Conflicting Hearts

by J. D. Burrows

  “Of course, Ms. Richards, I’ll do my best.” I can think of so many words I’d like to tell her. What a freaking attitude! The woman is horrible. If this is how she treated Ian, then I’m glad she walked out. I’m really pissed now.

  I turn to leave the room, and she calls after me.

  “I’d like a cup of coffee, if you please. Light cream, no sugar.”

  My steps halt, I scrunch my lips together, and spin around to glare at her. She’s already got her face in one of the files, flipping through the sheets of paper. I really don’t want to wait on this witch. She’s expecting that I will with a snap of her fingers. Go fetch. If I don’t, Mr. Stewart will probably give me the riot act for not taking care of her needs.

  “Sure thing,” I say, gritting my teeth, and walking out the door. I fantasize coming back into the conference room, tripping, and spilling the hot cup of coffee on her dainty little lap. Control yourself, Hayward. I try, but it’s not easy.

  After doing her bidding, I stroll back to my desk. It’s now three thirty, and I can’t help but think of Ian this time of the day. I’m half tempted to pick up my telephone and call him. My cell phone is sitting on my desk top, and I stare at it contemplating what to do next. Apparently, he’s sensing vibes from my end, because suddenly my phone starts to vibrate across my desk. It’s him. Swiftly, I grab it and run over to the employee lounge.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweets.”

  “Hi, Ian.” My voice is melting at the sound of his and a smile spreads across my face. “How are you?”

  “Just had a minute and you popped into my mind. Thought I’d call.”

  “I’m glad you did, frankly. I have something strange to ask you,” I say, lowering my voice.

  “Strange?”

  “Uh-hum.” I glance around the corner, looking at the snob sitting in the conference room going over the files. “Although, you’ll probably think I’m loony.”

  “So ask me, and I’ll let you know if you’re loony,” he chuckles.

  “Okay, here it comes. Did your ex-wife keep your last name when you divorced?”

  Ian is silent. I’m surprised he’s not responding right away to my question. Finally, he reluctantly answers. “Uh, yeah, she did. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, because one of the lawyers from the firm that represents our company arrived at the reception, and I had the pleasure of greeting her.” Pleasure my ass. It takes me a few seconds to continue. “She handed me her card with the name of Susan J. Richards on it.”

  “Shit, you’re kidding me!” He definitely is mortified by the sound of the “shit” comment.

  “Uh, shit I’m not.” Ian is quiet. “So what does the J stand for?” I might as well pry.

  “Jolene,” he answers. His voice is strained.

  “Well, what a small world, isn’t it?” I glare over at her with my evil eye.

  “Rachel, I’m sorry about this. I knew her firm represented Kennedy Advertising, but I had no idea that the two of you would ever cross paths because of it.”

  “I don’t like her.” There I’ve said it. “She’s condescending.”

  “That’s Susan.” Ian sighs.

  “If she treated you that way, then I really don’t like her.” I’m feeling angry just thinking that she did. He’s not answering, and I’m gathering he doesn’t want to either.

  “You haven’t said anything to her about us, have you?”

  There’s a definite panic to his voice. I narrow my eyes, wondering why he’d care about her knowing about us. I’m a bit peeved at his question.

  “God, no, Ian. Not to say the thought didn’t cross my mind, but I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Thanks, Rachel.”

  “Why? Does it matter?”

  “I…I’m just not too keen on Susan knowing my private affairs, that’s all.”

  This conversation is now bothering me big time. Why don’t I believe what he’s telling me? I can feel it in my gut that Ian’s still attached to her in some way. If he didn’t care what she thought about his actions, it shouldn’t bother him.

  Maybe he’s embarrassed. That’s it. He’s ashamed of me, because I’m not a gorgeous, intelligent woman. I’m the plain Jane administrative assistant making an hourly wage. He’s lowered his standards, and he doesn’t want Susan to know. I’m really getting grouchy now.

  “Well, I better go.” I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

  “Hey, you.” He stops me from hanging up.

  “What.”

  “You’re not mad at me or anything are you?”

  “I’m not quite sure how to articulate what I’m feeling right now, frankly.”

  “How about dinner at my place tonight?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’d like to cook you dinner tonight.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I think after being exposed to the ex-wife, I need to give you some extra comfort.”

  “Think so, huh?”

  “I know so. Pick you up at your place at six o’clock?”

  “You’re really going to show me your Portland digs?”

  “Sure, why not? It’s about time.”

  I can’t resist the thought of snooping around his other residence. First order of business is to find lingering pictures of his ex-wife.

  “I’m in,” I answer with a big smile on my face.

  “Great. See you tonight.”

  “Bye, Ian.”

  Our call ends, and I walk back to my desk. I look up at her in the conference room, and she’s waving at me to come in and wait on her. Oh, brother, why don’t you just finger snap?

  “Yes?”

  “Did you find those other files?”

  “No, but I’m working on it.” I don’t give her the chance to say anything in return. My back is turned, and I leave her disgruntled face behind me. Wouldn’t you like to know who I’m having dinner with tonight? It’s rare, but I’m feeling a tad smug.

  Chapter 15

  The Window with a View

  Like with other surreal moments, I reach over and pinch my wrist to make sure I’m not dreaming. Yes, he has a small place, somewhat the size of mine, but what a view! I’m blown away by the modern décor and the all of windows that look over the city lights. It’s really nice. The fact that he has money is quite obvious.

  “You’re into views,” I say, walking over and gawking.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  Ian comes up behind me as I stand and look out his living room window. I feel his warm arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me back into him, and I’m putty. Tenderly, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Glad you’re here, sweets.”

  I’m not surprised to feel his growing adoration in his pants, but with this no-sex gig between us, it could mean trouble.

  “That’s a dangerous position,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he says, turning me around. “Sorry. It’s hard to control myself when I’m around you.”

  “I’m glad, Ian. I was frightened that I would disgust you after this past weekend, now that you know about my childhood. I still feel bad I was such an emotional wreck.” I search his eyes looking for a hint of aversion, but all I see is acceptance.

  “Never,” he says, lowering his lips and kissing me.

  Why does he always taste so damn good? As soon as his tongue enters my mouth, I’m wishing for more. He has such an effect upon me, and immediately my mind ends up in bed with him. His body is rock hard, toned, and smooth to the touch—except for his six o’clock stubble that is now poking me in my chin. It’s becoming uncomfortable, so I pull away.

  “Stubble, babe,” I tease. “You’re prickly.”

  “Oh, sorry about that.” He rubs his face with the palm of his hand. “Yeah, about this time of the day, I’m getting the old shadow.”

  “You say that word too much,” I complain.

  “What word?”

  “Sorry.”

  “O
h, yeah, well, bad habit.”

  I wonder if that was because Susan was always right, and Ian constantly apologized.

  “So, you don’t like my whiskers?” he teases, trying to rub his chin on my neck to give me a stubble burn.

  “Stop it, you rascal!” I laugh and push him away. “I only like whiskers on my cat.”

  Ian relents. “I’ll try and remember to work on that stubble business,” he says, “but I make no apologies for my morning face, babe. They grow overnight, and I’m not getting up to shave at three a.m.”

  He’s right, they do grow overnight. His face is a dark mass of spiked facial hair in the morning. “Then I won’t apologize for my morning breath,” I tease.

  “Deal.”

  His hand tenderly strokes the side of my face, and he gives me his adoring look. “I’ll be right back. Need to change before I start dinner.”

  “Okay.” Good, I want to snoop around, I secretly muse.

  Ian takes off down the hall to his bedroom, and I hear him close the door. I quickly turn around and start taking in more than the view. It’s time to find out who this guy really is in his Portland home. I’m thinking it’s a bit different than the weekend-beach Ian I’ve come to know.

  As usual, the house is in order the way he likes it. Nothing is out of place. I’m thinking that it’s really weird, finding a man who is actually neat and clean. I suppose if we ever marry, I’ll never have to worry about dirty clothes strewn around or towels on the bathroom floor. I can handle that.

  The atmosphere of the room is quite different than his earth-tone décor at the beach house. The walls are off-white, with a tint of gray. A large corner black leather couch takes up most of the living area, with black ebony end tables. The floors are light hardwood, and an area rug with a gray, white, and black modern design covers the center of the room. It’s stunning, and I wonder if he decorated it himself.

  A wall entertainment center sits on the other side, with a big screen TV, and bookcases on either end. I’m curious as to what he reads, so I walk over and check it out. All of the books are hardback, rather than paper, and the shelves are filled with titles from famous authors who write intriguing mysteries or spy thrillers. Very interesting, I muse.

  To my disappointment, I don’t see any pictures anywhere. No family, no ex-wife, no nothing. It’s sort of sterile in an odd way and void of emotional attachment. I find that very puzzling.

  “Want a drink?”

  Ian has returned, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. I want to attack, but I control myself.

  “Coke?”

  “Uh, probably not,” he says, scratching his head. “Didn’t think to buy any. I usually don’t stock soft drinks at home. How about a beer?”

  “Uh, no beer. Ice water would be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.” Of course, he’s got a huge, stainless steel refrigerator with an icemaker and water in the door. I quickly glance at his kitchen. Everything is in its place. Neat freak.

  He hands me the water.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” I ask, feeling my stomach growl.

  “How about I order a pizza?”

  “Pizza? You’ve got to be kidding me?” I protest. “Where’s my candlelight dinner, with steak and a baked potato?” He’s conned me into coming over for delivered bread and cheese? A sheepish look spreads across his face.

  “I guess I wasn’t totally honest about making you dinner,” he says, scrunching his nose. “There’s not much in the fridge, and I didn’t have time to shop.”

  “Well, Ian Richards, I’m surprised you’ve actually duped me into thinking you’d cook dinner.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Good, I already called and ordered a pizza while in my bedroom.”

  “You sneak,” I say, looking at him wide-eyed. “Then why did you invite me here?”

  “To console you for today, I guess.”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t my most pleasant experience, meeting your ex-wife. Like I said, I didn’t like her.”

  Ian doesn’t say anything. He goes to the refrigerator, grabs a beer, and then pops the top. He takes a big swig as if he’s looking for fortitude. Now I wish I had more than water.

  When he’s finished, he stares at me with his dreamy eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking, and when the smoldering look starts to creep in, I know. Sex. I’m in his territory right now, and I bet he has duct tape somewhere stashed in one of his kitchen drawers. I wish he’d tie me up.

  “Come here,” he says.

  He’s looking very playful. His free hand grabs me around my waist, and he pulls me into him. Here comes the beer breath, but I don’t care.

  “Hope you like pepperoni,” he says, taking his tongue and licking my bottom lip.

  What is he doing to me? “You smell like beer,” I complain.

  “First the stubble, now the beer. Deal with it,” he says, kissing me and shoving his tongue in my mouth.

  When he’s done devouring me, I look at him with a sly grin. “Pizza, Ian, pizza.”

  He gives me a wicked laugh, and I can’t help but wonder what has gotten into him.

  “All right, I’ll behave.” He walks toward the living room and invites me along. “Come and sit with me for a while. Food should be here soon.”

  He flops on the couch, drapes an arm along the top, and puts one foot on the coffee table. It’s definitely not safe to be near him, so I take the other end of the couch with my ice water in hand.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel, if Susan treated you with any disrespect. She can get a bit snooty when she’s in her element at work.”

  “I guess. Although, I’m not surprised. Assistants are scum, let’s face it.”

  “Well, not to me.”

  “Yeah, you’re a rare breed, Ian, and a respectful man.”

  He shakes his head in embarrassment. “I don’t think that way. People are people no matter what job they perform.”

  “She’s quite attractive.” I’m curious whether I can get a reaction out of him. He takes another swig of beer, and then makes an odd facial expression.

  “Outside perhaps. She’s average on the inside.”

  “Do you think I’m beautiful?” I’m comparing myself, I know it. Susan Richards is ten times more gorgeous than I am. She’s perfection and grace, dressed in expensive clothes, manicured, primped and primed with the best hair and top-of-the-line makeup. No doubt, she pays a hundred dollars for a bottle of perfume.

  Ian gazes at me. His arm drops from the back of the couch, and he scoots toward me at the other end. “Yes, I think you’re beautiful, Rachel.”

  I know that’s what he sees on the outside, but inwardly, I’m ugly and tainted. The two don’t mix, and it’s that part that I can’t accept.

  I lower my eyes from him. “I’m glad that you think I’m beautiful. I wish I felt the same way about myself.”

  “I do too,” he says with clear remorse in his voice.

  He’s going to get tired of my low self-esteem. It’s not exactly a very attractive quality to showcase to the male race. Thankfully, there is a knock at the door.

  “Must be the delivery.”

  Ian answers it, and sure enough the pizza has arrived. He pulls out his wallet, pays the tab, and comes back with a large pizza that smells mouthwateringly good.

  “Time for my dinner.”

  “Smells great.”

  “Let’s eat and then make out on the couch.” He gives me a wink.

  “Make out? What are we, teenagers?” I look at him dumbfounded over his silly statement.

  “I need some dessert after dinner,” he boasts, opening the pizza box and handing me a plate.

  He’s really in his element, being home with me here. It’s nice to see this side of him—makes me adore him even more.

  “Okay, if you shave your stubble, get rid of your beer breath, and promise not to go to second base.”

  “Well, forget it then.” He sneers at me. His eye
s twinkle mischievously.

  As we chew our pizza, I doubt he’ll forget anything. I can see in his eyes that he’s going to tease the hell out of me tonight. He’s dead serious about a necking session on the couch. It’s obvious I’m feeling like a giggling juvenile over the thought.

  It doesn’t take long after we finish eating, before we end up there. We both smell like pizza sauce and pepperoni. Of course, he’s laced with the smell of beer on top of it, but as his lips start nibbling on mine, I don’t care. He’s such a sweet kisser. After drawing the air out of my lungs, he lets me take a breath.

  “You going to make it to first base, law man?” I have to tease him, because he’s being far too good. “Second base, still off-limits,” I remind him. “That is if you want it to be off-limits.”

  “Don’t tempt me. It’s off-limits,” he drawls, “but this isn’t.” His warm hands slip underneath my blouse, and I feel him unhook my bra. Wow, he’s being aggressive tonight. As soon as my boobs slip out, he’s got both hands on them, having a good feel.

  “God, isn’t this torturing you?” I heave, ready to burst into a nymphomaniac at any moment. It sure is torturing me.

  “What do you think?” he says, grabbing my hand and placing it on his hard erection in his pants.

  I flinch feeling him. “Ian, what’s got into you?” I pull my hand away, feeling embarrassed over touching him. I’m not very good in that department, and he should know that by now.

  “Nothing has gotten into me,” he says. His voice is sexy and low. “I want you to know how sincere I am about you, Rachel. You mean a lot to me.”

  “I do?” It’s obvious by now I’m totally drugged over his smooth talking and caressing hands.

  “You’re a wonderful woman that I deeply admire.”

  “Oh, I’m glad” I moan. I close my eyes as he comes for my mouth again and fills it with his tongue. I’m thinking he’s on a mission to make me forget about Susan or maybe not. Perhaps he wants to make me feel better about all that he’s learned about my past and my childish breakdown in front of him.

  Whatever the reason, it’s working. He makes me feel safe and secure, and a part of me really wants to open up my heart and trust him completely. Maybe one of these days I will.