Traded for Love (8 page)

Its front window was full of ads for all the new releases. There was one romance in particular that caught my eye through the glass window. If I hadn't been scheduled to meet Kim in five minutes, I would have gone in immediately.

The bistro was full, not a surprising fact, since we'd decided to meet during the lunch rush.

She was early. I caught sight of her sitting at a table on the restaurant's far wall. Though I waved, she didn't notice me until I wove through the crowds and reached her. She stood up and hugged me.

“I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you,” she said. When I pulled away, she appraised me like she usually did. “Tell me how you're doing.”

“I'm fine. How are you doing? How's the
center
doing?” I asked, setting my purse in the floor and hailing the waiter. He drifted up beside us. “Could I have a Long Island Iced Tea and a water, please?”

The waiter nodded and moved down the line of tables.

Though I was unwilling to admit it, I craved relaxation, especially after last night. I opened my menu. “What were we talking about? Oh, yeah, the center. Have you heard from Marcus lately?”

Marcus had been Kim's pet project for the past few months. She'd had a lot of cases, but finding a job for Marcus, a veteran, meant more to her than I think even she knew. “He called the other day. He got promoted at the docks, and he's signed up for night classes,” she said brightly.

“That's awesome news!”

“Yeah, he also has this cute girlfriend. I think they're getting serious.” She sipped her water. “Speaking of lovers. How are you and Jack doing?” She always asked that question. It was as if she
expected
something to be going on.

The waiter returned with my drinks and took our food orders. “Fine,” I answered, once he'd gone.

“Are you
really
fine?” She locked eyes with me.

“
Yes
.
” I know I sounded more irate than usual.

“Emily.” Her sharp tone brought me to attention. “You're
drinking at lunch
. You're pale. You're underweight. It doesn't matter if you tell me what's happening, just tell me what you're going to do about it.”

My face sunk, my eyes falling shut. “Jack is just under a lot of pressure because of the campaign.”

“I didn't ask about him. I asked about you. The fact that you're talking about
him
means that his behavior is impacting you in some way,” she reasoned.

“Well, that's normal, isn't it? A husband's behavior is
supposed
to impact his wife,” I pointed out.

“He should be taking care of you. You don't look well at all.” She sipped her water.

“So, we get together for the first time in months and you say I look like crap and you accuse my husband of causing it?” I frowned.

“No. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you.” She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “I guess this campaign is taking a toll on you both. You must be helping him a lot, so that his dream can come true.”

I stared as the ice bobbed around in my drink. I remembered what he'd made me do with J.B. “Yeah.”

“Well, as long as you say things are fine, I believe you. We've spent way too long apart. We can't let this happen again. I promise, from now on, I'll be better about calling.” She grasped my hand. “And please, if the stress ever gets to you, pick up the phone. I love you way too much to go without hearing your voice for long.”

She smiled in the genuine way she always did. There was very little about Kim that was
not
genuine. It was one of the things I loved most about her.

I probably shouldn't have been as happy as I was to get out of the restaurant. Kim was sad to see me go, but since she'd blamed Jack for me looking “not well at all,” I'd been secretly frustrated with her.

If I could have been honest with myself, and I seldom ever was, he
was
the cause of my stress. I was having trouble sleeping and eating, all because of my encounter with J.B. And what had followed. There was an ugly word attached to what he'd done to me in his office. I didn't want to use it, not even in my private thoughts, because it was confusing to call it that. I'd pledged myself to be his submissive slave, his slut, and weren't submissives
supposed
to take their punishment without protesting?

I shed an unexpected tear, but before I could wipe it away, the wind off the East River whipped it into my hair. The sidewalk was full of people bustling around. Embarrassed that I'd allowed myself to succumb to strong emotions, I hustled down to the bookstore and stepped in.

My eyes ached as I made for the bathroom. I stared at my face in the brass-framed mirror, determined to keep myself from breaking. My relationship with Jack existed that way because it was for the best—or at least that's what I'd convinced myself.

Of course, lately it seemed like all of my old decisions were coming back to haunt me.

I gathered my wits about me and went back into the high-ceilinged common area. Fleeing from my own emotions had kept me from admiring the splendor. The whole place was done in a modern industrial style, yet the furnishings were plush and comfortable. Above me was a second level full to the brim with stocked shelves.

At the counter, the tattooed cashier—when not steeped in her own novel—rung up and chatted with customers. Beside her, a barista brewed cappuccino and served fresh-baked scones.

Coffee called my name. Surely a burst of caffeine would pull me out of my sour mood.

A short wait brought me to the front of the line where I ordered a caramel, vanilla iced coffee. I took a long gulp before I even paid for the thing and immediately felt better.

I glanced over the signs on each shelf, looking for the
romance
sign. Since there wasn't one in sight, I assumed it must be upstairs. I took the spiral staircase to the second floor.

Before me was the perfect reading spot. Three plush recliners faced each other in front of a window. A curtain kept the light from flooding the room. The best part was the quiet and its emptiness.

The romance section was so extensive that I'd gotten through half of my latte before I sat down with a contemporary volume from one of my favorite Indie authors.

As long as the beginning didn't bore me to death, chances were good that I'd take the book home. I thumbed through the first few pages. As I read the description of the story's biker hero, I bit my straw flat against my lip. I could visualize him with perfect clarity, a stunning man in leather gear and amazing eyes.

I didn't hear the footsteps of the man coming around the corner, or hear him sit down in the recliner to my right.

He cleared his throat. I barely noticed.

When he closed his hardback book loudly, I almost jumped out of my skin. “Do you
mind
?” he snapped.

My gaze drifted up … and the world stopped. The clock ticked a little slower.

Looking at me through thick, black frames were a pair of piercing, hazel-blue eyes. Everything about him, from his fair skin to the warm honey color of his hair, took my breath away. His hunter-green, V-neck sweater clung to him, hinting at what I could only have dreamed was beneath it. He worked out; that was plainly obvious. If he ever denied it, his raised pectorals and pronounced biceps would betray him.

I had no idea how a man so striking could have sat down beside me without me noticing.

He pursed his lips and arched his eyebrows while I babbled something incoherent.

“Your straw,” he noted, eyeing at me over the top of his glasses.

“Straw?” I popped it out from between my teeth and shut my mouth, which was agape with school-girl admiration.

“You were chewing on it so loud that I couldn't concentrate.” He opened his book again.

“Oh. S—sorry. I didn't see—hear—I was involved … ” I pointed to my book stupidly.

“Clearly.” There was a hint of smart-assed arrogance in that single syllable, made in a tone which should have repulsed me but intrigued me instead. “By the way, your coffee is gone. It's safe to say you can put the cup down.” He punctuated the statement with a smile.

That mouth. It made me want to lick my lips … and then lick
his
lips.

I was caught off guard. Somehow this stranger had thrown my body into sexual overdrive. I hadn't felt that way since …

Oh
.
Right
.
I'm married
.
Calm down, Emily
. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked, sweeping his hand over his cheek.

“Huh? No—I mean—you got it.” I gave him what
felt
like the goofiest grin I'd ever produced, yet there I was, doing it so hard that my mouth hurt.

He smiled in silent reply and I was sure if my teeth weren't there to stop it from happening, I'd have been drooling all over my shirt like an idiot.

I wondered if he knew how much he affected me. Could he possibly know that he made me in tingle in places I'd forgotten existed, that he'd awakened something in me that should never have been there to begin with?

“I don't think I've seen you in here before.” He turned a page in his book.

“It's my first time.” I looked back at my book, even though my attention was wholly on him.

“And do you like it? Do you see yourself coming back?”

I peeked at him quickly. His eyes were glued to the page open in front of him. “Yes. I'll probably come back.” The silence was awkward between us. I felt obligated to converse with him, though I knew it was largely a fabricated sentiment. In reality, I could have kept quiet.

“I see.” He turned another page. In my peripheral vision, he rested his cheek on his hand. “What are you reading?”

“A romance.”

He smiled down at his book. “Cute.”

I was incensed by the derision in his voice. “
Cute?
” Preparing to retort with a biting, witty remark, I checked out the cover of his book. “
The Art of Intimacy
,” I recited. “Having intimacy issues?”

That'll teach you, I thought.

He quirked a brow. “No, in fact, I used to date the author in college. I was seeing if her theories about intimacy had changed. It turns out they haven't. I was just reading a little about the importance of stimulating each part of the body, and not just the erogenous zones. Would you like to hear some of it?”

My cheeks turned scalding hot. “N—no!”

He grinned. “Why not? It's just sex. You mean to tell me you can handle it when it's dressed in leather and riding a Harley, but not when it's presented to you, naked and without the frills?” He clicked his tongue and tipped his chin. “Sounds to me like
you're
the one with intimacy issues.”

“What? How dare you!” I shut my romance novel and stood up. “You don't even
know
me!”

I found his self-satisfied smirk equal parts irritating and arousing.

“True,” he answered.

Clumsily, I gathered my things together in my arms and made for the staircase. He'd ruined this place for me. I never wanted to come back.

He didn't trouble himself to watch as I walked away—not that I noticed. Okay, I noticed. Of course I did!

Then he spoke, stopping me in my tracks. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, my ass!” I'd hoped I'd said it loud enough for him to hear.

I went directly home.

As I sat in the living room with my new book open—and neglected—in my lap, I thought about how much of a presumptuous jerk he'd been. I never wanted to see him again.

How could such belittling statements come out of such a gorgeous face? Even though they were sharp, I could have watched his lips wrap around those words
repeatedly
. I found myself wondering if his skin was as soft and smooth as it had looked, and whether his arms were as strong as they appeared.

The tingle returned, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my chair.

Before I knew it, my hand had crept between my legs. Through the two layers of fabric there, I felt a hint of wetness.

God damn it
.

“Emily!” Jack's voice snapped me out of my trance. His hand hovered in front of my face as if he'd snapped it to get my attention.

“Jack,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”

“What's wrong with you?” He stood up and folded his arms over his chest.

“I was … just thinking.”

“About what?” His eyes threatened to burn holes in my face.

“Nothing important.” I closed my book. “What time is it?” I pulled out my phone.
Eight!?

“Late. Dinner's ready.” He held out a hand for mine.

“Sorry.” I put my hand in his and was surprised by the lack of warmth in the way he helped me out of the easy chair. As soon as I was on my feet, he let go of me and went for the door. “Jack.”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What?” His jaw clenched.

His sharp reply was like a memory-erasing spell. As soon as I'd gotten his attention, I forgot why I'd tried to in the first place. I licked my chapped lips. “Can I have a kiss?” I wanted him to be happy with me again. I wanted—no I
needed—
some tenderness, especially after he'd been so rough with me.