When I pulled into the office garage, I waved at our security officer, then dug my phone out of my purse to shut off the volume. I was surprised to find a message since it was early for anyone to text. Even Selby, who left her house by seven to set up her classroom and prep a bunch of children’s activities before class, didn’t ordinarily text me until well after the first recess at her school.
The message was from an unknown number. I had a flash of Dean handing me his phone, his sexy fingers curled around the screen, that incredible voice asking for my number. I clicked on the alert.
Good morning, Maya. It was a pleasure to meet you last night.
Boom.
As soon as I read it, my heart started to pound.
What was it about this guy?
I checked the clock. I had about ten minutes to get into the office, so I typed a brief note back.
Morning, early bird. It was wonderful to meet you, too.
Immediately, he responded. He’d been in the office since seven, which sounded daunting to me. I knew nothing about architecture, except that Dean’s hands designing buildings struck me as rather arousing.
The gruff tone of his voice whispering Tell me more seized my memory, and I decided everything about him aroused me.
I hitched my purse over my shoulder and climbed out of my car before letting him know I had to run. Dean’s return message asked if it would be all right for him to text me more later.
Uh, yes. Very much yes.
Grateful I could hide my giddiness behind texts for now, I told him I was looking forward to it. He was so polite and sweet.
And, according to Alex, into kinky sex.
I adjusted my skirt, trying not to notice the heat filling my body, but when I indulged in the memory of his lips grazing my cheek last night, it didn’t help anything. It blossomed into an image of his lips traveling down my cheek, onto my neck and lower still. By the time I reached the elevator, I knew I’d turned bright pink. I clutched my purse against my waist and hit the button for our floor, jumping as the phone buzzed with a new message alert. When the elevator car slowed at the third floor, I took one last peek.
I’m looking forward to seeing much, much more of you.
I walked into work, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting at the thought of seeing much, much more of him.
* * *
Social work was liberating yet challenging for me. Sometimes, I saw cases that jarred a memory, or incited a twinge of that fear I’d had with Charlie for the three years we’d been together. But I was a professional, and I kept my eyes level and my words in check no matter what, and this had moved me up to one of the head administrative positions within two years.
Most days, regardless of any progress or rewards that might have broken through, I was ready for a hot bath by the end. Clearly, this would be the case on the first day back after a three-day weekend. By lunch, I’d written a report for a couple of our repeat clientele and had helped a colleague gather photos of a battered mother and child. In the afternoon, I’d reviewed the file for Carrie Pents, my newest—and heaviest—case.
Carrie was nineteen, a college student who’d lost her parents in a car accident in her teens. She’d come in three months prior, sobbing uncontrollably and rushed straight into an appointment. I’d been her intake advisor. Customarily, our clients weren’t assigned to the same person who filed the original assessment, but by a random fluke, Carrie ended up with me.
Carrie had become a special case for me. She was one of those clients who knew how important it was to talk it all out and get the facts in the open, despite any risk there was in doing so. She’d told me everything in our intake appointment about her boyfriend, “J,” and how they’d lived together since she’d graduated. The foster system hadn’t treated Carrie well after her parents had died, and she’d been eager to find a home.
Unfortunately, J’s house wasn’t the ideal situation, either.
I’d seen him in a picture she’d shown me once, her pink lips taut in a grimace as she described the way he’d held her down and called her names. Older and handsome, he controlled everything that happened between them—but beneath all of Carrie’s horror and submissive manner with him, she had an independence waiting to get out. This was why her case was so difficult for me; every detail she shared could have been from the story I’d once communicated to the intake counselor Jasmine had directed me to years ago. Watching Carrie go through the torment while legally obligated to do no more than counsel, advise and assist in cases of danger made it hard to bear.
Still, I had a great deal of hope for her.
At the end of the day, I filed Carrie’s papers back in the cabinet with a heavy exhalation. I needed that bath today more than anything.
I said goodbye to the others in the office and swung by Maddie’s desk. She’d called in sick with the flu, likely something she’d caught from her son, but I’d wanted to troubleshoot with her all day. I scribbled a note wishing her well since she’d get in before me the next morning, then I headed out to my car, turning over possible approaches to my meeting with Carrie the next Monday. Her case was tough. Today had been tough. I sat in my seat for a minute, trying my best to forget it and starting my car. I needed to think of happier things.
Dean popped into my head. I kept my foot on the brake and took out my phone, charmed to find another text from him.
I know this is crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish we’d been introduced sooner. I hope your day went well.
His words sent an instant smile across my face. He’d sent the message ten minutes ago, and I didn’t want to start a conversation before I got stuck in my car for an hour. I tucked my phone away and backed out of the spot. As I drove, I ran through all the possible responses I could send. I had a million questions running through my mind, all of them ridiculous considering we hadn’t been on a date yet.
By the time I got home, I’d decided I’d gotten too wrapped up in it all. I needed to be more aloof. More like me. I shut off my car and sent him a note.
You are sweet. I hope you had a good day, too.
Instantly, Dean responded. Hi, you.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, my fingers quick to the keys. So much for aloof.
Hi back.
Can I be honest?
I wrote, Yes, please. Of course.
I’m at the hardware store.
Where was this going?
Oh? I typed.
Yes.
I waited for more. What the hell was he talking about?
Honestly... I’m admiring rope and thinking of you.
I gasped. I’d gotten the kink vibe both from him and Alex’s comments at the party, and I’d expected it in a way, but this...wow.
It was so direct. So aggressive.
And dominant.
I shifted in my seat. Half of me, independent me, wanted to tell him he was way too presumptuous, but the other part felt that familiar tug from my experiences all those years ago.
I chewed on my cheek before sending my response.
How very Fifty Shades of you, I typed.
LOL.
You’re so direct.
Do you like that?
Yes. A lot. My fingers typed faster than I could control them, and suddenly, I’d shot off the text.
What was I doing?
I think we could have some fun, he wrote. Then, More direct. Yes?
I wrote, Yes, but here’s my direct: no more text. I want a phone call.
Done. That was all he sent, a simple word.
Tonight?
Yes. I’m home in about an hour.
It was a text session, but already I was daydreaming of the dark glimmer of his eyes, and those sexy hands.
I typed, That’s perfect.
Good. And when I
call, Maya, I intend to tell you what I’d like to do to you.
To me?
My throat felt parched and I hadn’t even spoken. Everything about this exchange seemed crazy. Extreme. Like a fucking fantasy I shouldn’t be getting into this soon.
But I was hooked.
Chapter Three
Instead of a bath, I’d sped through dinner and a shower. Now I sat on my couch, pretending to watch a show I’d recorded on my satellite receiver. I’d been through ten minutes of the damn thing and couldn’t report what I’d seen if someone held a gun to my head and told me it was summarize or death.
I’d wanted to squeeze in a run or tap out a tune on my piano. Both of these things were my go-tos for stress relief if a bath couldn’t happen, but they wouldn’t help—I kept turning Dean’s text over and over in my head, grinning like someone had slipped me ecstasy.
It was too soon under ordinary circumstances, but at least I knew he wasn’t a bad guy.
Ah, no, I thought. He’s just a guy who stared at a selection of rope and thought of me.
I paused my show. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time. I’d been on plenty of dates over the years—flings, one-night stands and a couple of endeavors that had lasted a few weeks. Some of them had been rowdier, verging on play that stirred memories in me. In all of these encounters, it hadn’t gone far, or the person I’d been seeing brushed off my suggestions of something more risqué. None of them were inclined to try what I’d hinted at, which solidified the urge as a distant memory that maybe I didn’t want after all.
But whatever was happening with Dean? This was different.
It was so hot and inspiring, I couldn’t stop wiggling in my seat.
I gave up on the show and moved to my piano bench, carefully propping up the cherry wood lid. My parents gave me the Astin-Weight console when I graduated, its finish beautifully restored and its pins replaced. I’d played on this same instrument all through my youth, and when I’d left my apartment with Charlie three weeks after my graduation, my parents had known it would help deter me from going back to him.
I stretched my fingers over the keys, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through my head. I didn’t perform anymore, but I hadn’t lost my love for the keys, or the way a melody could calm me so easily.
But my phone rang after half a song, sending my pulse racing.
I turned on the bench. I was being an idiot. It was too soon to be this enchanted.
I scooped up my cell and checked the number. “Hello, Dean,” I said, trying to hide my breathlessness. Even silent, his presence came through the phone. The weight of his being felt as heavy and demanding as his hand on my thigh at the party.
“Well hello, Maya. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. How was your day?”
“Good. I was distracted.”
“By?”
“You.”
I didn’t speak. I’d had men come on this strong since I’d left Charlie, but none of it had been like this. Dean’s natural dominance wasn’t crude or forced—but it summoned that reflex I thought I’d buried. Somehow, he sensed it.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Did I startle you?”
Did he? I’d be lying if I said any of this frightened or deterred me. His directness was what I craved. “Not really, no.”
He gave a quiet grunt, and I pictured him grinning like he had at the party. “Good. I didn’t think it would. I had a feeling about you.” After neither of us spoke for a minute, he said, “But how about pleasantries first?”
“Okay,” I said, laughing. I liked the deliberate playfulness. He was obviously used to being in control, and I found the interjection of silliness rather endearing.
“Tell me how you know Selby.”
Easy enough. I gave a drive-by of our history; we’d been attached for most of our teens and twenties, a lifetime of slumber parties and shared clothes, incessant phone calls, laughter and tears. Though we’d definitely had tricky patches along the way when Selby cringed at my flings, I skipped these details with Dean.
He wouldn’t be high on the conversations-with-Selby list.
“What about you and Alex?” I asked.
“We met at an architecture convention in Denver a few years back.”
“He was there with Fields Construction?”
“Yes. His company was exhibiting, and I stopped in since they’re local to me. Good business.”
“Funny you were both in Colorado.”
“Fields is growing fast. And my company has done a couple of jobs over there and in Salt Lake.”
“That’s cool. I know nothing about architecture. Do you like it? Do you work for a firm?”
“I do like it. Love it. I work at Sova Associates.”
When he quieted, I inhaled. “Your firm,” I said. He was handsome and owned his own architecture firm? “I’m impressed. Is it in Half Moon Bay?”
“No. San Francisco. I live in Half Moon Bay, by the water. I moved there because I sail. Have since I was a kid.”
Of course he did. I’d noticed the spread of color on his skin, and the bulk of his arms and chest. I envisioned him winding his fingers around coils of rope, hauling it across the deck of his boat and holding it in front of me to ask if I wanted to play.
My eyes widened.
What was coming over me? “Wow. I’m fascinated.”
“It’s not a big deal. I grew up with a bunch of fishermen, running around the docks, helping out. The guys there took me out on the water all the time. It’s easy to love it when you’re that immersed in it.” He paused. “Maybe sometime I can take you sailing.”
“I’ve never been. I’d love to.”
“I think you’ll love it. But... I have better ideas of things to do with you.”
I swallowed hard. “Oh?” Obviously, we were past the pleasantries.
“Can I share?”
“Please,” I said. I’d moved to my couch and propped my feet on the coffee table during the Selby story, but now I dropped them to the floor and hunched forward in my seat.
“Direct is okay?”
“Yes.”
Dean extended the torture, quiet save for the almost imperceptible bursts of his breath through the phone. “I should have kissed you at the party.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, you should have.”
Dean chuckled. “You’re direct, too. I like that.” The tension between us was electric. We shared a mere phone call, yet my blood swooshed through my ears. “I’m not sure I’d have been able to stop at a kiss.”
“No?” I couldn’t have, either. I’d have asked him home in a heartbeat. He was smart, playful and sexy as hell. I was already under his spell, even without getting that kiss yet.
“I don’t know what’s come over me, but I want to take control with you.”
I held the phone tighter to my ear, wanting to hear him closer. To feel him closer. “All right,” I said.
“Is that something you’re into?”
“Depends.” I kept my cool, but the real answer was yes. Yes, yes, please and yes over again, yes.
“On?”
“Well, what are you thinking?” I put my finger to my lips, chewing on the tip.
Dean let out a quiet breath. “You like the words, don’t you?”
Caught. “I do. I like direct. So far I’m liking everything you have to say.” I could feel the flush in my cheeks. “I probably shouldn’t admit that.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Both of us stayed silent for a minute, and even through the phone I could sense the curiosity swirling, the desire rising between us.
“So tell me more about taking control.” I said it as a challenge, bu
t he saw through it, saw my need for him to respond just right. When he spoke, the sound poured out in a hungry, rough growl, grating against my ear and sending a shudder down my spine.
“I’d like to try something with you... I’d like to tie you up. Take a long strand of rope and bind you, all of you, tight. I’d want your hands pinned behind your back, and I’d stare at how beautiful your skin looks, naked, under all those knots.” He paused. “Then, I’d want to fuck you.”
I practically fell off the couch.
“Would you be open to that?”
It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried anything like that before. In fact, I remembered it well—the nights Charlie had cuffed me to our headboard and pretended to be a Dom while he screwed me. It had happened a handful of times, but each time he’d seen how aroused I’d been, how hard I’d bucked beneath him when he’d pinned my hips down and shoved himself inside me. Something wasn’t ever right about it in the moment. And the next day, I’d felt used, like he’d tapped this secret thing inside me but didn’t know how to respect it.
Perhaps it was the love we didn’t really share. Or the angry state of our relationship, and the blows he inflicted on my heart as he called me name after derogatory name—but not in love. Never in love.
Love wasn’t what I sought, but in the sexy roll of Dean’s voice, in the simple phrasing of his suggestion, I could imagine myself guided in a completely different, maddening and consuming way.
Maybe that was why I didn’t hold back.
“Yes, I would. Very much.”
“All right. That’s good.”
I didn’t move from my seat. I pictured his hands roaming over my skin and those lips taking mine.
I was so wet, I bit down on my finger.
“I suppose we should have a date first, yes?” Dean’s voice had shifted back to civil and sweet, and a burst of anticipation filled me.
“Sounds good to me.”
“How about Friday?”
“Yes. Friday is great.”
“Okay,” he said.
I clenched my knees, hoping I didn’t sound as excited as I felt. Was he giddy, like me? Or cool and reserved?
Or thinking of tying me up?
The Assignment Page 3
