I wrinkle my nose at the mention of beer.
“You don’t drink. I noticed that.” He places the menu down and folds his hands on top.
“I did at one time, but then I didn’t. I found that while the alcohol deadens the pain, it messes with your mind too much. Or at least it did mine.”
“Why not a diet soda?”
“I don’t like artificial sweeteners.”
The waitress stops by to take our orders, and after she writes down my burger and his sandwich, she steps back. “You look familiar,” she says to Harris.
Harris had been in the news shortly after rescuing me. He wasn’t one to like being the center of attention, and he’d hated it.
“I just have one of those faces,” he says.
“The papers said you were rescuing a woman from a trafficker,” she replies, like he didn’t say anything.
“I read that story, too.” He glances at me. To make sure I’m alright?
“That poor woman. I hope she’s doing okay.”
“Me, too,” he says and coughs.
The cough reminds her of where she’s at and what she should be doing. “I’ll go put this order in.”
He leans back in his seat, exhaling deeply.
“You’re a hero,” I tease.
“Nah. Just doing my job.”
“I think they’re one and the same.”
Our conversation over dinner is light and easy. Harris is easy to talk with and quick to joke and smile. It doesn’t take long before I don’t feel nervous at all. We finish eating, but we’re still talking. He tells me about growing up in foster care, and I tell him stories from my childhood in the South.
He asks why I went to work at a pet store when I’d mentioned before I wanted to work in a bookstore, and in a soft voice, I share what happened with Mike and the books. And, I tell him that working around animals was a close second to owning one.
We arrive back at my apartment hours later, and my heart is racing as we walk up to my door. I’m not sure how to end the date. I don’t want him to leave just yet.
I don’t hesitate before saying, “Will you come inside?”
I can see he’s conflicted about how to answer, and my heart plummets.
“I want to,” he finally says. “But I think tonight’s not the time.”
I know my face shows my disappointment, but I feel a bit better when he's asks if he can take me to dinner tomorrow night.
“Really?” I ask, and at his nod I say, “Yes.”
He leans his head toward mine, and my lips are hungry for his. I remember their taste and the way I felt when they touched mine. But all he does is lightly brush my cheek. I groan, and his lips tickle my cheek as he smiles.
“Believe me,” he says in my ear. “I feel it too, but I want you to burn for me. To have you so needy that the merest hint of my touch sets you on fire.”
“I’m there,” I beg.
“Not yet. But soon.”
The next evening, he brings a picnic and we eat outside at a nearby park. We sit on a bench for an hour afterwards watching people. It’s strange and odd and wonderful and fun, this sitting around and talking. I tell him I want to one day be in a position to help other women escape the sex market. He tells me I’m well on my way.
I’m fairly certain he’ll kiss me after the picnic date, but he once again only brushes my cheek. I run my hand down his arm and he just whispers, “Soon.”
I decide to switch things up, so on Monday I call him and ask him if he would like to come to my place for dinner on Wednesday. I can tell I’ve caught him off guard, but he agrees.
It’s when I’m bustling around Wednesday evening, twenty minutes before he shows up, trying to make everything perfect that I realize this might have been his plan the entire time. I have never invited a man to my apartment for anything. Sure, Mike came by, but he owned the place. And yes, I asked Harris over when I was in the hotel and he stopped by to pick me up, but it’s not the same.
Was that why he hesitated? Does he know how big of a step this is for me and wants to make sure I’m ready? I wear something causaclass="underline" jeans and a tank top. I’m not going to seduce him. He apparently has this whole thing well planned out and I’m going to let him lead.
But when he rings the doorbell and I let him in, there’s something different about him. He’s all heat and muscle, and the look in his eyes when he sees me is damn near flammable.
We sit down and eat the lasagna I prepared earlier in the day. Harris is charming as always, making me laugh at Munchkin’s antics. He is somewhat reserved, though, like he’s studying me. Watching for something.
“Thank you for inviting me over tonight,” he says, when we’re finished and the dishes are in the dishwasher.
“I wanted you to see me in my element. I saw you in yours.”
“I’m not sure that completely counted, since we were trying to outsmart people the entire time.”
I shake my head. “Those nights we’d go out in your backyard. That was the real you.”
“Yes.”
“I like the real you.”
“The real me likes you, too.”
“That night when we were out there, those things you said? You meant them?” I don’t specify which things.
His eyes grow dark. “Yes, I meant every word.”
“When you kissed me,” I say, ready to talk about it that time in his backyard. “It was like nothing I ever felt before.”
“For me, too.” He takes a step closer to me.
I swallow. This is hard. This isn't me being paid or forced or in any way coerced. It’s me as a woman and the woman I am is so very unsure about herself. “Will you kiss me again?”
“Now?”
I nod. “Please.”
He takes two more steps, and then he’s in front of me. Slowly, he lifts one hand to cup the side of my face, and I close my eyes when his thumb brushes my cheekbone.
Gently, so gently, I barely feel them, his lips sweep across my own in a soft kiss. I clutch his forearms. I want more.
“Please,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. “Caden.”
He takes a step back and brushes his thumb along the line of my lips. I part them and tease his fingertip with my tongue.
“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, or anything that doesn’t feel good.” His eyes are dark, and the longing in them takes my breath away. “I have to be honest: I’m scared as hell to do anything physical with you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I want it to be good for you.”
His honesty endears him to me even more “I’m scared, too. I keep thinking: what if I’m broken that way? What if I can’t enjoy it?”
“Do you enjoy it when I kiss you?”
I decide to throw the gauntlet down. “I don’t know; you only really kissed me that once.”
His eyes flash with something, and he gives me a teasing smile before he frames my face with his hands. “Let’s remedy that, why don’t we?”
I only have time to nod before his mouth is over mine and oh my God yes, it is the same. I moan and pull him closer. It’s an invitation he accepts, and his hands trail downward, pulling me tight against him.
His tongue teases my lips open, and I’m consumed and engulfed by all that is him and the only thing that doesn’t feel good is the ache of needing more. I tuck my hand into the back of his waistband so my fingers rest right above his ass.
He pulls back. “Did that feel good?”
I want to whine that he stopped. “Yes. Very.”
“Do you want to stop there or keep going?”
I make sure I’m looking him straight in the eye when I say, “I want to go further.” And then to prove it, I take his hand and l lead him to my bedroom. I reach the middle of the room and turn to face him. “I’ve never in my entire life invited a man to my bedroom. You’re the first.”
He pulls me into his arms for another kiss. I’m beginning to think I could live on his kisses. Then he moves his lips to my neck, where he nips the skin, and I shiver.
“That good?” he asks.
“Very.”
His hands slip down to my shirt. “Can I see you?”
I draw the shirt over my head, and I could bask in the appreciation in his look. I thought I’d feel awkward, like I did when I stripped in front of him while we were on the video call, but I don’t. His look empowers me, makes me strong, and I want even more. “Your turn.”