“It’s a little too formal for me.” I shrugged. “I’m just a Lexie.”
Those deep brown eyes flashed with an alluring intensity, as if my words had set off a crescendo of ideas. Now, I was drawn to his eyes; hell, I was seduced by them. Never had I met a man who could sweep me away with a look. Christ, I needed a cold shower.
“Garrett!” a voice called from down the path next to us.
Turning in unison, a man in a casual gray suit was coming our way. He was tall—with the same chiseled features as Garrett—walked with a cocky arrogance as his light brown hair flapped in the breeze, and was carrying a black iPhone in his hand.
“There you are,” the stranger remarked, coming closer. “I tried your phone.”
“My phone’s dead, Colin.”
I looked from Colin to Garrett. Damn, there were two of them. I could have died a happy woman, right there and then.
Garrett’s eyes veered back to me. “Looks like my friend is here.”
The pained expression in his eyes was breathtaking. Was he really that upset to see his friend?
“Hey,” Colin said breathlessly, standing next to us. His piercing blue eyes darted from me to Garrett.
“Oh, forgive me.” Garrett appeared to emerge from his trance. “Colin, this is Lexie. We just met. She’s from New Orleans.”
Colin held out his strong hand. “Lexie, nice to meet you.” His blue eyes had none of Garrett’s coldness or allure. They were nice guy eyes…the kind you admired when you were walking out his bedroom door after spending the night naked, beneath him.
“Pleasure, Colin.” We shook hands, but I didn’t get the same belly-shock from him that I had gotten from Garrett.
“Sorry, I got held up.” Colin shifted his eyes to his friend, as if to ask if there was anything going on between us.
“Are you from Dallas, too?” I figured they were business buddies.
“No, I’m from here,” Colin replied. “Garrett and I went to college together.”
“And what do you guys do?”
Both men looked thunderstruck, and then Garrett casually waved one of those seductive hands in the air.
“We’re architects. I was sent here by my firm in Dallas, a few months back, to set up a new office.”
Architects? That sounded intriguing. Perhaps I should do a story about some kind of architect love tryst. Starring Garrett, the wonder-hunk.
“What do you do, Lexie?” Garrett’s voice had just a twinge of huskiness about it, making my stomach do flips.
“I’m a writer.”
Both men nodded, seeming impressed. For the life of me I didn’t know why.
“What do you write?” It was Garrett, being flirty.
I smiled and tucked a loose tendril of brown hair behind my right ear, flirting back. “Fiction, romantic fiction.”
The stunned look I got was completely expected. I always got that reaction from men when I told them what I did. It was like asking their opinion on dishwashing liquid. They never used it, had no idea there were different kinds, and believed it was something only women used because it smelled nice.
“I’m sure it’s probably something your wives might have read,” I explained, still confronted by their blank stares.
“We’re not married,” Colin offered.
If jumping up and down were an Olympic sport, I might have won the gold medal about then. Instead of showing my exuberance, I merely grinned.
“Well, marriage isn’t for everyone,” I quipped.
“Are you married?” Garrett’s voice sounded deeper than before.
“No, divorced, actually.”
He frowned at me, but his eyes were far from sad. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m over it.”
“So, ah, Garrett,” Colin cut in. “We should get going. We have that meeting in ten minutes.”
Disappointment tunneled through me. For the first time in my life I met two great-looking men at once, and they had to run off to a meeting. It was so unfair.
“Yes, we should go,” Garrett asserted, but he kept his eyes on me. “Will you be here tomorrow, thinking again?”
By this point in the conversation, all the reservations I had felt about the man initially had disappeared. I had met his business associate, discovered his job, learned about his relationship status, and knew where he was from. Did serial killers work as architects? I figured I was safe.
“Yes, I could be here tomorrow…thinking again.”
“Around noon? I could come by and we could get some coffee. Might help you to think better.”
I saw Colin grinning next to him. “I don’t know; Colin, should I?” I asked, flashing a sly smile.
Colin motioned to his friend. “He’s a very good listener. In fact, you could say he’s a master at it.”
“A master, eh?” Shaking my head and beaming like a schoolgirl, I knew I was done for. “Fine. Noon, tomorrow.”
Garrett’s resplendent smile was breathtaking. “I will see you then.”
Colin held out his hand to me. “Lexie, I’m sure we will meet again.”
I took his hand. “I hope so, Colin.”
Colin took a few steps to the side to give us some privacy. Garrett waited until he was out of earshot. “I’ll look forward to tomorrow,” he softly said to me.
“So will I, Garrett.”
With a last sinful look he turned away. Standing by my bench, I watched the two men saunter toward the round glass tower of Aquarium of the Americas. As they strolled along the riverfront, women making their way down the red-bricked path gazed hungrily their way. I hoped I had not been that obvious. Then again, who was I kidding?
Day 2
There were gray clouds in the sky threatening rain when I arrived at the same bench in Woldenberg Park, the next day at noon. I had spent about two hours deciding on my outfit. Why it would take anyone two hours to decide on jeans and a nice blouse was beyond me, but that was what men did to women…made us fashion morons when it came to selecting clothes for that hot date. Everything either made us look fat and frumpy, with butts the size of Cleveland, or reminded us of our mothers.
Rolling over a number of topics to discuss with Garrett, I began to have those invariable doubts about whether he would show. Second-guessing my behavior had started the day before and become my favorite pastime. Had I been too flirty or too forward? Perhaps he was just being polite, and wanted me to walk away feeling good about myself. A cavalcade of “what ifs” surrounded me. Just as I had talked myself into going home, and forgetting the entire affair, a pair of black loafers stood before my bench.
“So you came.” His voice was like chocolate liqueur, and I was the ice cream.
My eyes traveled up the neatly ironed crease in his blue jeans to his white button-down shirt. After taking a moment at the top to peek at his exposed chest behind the two strategically undone buttons, I raised my eyes to his round chin, and then to those deceptively ravishing brown eyes. The same dark, disconcerting stare that had greeted me the day before was back, only this time instead of frightening me, it drew me in.
“Hello, Garrett.” I stood from the bench and held out my hand.
He took my hand, and gripped it suggestively. His hand was warm, supple, and I could tell there was strength behind his firm handshake. It was the kind of strength that came not from the body, but from the mind.
“I wasn’t sure you would come.” He let go of my hand.
“Why did you think that?”
He shrugged, placing his hands behind his back. “I’m a stranger, and some women might be wary about being alone with a man they don’t know.”
“Why, are you a serial killer?”
His laugh was beyond musical, it was enchanting. “No, but if that’s what you were suspecting, then I’m glad you took a chance on me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a writer. We like to take chances.”
That made him smile. “Do all writers feel the same way…about taking chances, that is?”
“And what story is in your head, right now?”
The story. I had not been able to think of a story since meeting Garrett. “Actually, I’m in the middle of doing research for my next novel,” I lied, thinking I sounded successful.
“I would love to hear about it.” He motioned to the bricked walkway next to the bench. “Why don’t we head over to Café Maspero for some lunch, and you can tell me about your book.”
Great! Not only did I have to come up with a book concept, I had to come up with something to keep Garrett entertained and interested. If this scenario had been a story I was writing, I could have deftly given my heroine a bunch of ideas to impress our romantic lead. Unfortunately, this was real life, and I absolutely sucked at it.
“Actually, I have no clue what I’m going to write about,” I blurted out, strolling beside him. “That’s what I was thinking about yesterday when you came up to me. My story.”
“Ah, that’s why you looked so sad.”
Stunned, I stopped walking. “I looked sad?”
“When I saw you, you were hunched over, with your head bowed down. You acted lost, like you didn’t know what to do next.” He waved his long hand down the path, and I fell in step beside him. “Does that happen often?”
“Which one, being sad or lost?”
“Both.” He showed me his profile as he took in a group of tourists gathering at the Toulouse Street Station to board the riverboat Natchez.
Christ, if I kept this up the guy was going to think I needed Prozac. “Actually, neither.” I made an effort to sound upbeat. “I guess I just look like that when I’m thinking.”
“Really? I find that interesting.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So what’s the story you were thinking about?”
“Not a story, more like an idea for a story…well, actually more like something I need to write a story about, or my agent wants me to write about.”
“Your agent?” He crinkled his eyebrows, making his eyes appear darker. “Does he usually tell you what to write?”
“He tells me what will sell.” I sighed as the historic structure of Jax Brewery loomed ahead. “The problem is that everyone is writing about bondage these days.”
“You’re joking. Bondage?” His laughter was as deep and as devious as his eyes. I was entranced by the cadence of it, the resonating tone, and how it wound itself inside of my body, sending chills along my skin. That laugh was my undoing.
“Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous. But since Fifty Shades of Grey everyone in the romance game has been—”
“That book was pure garbage,” he emphatically proclaimed.
I turned to him, astonished by his statement. I had not encountered many men who had read the book. The only men I knew who had read it used it as a handbook for picking up women, thinking all of us wanted to be tied to a bed and ravaged.
“You’ve read it?” I inquired.
“Does that surprise you?”
I stopped at the entrance to Jax Brewery. “Most men steer clear of romance novels like that one, even if it was very popular.”
He tucked his hands behind his back, appearing self-assured. “I read it to find out what all the fuss was about…and to test its accuracy.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘accuracy’?”
Without hesitation, he said, “The relationship between the submissive and the dominant. I wanted to see how it was handled in the book.”
My mind went into overdrive. How in the hell did he know what a submissive or dominant was? Maybe I had been sleeping with my laptop for too long, and men were more in tune than they used to be before I was married, but the comment still took me off guard.
“You know about those things?”
He folded his arms over his stunningly broad chest and gave me a catlike grin. “A bit. What I’ve read and what I’ve experienced.”
I took a hesitant step toward him, feeling as if I was very close to an interesting story lead. “Care to tell me about your experiences?”
His eyes stayed intently focused on mine, as if trying to determine how I felt about his disclosure. “Does that excite you?” His voice was steady, and hypnotic.
I snickered and turned my head to the side, not wanting to show him that his attempt at seduction was really getting to me. What I needed was a story in my head and not a man in my bed.
“You have no idea how that would excite me. To actually talk to someone who has some insight into that lifestyle. It would give me a great angle to get—”
“I was talking about exciting you, as a woman,” he interrupted, sounding frustrated.
My snicker turned into a full-on laugh. “As a woman? You must be kidding. I haven’t been one of those since I was married, and even then…forget it.” No point in boring him to death with my pitiful past.
The playful frown that stared back at me was tantalizing. Honestly, how did he do that? I had to remind myself to play it cool.
“That’s a shame.” Those crafty eyes were studying me again. “It’s a man’s job to remind a woman of her worth.”
“Did you get that off a Hallmark card?”
“No, it’s a personal philosophy of mine.”
I became distracted by a few tourists milling about and taking pictures. “Nice philosophy, but unfortunately your sex is lacking in a consensus of exactly how to do that.”
“Are you always this feisty?”
My eyes shot back to him. “Now you sound like my agent.”
His laughter made several tourists gathering outside of Jax Brewery turn our way. “You’re not like other women I’ve met. You don’t shy away when I talk about what I like to do.”
“I told you, I’m not a woman…I’m a writer.” I folded my arms over my chest, determined to meet his obvious attempt at shocking me with my bulldogged determination. “So what are you into? Whips, chains, leather accessories?”
His hand cut through the air between us. “Nothing like that…and nothing like what was portrayed in that book.” He shook his head. “I think that book has done more damage to our culture than good. Exposing people to an alternative lifestyle, without fully explaining its appeal, just sets the young and naive up for a lot of bad experiences.”
“What kind of bad experiences?”
Taking in the people around us, his lips drew tightly together. “I’ve seen many young women think, after reading that book, that they want such a life. They join bondage websites, and pair up with people they think will be billionaires with hearts of gold, only to find themselves in abusive relationships with men who mistreat them. I think there needs to be an accurate portrayal of what being in such a relationship entails. Something that can educate the masses.”
“So why not tell me about it? I can write an accurate story about your lifestyle.”
“It’s not that simple….” His wistful sigh only teased my curiosity. “You can’t just tell someone about this lifestyle. You must live it.”
“Then tell me your story. When did you start this…stuff?”
“Stuff?” His amusement was etched all over his face. “It began as an experiment. In college, when I was studying architecture.”
What kind of college did he go to? And why didn’t I go there?
“Is this an architect thing?” I probed after a brief silence.
His black eyebrows went up. “You’re funny.”
Thrilled I had ruffled his composed exterior, I quickly asked, “Come on, tell me about your experiences. I really want to know.”
His eyes were pensive. “Am I to be research for that story of yours?”
“Think about it, Garrett. With your help, I can write something real, something believable, and protect a lot of young girls from getting hurt in the future.” In an instant he had gone from hot guy to badly needed research guy. The funny part was
the research side of the man interested me more than the hot guy. I made a mental note to get my hormones checked.
He stared at me for several seconds. I became swept up in the way his long black lashes curled over his eyelids. Damn, even his eyelashes were sexy.
“What’s in this for me?”
Now I was the one being floored. I had never expected having to broker a deal to get information. “I guess like you said…the chance to get the story right and tell the truth about your lifestyle. Don’t you want the world to know the truth?”
“Truth is overrated,” he flatly announced. “What else are you offering?”
I did not like where this was headed. “What do you want, Garrett?”
His eyes once more swept over my figure. I began to suspect I was going to have to give up more than my time for this story. As the seconds ticked by, I contemplated if I had the moxie to do what he was obviously thinking.
“Let’s have lunch and discuss what I want.” He waved to Café Maspero across the street from us.
“No, let’s talk about it now,” I insisted. “No point in going any further with this if what you want is….” I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, dreading what I was about to say. “More than professional.”
He chuckled and folded his arms over his chest, taking another brief moment. “What I want is this. I tell you my story, and you must give me access to whatever you write, but I have final say so over the content. If I don’t like it, it goes. I want this book to be as accurate as possible.”
I almost stumbled forward with disbelief. “That’s it?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know…sex, possibly.”
“With you?” He chuckled again, but this time I wasn’t entertained by his warm laugh. “That’s not what I’m after with you.” He unfolded his arms and moved closer to me. “I would never force a woman to be with me as some sort of negotiation. When I take a woman to bed, it’s because she wants it more than I do.”
In my experiences with men, it was usually the other way around. Intrigued more than alarmed, I decided to agree to his terms. I was willing to allow him approval of my story, if it got me what I wanted. At this point, I was willing to do just about anything.
Taming Me Page 2