held on a weekend. Per our arrangement, I would wear it. I chewed my lip as I threw the diced cucumber into the salad bowl. It was no big deal. I’d worn the collar around Nathaniel’s family before. I could do it again.
But again, no big deal. It wasn’t as if Nathaniel would pull me into a darkened closet and spank me with a coat hanger.
My face heated at the thought.
No. Must. Not. Think. That. Way.
Or maybe he would command me to crawl under the table and suck him off.
No, he’d never do that.
But the more I tried not to think about serving Nathaniel at Jackson and Felicia’s wedding, the more I thought about serving Nathaniel at Jackson and Felicia’s wedding, and the more my imagination ran away with me. By the time the salad was finished, I’d concocted scenario after scenario of wedding possibilities. Each one dirtier and more exciting than the last.
Laughing voices came from down the hall, and I looked up from washing my knife just in time to see Nathaniel and Jackson walk into the kitchen.
Jackson would probably be the man most eyes would be drawn to. Not only was he handsome, but he had a build that just screamed for attention. And because he was always laughing and smiling, one just had a natural tendency to want to be with him.
But it was his quieter, unassuming cousin I focused on. Even from the doorway, his presence called to me. Nathaniel walked with an understated elegance and confidence that totally mesmerized me. My eyes caught his, and our gazes held as he walked into the room. He set down a plate of steaks, his eyes burning into mine. My gaze dropped to his full lips, and it was as if I felt his kiss again, along my back after he’d taken me over the whipping bench the previous day. The way he’d commanded me to look at myself after he put the clamps on.
My face heated, and I focused my attention on the knife I was still washing.
“You okay, Abby?” Jackson asked. “Do I need to turn the air on?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just got a little overheated.” I nodded to the water in the sink. “Dishes.”
Nathaniel, of course, knew exactly what I was thinking. He walked up behind me, took the knife from my hands, and gently set it on the countertop. “I think this is clean enough.” He turned me so I faced him. “Are you okay?”
The three-word question he’d whispered over and over the last few days to ensure I was fine and safe and able to continue. My mind automatically checked each part of my body and mind to verify and ensure my answer was truthful.
“Yes, Mas—” I stopped short at his intake of breath. “I mean, yes, Nathaniel.” I lifted up on my toes and brushed his cheek with my lips. “Yes, I’m fine.” I whispered in his ear, “I just slipped a little there.”
His expression was unreadable, almost as if he was gauging whether to say something or not. “I did wonder,” he mumbled to himself, but didn’t finish what he wondered.
“Hey, you two,” Jackson said. “Knock it off and let’s eat.”
I noticed then that Nathaniel’s arms were around me, and to anyone else, we probably looked like a couple in a lover’s embrace. My gaze shot over to Felicia, but she just gave a short nod of approval and went about pulling plates from the cabinets.
“Come on,” she said to Jackson. “Let’s take the plates and steaks outside. I’m not sure why you two brought them back inside in the first place.” She smiled at Nathaniel and me. “Bring the salad with you when you come.”
“Will do,” I told her, my arms still around Nathaniel.
Felicia and Jackson left, discussing the potatoes left on the grill and whether or not they’d be ready.
“Sorry,” I said to Nathaniel, when they were out of earshot.
“Whatever for?” he asked.
“I didn’t mean to slip there. When I said—
“I want you to do something for me,” he interrupted. “I want you to stop apologizing for everything. Matter of fact, I want you to go the rest of the evening without apologizing for anything.” His eyes sparkled. “Can you do it?”
“I’ll try. I don’t know what happened there,” I said. “Hearing you ask if I was okay just triggered something, I guess.”
“It was me,” he said. “I need to find new words.” He pulled away and took two bottles of dressing from the refrigerator. “She has only Italian and ranch? No bleu cheese?”
I shrugged. “Hasn’t stocked up the refrigerator yet, I guess. Think you can do Italian for one night?”
He didn’t answer, but instead went back to our previous conversation. “When I walked into the kitchen and saw you at the sink, you just looked”—he wrinkled his brow—“perplexed or confused or something.” He took a cucumber from the salad bowl and chewed it thoughtfully. “I wonder if we should have stayed at my house tonight.”
I wondered the same thing. It was just odd being a “regular” couple after such an intense weekend.
“I know,” I said. “But I think it’ll be good. Jackson’s such fun and I want”—I took the salad bowl and moved toward the door—“I want to show Felicia we’re fine.”
We had gone out with Felicia and Jackson a few times since getting back together. While part of me wondered if Nathaniel and I should have stayed at his house for the night, a larger part of me wanted to be back around Jackson and Felicia. To prove, somehow, that we were able to do the dual relationship.
Nathaniel and I made it to the rooftop deck right as Jackson took the potatoes from the grill.
“Right on time,” Felicia said.
Nathaniel placed the dressings on the table and took the bowl from me. Then he came behind my chair and pulled it out for me.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I told him, taking a seat as he pushed the chair under the table.
“Humor me?” He trailed his fingers down my back and then back up, coming to rest at the nape of my neck with a soft squeeze. It was as if he felt more comfortable touching me. Needed a physical connection with me.
I glanced over to Felicia and Jackson. They stood by the grill, talking. Felicia balanced a plateful of potatoes.
“I like taking care of you,” Nathaniel said, taking his own seat.
“You took care of me all weekend,” I countered.
“No.” He smiled. “You took care of me.”
I placed a napkin in my lap. “How about we just agree that we both took care of each other?”
“I’ll go with that,” he said. “But you need to accept the fact that I will always pull your chair out, open your car door, and stand when you leave the table.” He leaned over to whisper, “It’s the way I was raised. My dad and uncle did the same things for mom and Linda, and they never served them the way you serve me.”
“That you know of,” I shot back.
He laughed. “I’m not even going to think about that.”
Jackson and Felicia walked to the table.
“So,” Jackson said, sitting down. “What have you two been up to this weekend?”
Felicia’s eyes bugged out. I almost giggled, it was so comical. What did she think I was going to do? Launch into a running commentary on the ins and outs of what we had done?
“Abby treated me to her delicious French toast,” Nathaniel said, speaking of the breakfast I’d made for him that morning. He raised his glass to me. “Superb, as always.” He looked over to Felicia. “Has she shared her recipe with you? Jackson loves French toast.”
Felicia shook her head. “I’m not much of a cook. I’m afraid Jackson will have to do without that particular
