“I don’t understand.”
He wouldn’t, and not because he didn’t have the capacity to. That would be leaning on that reputation he’d carefully constructed. She knew him better than that, especially now after he’d told her about the accident with his first girlfriend.
She flattened her palms on her thighs, rubbing them back and forth. He gently placed his hands on top of hers, ceasing their movement and turning them over so that he could lace his fingers through hers. “This is me, Des. Not Dear Lover, not the guy in the tabloids, it’s just me. Tell me what’s on your mind. Please.”
“I’m not comfortable taking commands from men. Being controlled to suit their needs, directed to do only the things that please them. It just doesn’t work for me.” A flush went through her body, and she shivered against it. “It probably sounds silly to you, but it’s a very real thing for me.”
“What do you need me to do, or stop doing?” That was it? All it took was for her to tell him what not to do. Why hadn’t that worked before?
“It’s so natural for you to lead and control. It’s the way you were brought up, and you don’t use it in an aggressive way. I’ve always known that about you.” So why couldn’t she stop this foolishness? “You think I’m controlling, bossy, and that might be true on some level, but it’s because I’ve had to be. Like Riley, I have very domineering brothers, so I always had to stand my ground.” She’d also had Gordon, but she didn’t want to bring that up again. Telling him about that very dark time in her life had been a huge step for her, but what she’d told him hadn’t been everything.
It didn’t matter whether she said it or not, the sorrowful look in his eyes said he was thinking it, anyway.
“I won’t ever try to make you do anything you don’t want to do. You know that. If you don’t want to have dinner tonight, that’s fine. Just tell me what you want.”
She shook her head and cleared her throat. “You’re right. I know that.” Giving his hands a light squeeze, she took a deep breath and then stood.
He stood with her, still holding tight to her hands. “I’m always here to listen whenever you need to talk. That doesn’t change when or if we decide it’s time for this new aspect of our relationship to end.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, just released her hands and headed for the door again. She thought he might walk through it and not look back, but he simply waited for her to decide what would happen next.
She wasn’t running. Never again—that’s what she’d told herself when she’d finally come through the darkness after the breakup. But Maurice wasn’t Gordon, not in looks, demeanor or any other aspect that mattered. It took her a few minutes to save and close her documents, shut down her computer and grab her briefcase and purse.
“I’m starving. There’s a great restaurant near my house. They have the best spicy seafood pasta. It’s like a British-Jamaican cuisine, but I know you like spicy food.” She talked while she walked to the door to meet him. “I have the menu saved on my phone.”
He waited until she passed him before replying, “You know me too well. I’ll even trust you to pick something off the menu for me.”
They chatted amiably about the menu and the Netflix movie his assistant suggested he watch called The Holiday Calendar. By the time she was seat-belted in the passenger seat of his sporty little convertible, her skin irritation had subsided, and that comfort that she normally had with Maurice had returned. They debated whether radio stations should play Christmas music all day so early in the season, and for the first time today, she relaxed and let her mind clear of all worries and doubts. She let herself just be with the man who was steadily becoming an even bigger part of her life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DESTA MOANED LONG and deep. Her head fell back against the pillows on her couch, where she’d stretched out, her feet in Maurice’s lap. He repeated the motion that elicited such a pleasing sound from her, pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot.
The movie had gone off about twenty minutes ago, and they were still stuffed from the delicious dinner. The jerk chicken wings with a side of sweet plantains she’d ordered for him was fantastic, and he’d had her text him the name and number of the restaurant for future use. The local news was on now, and Maurice wasn’t ready to leave.
“You like that?”
“Oh. My. Goodness.” She enunciated every word, her eyes still closed as he continued to massage her foot. “Don’t ask silly questions.”
He grinned, satisfied with the relaxed and appreciative tone of her voice. She’d rebounded from the episode in her office, talking through dinner and watching the movie as if nothing had transpired between them. As if she hadn’t compared him in some way to her ex. Giving himself accolades for taking it so well, he’d continued throughout the evening as if the struggle he’d seen so clearly etched over her face earlier didn’t still bother him. That situation managed to override the blackmail issue he was still dealing with, so maybe he should take it as a partial win.
“Next,” he said as he moved from one foot to the other.
“Do you charge for this service? ’Cause, damn, I’m sure you’d make a killin’.” She lifted her head and stared at him from beneath hooded eyes. Lovely. That’s the word he’d use to describe how she looked at this moment.
When they’d walked into her apartment, the first thing she’d done was take off the heels she’d worn to work. They’d both removed their coats and walked farther into
