Crossing the Lines

by S. J. Hooks

  “So did I.” His stare is intense. “Everything we’ve done … I never dreamed I’d find someone like you, but then I ruined it and left you with that envelope. You were so much braver than I was about showing your feelings, and I knew how much you liked us getting closer. I liked it too, so much so that it scared the hell out of me.” He gently brushes my hair away from my face before looking deeply into my eyes. “But I’m not scared anymore. I can’t promise you we’ll be able to sleep together, or have Christmas decorations in the house, but I can promise that I’ll stay in therapy, and I’ll work on my issues. I swear. I want to be with you. What can I do to show you?”

  His expression is open and sincere, hopeful even. I’ve never had much luck and being hopeful has always been a scary prospect. But looking into Simon’s eyes, I can see the future, my own personal fairytale come true, and feeling hopeful comes as naturally to me as breathing.

  “Ask me out on a date.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I don’t know about this dress. Do I look okay?”

  Jo nods, watching me with an amused look as I fly around the apartment, pretty much beside myself.

  “You look fantastic,” she says. “Really, Abbi. Do you know where he’s taking you?”

  “He just said a restaurant.”

  “Then you can’t go wrong with a little black dress.”

  It’s been almost a week since I saw Simon in Pinewood, but we’ve talked on the phone and texted every day.

  “I’ve never been on a date like this before. I’m so nervous, I might throw up.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she says, taking a seat on my pullout couch. “This is kind of a big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal.” I shake my shoulders, trying to calm myself before flopping down next to her. “What do we even talk about on a first date after everything we’ve been through? Was it like this for you and Thomas when he came back?”

  “Not really. But that was a totally different situation. We’d been in a relationship before, and we have kids together. Just treat it like you would a normal date. I mean, even after everything, you don’t really know that much about each other.”

  I chew on my lower lip. “I’m just nervous. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.”

  Jo sends me a teasing smile. “So since this is technically only your first date, are you going to ask him up afterward?”

  I roll my eyes at her. “Maybe. If it feels right.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’ll feel right,” she drawls, leering at me before she starts laughing.

  Nerves forgotten, I shoot her a grin. “I really want this to work out, Jo.”

  “I do too.” She stands, pulling me off the couch. “So let me get Luke out of here so you’re ready when Mr. Thorne gets here.”

  “Simon. It’s just Simon,” I say, unable to contain my smile.

  “Just Simon.” She grins at me. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

  Laughing, we go help Luke pack his bag, and a few minutes later, I wave them off before running back upstairs to fuss over my dress again—and turn the couch into a bed, just in case.

  The doorbell ringing downstairs stops my pacing and my heart jumps into my throat. As I descend, male voices reach my ears.

  “ … apologize for what happened on Valentine’s Day.”

  “Hey, man, we’ve all been there,” I hear Garrett say. “Just treat her right, you hear?”

  They come into view, and both of them look up at me.

  “Oh, yoo-hoo, Abbi. There’s a gentleman caller for you,” Garrett says in a fake Southern accent, batting his eyelashes. “A tall drink o’ water if I ever saw one. Oh, my!” He fans himself, cracking up. I can’t help but laugh at his antics.

  “And this is why he couldn’t possibly be my boyfriend,” I say, turning my attention to Simon. He really is a tall drink of water and I can’t stop staring at him.

  He’s in a dark suit, as usual, a crisp white shirt and a charcoal gray tie underneath and a black wool coat on top. The circles underneath his eyes have disappeared, and his cheeks are flushed, giving his skin a healthy glow. He looks me up and down, from my curled hair to the heels on my feet and pauses to admire my dress. It’s slinkier and more revealing in the cleavage area than anything else I’ve owned before or anything he’s ever put me in, and it makes me feel sexy. I’ve slowly but steadily been gaining weight, and it definitely shows in my curves. I’m not so waifish anymore, and I like it. Judging by Simon’s blatant ogling, he likes it too.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, reaching out to help me down the last two steps.

  “So do you. I mean, handsome. You look very handsome.” I stumble over my words, feeling fluttery and stupid in his presence as I give him a shy smile.

  “Oh my gawd.” Garrett sighs. “Okay, I need to go call my husband. You kids have a good time.” He wags his finger at Simon. “Be sure to have her home by midnight, young man.”

  “Okay, bye!” I say, narrowing my eyes and giving him a look that usually works on my son. It doesn’t work on Garrett. He sends me a dazzling smile before sauntering away, leaving me alone with Simon.

  “I brought you these,” he says, bringing his left hand out from behind his back. He hands me a bouquet of lilac roses.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen them in this color before.”

  “Everyone buys red ones. I wanted them to be, uh, special,” he says, fidgeting. “Do you like them?”

  It dawns on me then—he’s nervous too!

  “I love them. They’re so pretty.”

  “Well, I have it on good authority from a very clever little boy that you’re supposed to bring flowers.”

  I smile, remembering. “Let me put them in water. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I hurry up the stairs as fast as I can in heels, and head for the kitchen. I know I have a vase somewhere. Carefully, I place the bouquet on the counter and start searching. I’m standing up on my toes, reaching for the glass vase on the top shelf when I sense him behind me. He whispers my name and places one hand on my waist as his other reaches over me and grabs the vase easily. He puts it next to the flowers, his other hand still touching me as he lightly presses his front to my back. I’m frozen, overwhelmed by his closeness, yet wanting him closer still. I inhale a shaky breath as he leans in to bury his face in my hair before nuzzling my neck.

  “God, you smell so good.” His voice is husky, sending little jolts of pleasure up and down my spine. “And this dress …” He trails off, bringing his other hand up to the one I still have raised in the air, caressing the length of my arm with the tips of his fingers and causing my skin to contract beneath his touch.

  He presses his lips against my neck and my naked shoulder, gripping me tighter with his strong hands and fully pressing himself against me. I can feel how I affect him and can’t help but moan. It’s been months since he’s touched me like this, and my body craves it like it craves oxygen.

  “Simon, oh,” I whimper as he nips at my earlobe, his breath hot in my ear. Abruptly, he pulls back, uttering a low curse. I turn, trembling.

  “Fuck, don’t look at me like that, Abigail,” he says, still breathing harshly.

  “You started it,” I murmur.

  He grins, shaking his head. “You did. When you decided to put on that dress.”

  “I can change,” I offer, only half-serious.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  We stand a few feet apart, staring at each other. It’s obvious what we’re both thinking, and it has absolutely nothing to do with going out to dinner.

  “I’ll just wait for you downstairs,” he finally says, although it sounds like a question.

  Or you could bend me over, pull up my dress, push my underwear to the side, and take me right here on my kitchen counter.

  “That’s probably best.” I want this night to be about more than sex. It’s our first real date and tonight I want romance. I send him a smile, and he walks away, giving bot
h of us an opportunity to calm down.

  After putting the roses in water and briefly considering sticking my head in the freezer to cool off, I head back downstairs. Simon is by the door, and he helps me into my coat wordlessly. Outside, the cold air is welcome, and I draw a deep breath as we start walking toward his car.

  “I apologize,” Simon says softly next to me.

  I stop and look up at him.

  “I asked you out tonight, and I honestly don’t expect anything except a good meal and your lovely company. I promise.”

  “Thank you, but you have nothing to apologize for. I was right there with you.”

  “Still, we’ll take it as slowly as you want, Abigail. You’re in control.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “I’m making progress,” he says with a smile.

  “You are. I’m proud of you.” I stand up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to be honest with you. Taking things slowly … it’s going to be really hard.”

  His eyes spark with humor. “Pun intended?”

  I snort out a laugh, quickly covering my mouth in embarrassment. He grabs it so he’s holding both of mine in his, looking down on me with warmth in his gaze.

  “I like making you laugh,” he says softly.

  “I like it too.”

  “C’mon. Let’s go to dinner,” he says, letting go of my left hand but holding my right one as we walk to the car together.

  He drives us to a restaurant downtown, still holding my hand while using the other one to steer the car. On the way, he asks about Luke’s school, how he’s doing, and how my mom is faring. It’s so unlike our old relationship, so normal—and it’s lovely. We walk inside and hand over our coats, and we’re seated right away even though I can see there are a lot of people waiting for a table. Simon must be a frequent visitor; the maître d’ makes a big deal of him arriving with a date and compliments me excessively. Simon chuckles as I blush, resting his hand on my lower back as we’re escorted to the table. It might be my imagination, but I feel eyes on us as we take our seats, the maître d’ holding out my chair for me and even placing a napkin on my lap. Nervously, I pick up the menu, looking around the room, and sure enough, I see diners stealing glances at us.

  “Do you know everyone here?” I ask, feeling a little uncomfortable.

  “No. Some of them probably know me, though. Or know of me, at least.”

  “Oh. How?” I lean forward, intrigued.

  He gives me a smile. “You really haven’t ever looked me up,” he says, looking pleased.

  “Only to find out where you work so I could come see you.”

  “There was an article a few months back”—he waves his hand dismissively— “most eligible bachelors in the city or something like that. I made the list.”

  “Oh.” I glace around again. “The top of the list?”

  He shrugs. “It was good publicity for my business.” He leans forward, whispering, “But all the men are most likely staring at you, wishing you were with them.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I laugh softly. I don’t care about any other men, just the one in front of me.

  A waiter appears, asking if we’d like wine. Simon looks at me.

  “Er, sure. Nothing too sour, please.”

  “A glass of Moscato for the lady and the 2007 Sassicaia for me.”

  “The Moscato is really more suited for desserts,” the waiter says apologetically.

  “Yes, thank you, I’m quite aware of that,” Simon says with a hint of irritation in his voice, raising his eyebrows at the waiter. “But that’s what my date wants.”

  “Y-yes, sir. Right away.” He hurries off and Simon just smiles at me before perusing his menu.

  I resist the urge to fan myself. When I first met him, I remember how nervous his commanding ways made me feel. Now it just turns me on, seeing him in charge.

  The waiter is back almost immediately, pouring the two different wines for us, mine white and Simon’s red.

  “Abigail?”

  I look up from my menu. The waiter is still standing there, and Simon nods toward my glass.

  “Thank you?”

  He laughs softly, pushing it toward me. “Taste it.”

  I take a careful sip, happily surprised that it’s both sweet and bubbly.

  “Mmm, it’s good.”

  He grins at me, and I watch as he does the same thing, tasting his wine and telling the waiter it’s all right.

  “Would you like to hear tonight’s specials?”

  Simon nods and the waiter starts talking. A lot. The more he says, the more confused I feel. Glazed couscous. Fijian albacore sashimi. Parsnip mousseline. Conchiglie. Is any of that English?

  After the recitation is done, Simon looks at me for a moment before turning back to the waiter. “We’ll need a minute or two.”

  I blink a couple times, staring at my menu as I try to make sense of it all.

  “Abigail? What’s wrong?”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nothing, I just have no idea what he said. I’ve never been to a restaurant like this before. It’s so fancy.”

  Simon leans forward, looking at me intently. “I wanted to bring you here because it’s something we talked about but never did. I thought you’d like it.”

  “We talked about going here?” I ask.

  “This is where I ordered from when we celebrated my birthday,” he says softly.

  “Oh.” I think of the wine, the dancing, the lovely dinner we shared, giving him the DVD box set, the marathon sex, and finally falling asleep in his arms for the first time. “I remember.”

  “That was a good night.” He runs his thumb over the back of my hand, gently caressing me. “The best birthday I’ve ever had.”

  “Yet,” I whisper. “The best birthday you’ve had yet. I love that you brought me here tonight.”

  He lifts up my hand, pressing his lips against my knuckles. “Would you like me to order for you?”

  I nod, gazing at him as he places little kisses on the backs of my fingers, all the while staring right back into my eyes with so much tenderness, it takes my breath away.

  The waiter comes back, and Simon lets go of my hand, ordering with confidence as I watch their interaction in quiet awe. I have no idea what I’m having for dinner, but if it’s anything like what we had for his birthday, I know it’ll be delicious.

  The waiter takes our menus, and Simon raises his glass, giving me an expectant look. I hold up my own, and he touches his to mine.

  “To our first date,” he says softly. I smile, taking a sip.

  “So, Simon,” I say, remembering Jo’s advice, “this is our first date. Tell me about yourself.”

  He smiles back at me, taking a drink of his own wine. “What would you like to know?”

  “Anything.”

  “Well, the first thing you should probably know is I’m quite a bit older than you.” He leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “I’m forty.”

  “I like older men.”

  He pretends to wipe sweat off his brow and I grin, elated by his humor.

  “I have a knack for numbers,” he says, continuing, “so that’s what I do for a living. I audit large companies.”

  “And you’re good at it?”

  He winks. “I’m the best.”

  “Modest too, I see.”

  He chuckles.

  “And in your spare time?” I ask.

  “I’ve never had much of that. I travel a lot for work, all over the world—Europe, Asia.”

  “Wow.”

  “I told you. I’m the best.” He picks up his glass, swirling the ruby liquid around. “But I’m going to try to limit my traveling in the future. I want to be home more.” His words settle over me like a warm blanket. I know I’m the reason he doesn’t want to leave the city.

  “What are you going to do when you get more time on your hands?”

  “Spend it with someone special. Stay in and watch movies with her, go out to dinner with her, drive ou
t of the city with her, maybe even travel abroad for fun with her. I think she’d enjoy that a lot.” He says it without hesitation, his eyes determined. He’s telling me he’s all in. My heart soars and my mind buzzes with all of the wonderful scenarios he’s laid out.

  “That sounds amazing,” I whisper. “I’d love to do all of that.”

  “I’m glad we have so much in common already.” Simon grins, falling back into the role-play. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m a freshman in college,” I reveal, noticing the look of surprise that flashes across his face, quickly followed by the dazzling smile.

  “Really? Abigail, that’s wonderful.”

  “My dad created a college fund for me. I just started. I’m still getting used to it all.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Business. And later possibly culinary school. I’d like to someday open up my own shop or be a professional caterer. I really like cooking and baking, you see.” I grin.

  His gaze is warm. “I’d like to sample your skills someday. I don’t cook at all.”

  I send him what I hope is a mischievous smile. “I could teach you. Really, isn’t it about time for a man your age?”

  He leans forward, the grin he once did his best to hide away tugging at his lips. “What if I told you I’m old-fashioned about that sort of thing? That I like having my woman in the kitchen, cooking for me?”

  I lean forward too. “I’d tell you to join the rest of us in the twenty-first century. But then I might also ask where you are in that scenario.”

  “Behind her,” he answers immediately, eyes smoldering. “Watching her, complimenting her, maybe even distracting her … with my hands. Just a little.”

  I draw a shaky breath. I remember how it felt, having him with me in the kitchen. I miss it.

  “You’re being very forward.” I chastise him with my words, not really meaning it. “This is a first date, after all.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his grin telling me he’s not sorry at all. “I guess I’m just hungry.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I just got my first catering job, a small private thing, so others are going to be sampling my skills first.”