small-town girl from the Midwest. And that—” she gestured back at the skyline “—is about as far from it as you can get.”
“And city kids are that different?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
“No. Maybe.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She laughed at herself and her own ramblings. “Haven’t you ever felt like an outsider only to realize that at some point you’d become a part of the very thing you’d once thought you were separated from?”
“Yeah.” He studied her, completely serious. “I get that.”
He took her hand and led her to the door before she could dig beneath his meaning. His palm warmed hers and brought with it a sense of belonging.
And yeah, she liked it.
The gust of wind lifted her skirt as he opened the door, and she quickly pressed the material down as she ducked inside. A slow wave of heat worked its way up her chest at her almost exposure.
Apparently, she hadn’t thought her daring through with her skirt choice.
Had it lifted high enough to show her nakedness? A quick glance around didn’t reveal any sniggers or speculative looks. She was good, but a part of her almost wanted someone to know.
And how strange was that?
They were seated at a table overlooking the bay. Candlelight flickered on the white linen tablecloth. Their food was ordered, wine poured before she sat back to study him. He returned her appraisal, smile growing.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She tilted her head, the wine easing through her to loosen her muscles and words. “Just about you. Your life.”
“Yeah?” His brow rose. “What do you want to know?”
Everything? And that was overbroad, even if it was true. She went instead with the most pressing question, one that linked to others and would unlock a part of Carson she loved yet didn’t fully understand. “How did you get involved with the Boardroom?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Carson had been expecting that question, or one like it, since he’d picked Avery up. There was so much she didn’t know about the Boardroom and even more she didn’t need to know.
He took a sip of his wine, let it rest on the back of his tongue before swallowing. The action stalled for time under the guise of appreciating what he barely tasted. Avery waited for him, head slightly tilted, determination lining her smile. She wouldn’t accept a blasé answer and she deserved more than that.
“I was invited.” He set his glass down before continuing. “A few years back.”
“By whom?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Plus, it doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.” Her brows dipped. “Why did you agree to go and then stay?”
His laugh was light. “Because I liked it.” She rolled her eyes, and he leaned forward, voice lowered. “I went out of curiosity. I continued because it set a part of me free.” Understanding burned in her eyes. “It was hot, wrong yet right. Wicked but accepted. And for me, it fit nicely into my lifestyle.”
“How so?”
“Sex without attachment.” He kept his voice flat. She’d asked for the truth, and that was it. “I didn’t want a relationship.”
“Oh.” She nodded, sighed. “I knew that.” Her half smile was full of self-deprecation. “You made it very clear before we started.”
“But,” he said, waiting for her to look at him. “Things change.”
“They do?”
He huffed a short laugh. “Always.” Even when he wasn’t expecting them to.
“So how, exactly, have they changed?” She tucked her hair behind her ear, doubt clear. Her bangs skimmed her forehead in a side part and did little to hide her drawn brows.
Damn. Admiration grew beside his irritation. She wouldn’t allow him to be vague, and he adored her for it.
He stared into her eyes and let the truth show. “We’re on a date. You spent the night at my place. I haven’t done either of those things in years.” He let that sink in b
efore adding, “And I’ve had no desire to sleep with anyone except you since you stumbled into that boardroom so many nights ago.” Months now.
Her smile wobbled, that telltale red tinge flowing over her cheeks. She lowered her head, gaze dropping as her smile grew. And there was that almost timid shyness that screamed of innocence. Would it ever recede? He hoped it didn’t. Not when it balanced that lusty, passionate side so evenly.
She looked back to him, head tilting as a playfulness overtook her expression. “So you don’t make a habit of getting women off on your rooftop?” She lifted a brow, lips twitching.
His laugh rolled out. “No. Not at all.” Not ever.
Their food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics while they ate. The weather. Work. Local hiking trails. Wine tasting. Observations about various areas of the city. Her laughter was quick, smile open as they flowed from one thing to the other.
This was easy, nice and he could’ve sat there talking to her all night. He’d barely scratched the surface on the things he wanted to learn about her.
Their plates were gone, the wine bottle empty when she sat back, expression growing serious. He let his smile go, prepared for the subtle shift.
“How do you do it?” she asked, frowning. “I mean, how do you handle seeing people you’ve done scenes with? Like that guy at the office yesterday?” She stared out the window. The sun had set, and San Francisco twinkled in a sea of lights across the black expanse of the bay. Her throat bobbed with her swallow, and she nibbled on the inside of her lip in an absent fashion.
He rested his elbows on the table and thought about his answer. “Can I ask you something first?” She nodded. “What part of that concerns you?”
Her eyes widen. “What part doesn’t?” And there was her fear. Or was it something else, worse maybe?
“So you passed a negative judgment on him when you saw him in Gregory’s office?” he pushed. “You thought less of him because you’d seen him in a sexual situation?”
“No!” She shook her head, leaning in. “Of course not.”
“Yet you assumed he made one about you.” He lifted a brow. “Am I right?”
Her lips parted, brows drawing together as she studied him. She snapped her mouth closed a second later. “Maybe,” she finally said with reluctance.
“You’re not the first one,” he tried to reassure her. “But it’s not like that.”
“Then how is it?”
He glanced around them. The restaurant was pretty full, but the tables were a respectable distance apart, unlike many places in San Francisco where privacy was dismissed in order to cram more people in. “The people in the Boardroom are all there for the same thing,” he said, voice lowered. “There is nothing shameful about what happens, because no one sees it that way.” He thought back to his initial reaction and the months it’d taken him to be comfortable both in and out of the setting. “And we don’t pass judgment on anything that goes on as long as it’s consensual.”
“Has there ever been a situation when it wasn’t?”
He shrugged. “Once that I know of. But it was handled, and the member removed.”
She went silent after that, and he signaled for the check. Her cheeks were flushed an attractive shade of pink. From the wine or warmth? Either way, it softened her features while adding a sensual allure. Maybe it was just the lighting or it could be his memory of the same flush covering her cheeks and chest when she came.
And he really shouldn’t go there when they were in public.
He cleared his throat and handed his credit card to the waiter when he returned. Avery was still silent, her regard both introspective and undecided.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m trying to believe you, but it’s hard to grasp.”
“What part?”
“The shame thing.” She shook her head, a breathy laugh gusting free. She waved a dismissive hand in front of her. “Sorry. Never mind. It’s my issue, obviously.”
He reached across the table to grab her hand. She stilled, swallowed. He rubbed his thumb over the back, an almost desperate need growing to purge that emotion from her when it came to sex. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Please.”
“What?” Her voice was soft, her gaze focused on their joined hands where they rested on the table. “My feelings, or where they stem from?”
“Both.”
The waiter returned with the bill, but Carson only spared him a brief smile as the man set the folder on the edge of the table. His tip would reflect the man’s deft understanding of the moment and his quick departure.
Avery wet her lips, crossed her free hand over her body to grip her other arm. She raised her gaze, smile pensive. “I was raised with the perception that sex was private. You didn’t talk about it, and you certainly didn’t do it in public. Or with multiple people. Or anything besides basic positions in bed.”
He understood that. It wasn’t hard, given the wave of sexual conservatism that gripped a large portion of the country. His Southern Cal roots had been a lot less tethered, largely due to the melting pot of Hollywood, TV and music that wove its way into the fabric of the area. “But you obviously know those perceptions aren’t the only ones, nor the correct ones.” He wouldn’t let her apply an ounce of shame to what they’d shared. “I would never look down on you for a sexual choice you made openly and willingly.”
“Never?” Her brow lifted.
“Never,” he restated with insistence, meaning it.
“And what if this thing between us becomes serious?” There was no hint of shyness in her now. Her gaze was direct, voice even. “Would you want an open relationship that included intercourse with other people?”
“No.” He didn’t have to think about that. Her eyes widened, doubt clear. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Not where you’re concerned.” He paused before adding, “Why? Would you?” His gut clenched. That jab of jealousy snaked out to bite him once again.
“No,” she said with a soft puff of laughter. She sat forward to rest her chin on her fist. Her eyes narrowed again, and he smiled, both in relief for her answer and preparation for what came next. “No. I don’t think I’m that...open-minded. Is that the right word?” She squinted in thought. “But,” she continued before he could answer, “I don’t really know. I’m not really versed in the world of open relationships and sexual play.”
Her final admission was pure truth, yet it sucked the air from his lungs. “I won’t share you,” he stated, just to clarify. Yes, he was being a caveman and he didn’t give a fuck.
“No?” she raised a brow, an impish smile tugging her lips up.
“No,” he insisted, completely serious.
She stared at him, the mood shifting with the unspoken communication. Somehow, they’d jumped the divide from just sex to serious relationship in the span of a few words. He had no idea how it’d happened, but he didn’t want her dating or fucking anyone else. And he sure as hell didn’t want to be with anyone but her.
The clink of silverware and the low din of chatter blended with the roaring in his head. His pulse beat a hard pace at his throat, but he wasn’t backing down. Not from her or the chance of them.
She was worth the risk. He was positive of that.
“And what about the Boardroom?” she asked, voice so low he almost missed her question.
He frowned. “What about it?”
“Would we—you—still play there?”
“Not without you.” His decision was made on the spot, and he knew it was true. “And only if you wanted to.”
It was her turn to frown. “But that’s not right either. You have a say. It’s your kink too.”
His kink too. The voyeurism.
His smile grew in slow increments as her words sunk in. She was admitting to it for the first time,
and that was huge.
Possibilities washed out many of his long-held positions with each increased thump of his pulse. Could he really have found a woman who complemented all parts of him so well? Who didn’t scorn his desires or try to persuade him to change?
“There are other ways we can explore that if you’d prefer to avoid the Boardroom,” he said, his mind already racing to the many possibilities.
“How?” Skepticism wrinkled her forehead.
“I can show you.” He slid his credit card back into his wallet, signed the bill. “Tonight. If you’d like.”
“Tonight?” She straightened, brows lifted. “How?”
A slow buzz of excitement hummed through him at her interest. “Do you trust me?” he asked, standing. He extended his hand and helped her from the chair.
She stood before him, searching deep. Her eyes were darker in the low light, intense but curious. “Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
That was so damn powerful. Did she know that?
He cupped her jaw and kissed her upturned lips. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling back. He had to force himself to move away or he’d dive back in and not come up until neither of them could breathe.
And this wasn’t the place for that, but he would do it later. That and so much more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Avery stepped off the industrial elevator into a cavernous room lit by small lamps, wall sconces and the occasional hanging light. People milled about, some fully clothed and, shockingly, some half naked, a few completely.
She clenched Carson’s hand, stomach twisting at the unknown. What had he brought her to?
They’d returned to San Francisco, where he’d driven to a nondescript building in the Mission district. He’d given her no details, only slipped her ID into his wallet before tucking her coat and purse in the trunk at the restaurant. He’d reassured her they could leave at any time before she’d completed the membership papers downstairs.