by Sara Allen
“Excuse me,” I said. “I thought you were going to fall.” Still, I held on to her, far too comfortable with her small weight against my arm.
“Okay, but I didn’t,” she wheezed, “so you can let go now. Thanks.”
It took sheer willpower for me to relax my arm and step back, but finally, I was able to do so without looking too much like a mad man. Or I’d hoped to think so. The architect turned swiftly, ignoring me, and gathered her belongings from the breakfast bar where she’d dropped them when we’d first entered the apartment.
Without a word, she marched for the front door, turning and staring at me expectantly. I sighed and walked out the open door, berating myself for my stupidity.
This woman had a knack for making me feel like I was out of my depth. Pulling silence around herself like a cloak had me regretting every impulse that had caused me to reach out and grab her. The ‘if’s’ were running rampant through my mind until I almost ran a red light and forced myself to calm down. She'd jammed ear pods in her ears and closed her eyes, which was just as well considering what had happened. The impenetrable silence wouldn’t allow me to apologize for my mistake and I knew she was going to make me pay one way or another.
We finally reached the underground garage and I realized that she’d fallen asleep on the drive over. Watching her sleep allowed me to marvel at the smooth, light cocoa of her skin that promised to be peach-soft to the touch. The light beyond the window traced a line across the fine down that covered her cheeks, and my fingers itched to reach out and caress her. With the architect, any action could cause you to regret a hasty move, and I knew she’d give me hell for the second infringement into her space.
My eyes memorized her features from the mass of loose, short curls that framed a heart-shaped face, to the wide, high cheekbones that gave her the appearance of a cheeky cat. Almond-shaped eyes with lashes that brushed her cheeks and a small pert nose above a perfect pout, that was both expressive and sensual.
“If you stare any harder, I’ll have no choice but to give you another photo,” she said and then yawned. Her mouth settled into an annoyed line and again, she’d caught me speechless.
Opening one eye, she regarded me. “I thought we had a meeting with your boss?”
“He’s seeing another client,” I explained, “so we can take our time.”
“Is there a Starbucks close by?” She stretched, and my groin sang a prayer to the Creator who saw fit to make a specimen that could ease out of sleep with such sex appeal.
“Sure,” I said and did myself a favor, turning my gaze away. I hadn’t needed to look at her so closely. After all, I knew every line and angle of her exquisite face. The photos I’d snapped of her the week before had burnt holes in my phone, because of how often I took them out to scrutinize them. I couldn’t help myself. This woman had captured more than just my imagination. She held a piece of my soul and didn’t even know it. Nor would she ever if I could help it.
“Hello!” She waved a hand in front of my face as though she’d been speaking and I’d been ignoring her. “Starbucks… Remember?”
I turned off the engine and threw my door open, stepping out into the garage. There was no point in taking the car, because we wouldn’t find a parking space anyway. Besides, the walk would do us both some good. Her, to wake her tired ass up, and me to get a little space to think.
“Leave those here,” I indicated her document roll and briefcase. “I’ll come back and get them before we go up to see Andrew.”
“Whatever you say, big man,” the architect replied, “whatever you say.” She turned and jumped down from the car and pushed her hands in her jeans pockets as though waiting for further instructions. This woman was going be the death of me, or had I mentioned that before?
I led her to the elevator and pressed the button.
“Oh, I forgot.” I tried to be nonchalant about it because in truth, it was a crying shame. “What’s your name? I don’t think I caught it the other day.”
She looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. However, if I told her I’d been calling her the architect for the last two weeks, she’d think I was a rude-ass jerk and wouldn’t want anything to do with me. Not that she should want to, but I had my pride and a sick hope that she wouldn’t look down on me. Oh fuck, I was over thinking everything when it came to this woman and I almost told her to forget I’d asked.
Just as the lift doors slid open, she turned to me and drew in a breath.
“Rowanne” she said. “My name is Rowanne.”
10
Her
This last week had been a mix of difficulties, starting with the struggle to finalize the internal plans for Andrew Sherwin’s house. It wasn’t that the project was troublesome exactly, but my mind slipped far too often towards a certain dark-eyed assistant. The harder I tried to get my thoughts on track, the faster they slid sideways into uncharted territory. I really had to get a grip or lose it all in the passionate embrace of my dreams.
Ash had such a strong presence that he’d settled himself into my mind and didn’t have the decency to budge. Every waking moment was spent reminiscing over the way his hand had held me so firmly and so knowingly. The intimacy of a gesture whose ghostly fingers still splayed across my spine when nothing occupied me. His hold had felt so intimately familiar that it shook me. He knew enough to know where his hand would weaken me, turning my firm stance to jelly swimming at his feet.
There was a corner of my mind that fixated on him and refused to let go. I wasn’t sure if it was entirely Ash or a combination of the house and the man that sucked me in daily. It didn't help that I found myself adding minute details to the plan even though the only mention of taking the design further had been a week ago. Yet my hand constantly reached for and modified the first drawing.
I couldn’t help myself from taking it further. It seemed there was a force behind me that drove me to mark out rooms, storage, garage, and garden. The little mudroom that would sit at the side of the garden so he could take off his shoes and a place to store them too. An underground gym and a pool with a steam room attached that had me daydreaming for hours on how his long, sleek body would slide through the water or how the water would slide off his wet skin.
Obsession in the form of a house that may never be built had gripped me. It spun my mind down corridors of opportunity that left me with little time to focus on other things. Where my days should have been spent working on his boss’ design, I’d pushed that aside too often not to feel a bite of remorse.
Regardless, my bills had to be paid and I knew that would only happen when I delivered the plan and Andrew’s house was finally under construction. So, I pushed myself to mark details on the technical drawings for each of the three levels as well on the underground areas that I’d added. It was painstakingly slow work that needed to be thought out properly so the house would function as it should, and I was already distracted.
I eased a kink out of my neck and glanced out of the window.
A thought spun through my mind and I wondered what Ash was doing.
“Row!” My door burst inward before I could catch myself. “You have a delivery.”
“Mags!” I snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh, hush!” She beamed as though it was Christmas Eve and she’d looked at the biggest present too early. Now, she couldn’t wait to tell tales.
“Oh no you don’t, bihh.” She had a grin stretching her mouth. “You better tell me who you did?”
“What?” I cut my eye at her in disgust. “I ain’t you.”
She roared with laughter like a fishwife, coarse and dirty, but far too amused to lower her voice. “I ain’t talking about me.” She waggled her brows. “Who the fuck did you do?”
“Get out of my office, sicko!”
She ignored me and grabbed my the hand, pulling me from my seat. “You have got to see this and then tell me you didn’t do anybody.”
“You’re certifiable,” I muttered
, but I followed her out into the bustling reception area anyway. There was a small crowd gathered around humming and ahhing. Mags took one look at them, sighed, and barged right through the middle. Her elbows dug at those who were a little less than cooperative.
“Careful, Mags,” sniped Jess from accounting. “What’s your rush?”
“You better get your ass back to your desk before I write you up.” Mags’ mouth twisted into a spiteful line. “Don’t you have work to do?” She scanned the small crowd, questioning them with a glance. “Get back to work. You don’t get paid to gossip.”
“I suppose you do?” I asked her quietly, amused at her antics.
“Shhh…” she cautioned. “I don’t want any of those busy bodies sticking around to find out the juicy details.” She handed me a card. “This came with it, but I took it off, because…” She waved at the retreating group and poked her tongue out at Jess who’d made the mistake of turning her gaze back at us.
“You really are too much.” I shook my head.
“You may be right about that,” She beamed, “but I’m loyal. There ain’t no question about that.”
I had to agree with her there. In all the time I’d known her since coming to work at the firm, she’d never been caught up in office drama. Putting everyone in their places, equally and without casting favorites, Mags was the boss’ beloved.
Intrigued by what had drawn the crowd, I glanced to the side of the reception desk to find an enormous bouquet. Within was a mix of different blooms, the heady scent of lavender drowning out the more subtle lilies whose huge, white flower trumpets seemed to call me. There were sprays of orchids and roses so red they looked like they’d bleed over everything else in the cut-glass vase. It seemed every color in the rainbow was represented and then some.
My mouth dropped open, stunned. I couldn’t think with all the visual stimulation being thrown at me.
“Open the card, dummy,” urged Mags.
I held the small envelope in my hand and stared at it.
“Card. Open. Now!” Mags clicked her fingers to emphasis the words, and I dutifully eased the flap up and pulled out a plain, gold-edged card and scanned the words.
“Bitch, what does it say?” Mags snapped, impatient for closure.
“Dinner at eight,” I replied.
She scoffed. “And you want to tell me you didn’t put out big time,” she laughed like a hag. “I bet that’s not all you’ll be having at eight.”
“Oh, hush, you,” I said, my mind in a whirl on who could have sent me an invitation and the flowers. “I ain’t that kind of girl, and you know it.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Her grin refused to budge. “But no one sends someone such a large statement of interest without getting a little loan in advance.” She pouted her lips. “Know what I mean, sister?”
I looked her up and down. “Get a grip.” I snatched the vase and dragged it across the floor to my office, closing the door on her grinning visage.
Who the fuck could have sent me such a thing and why? Whoever it was, was in for a shock. I didn’t do big gestures like this and certainly not in front of the people in my office. They were a bunch of gossips and sneaks, and the slightest sniff of something juicy would have them speculating for weeks. I had no intention of being the center of their world for the foreseeable future if I could help it. As soon as I found out who had sent this, I’d send them and that obnoxious vase packing.
Fifteen minutes later, I was still sitting on the sofa in my office wondering who I was going to murder with my bare hands. Having called all the usual suspects, I was still no closer to the culprit and no one would admit to sending me flowers. There was no way it would be one of my previous clients as I’d made it clear from the beginning that I never mixed business with pleasure.
Exasperated, I groaned as time was quickly running out. It was almost five p.m., and by all accounts I was supposed to meet someone for dinner in a few hours. The problem wasn’t when, but who, and more importantly, where?
My intercom beeped, and I looked at it in annoyance. The last thing I needed was someone disturbing me when I had a situation on my hands. I stomped over to my desk as the intercom buzzed a second time and jabbed the button hard.
“What?”
“Huh,” Mags stammered. “There’s… There’s someone here to see you.”
“I’m not in the mood for this right now, Mags,” I muttered. “I don’t remember having any appointments. Can you ask them to come back another day?”
“Err, I think you’ll want to see this person.”
“I don’t want to see anyone, thank you,” I grated,. “Ask them to come back when it's not five minutes before we close.”
“Idiot,” she hissed. “I’m sending them in. Play nice.”
“Mags! Don’t you da…”
The line went dead, and I looked at the intercom in shock. What was she thinking? I could only surmise she’d lost her damn mind and needed seeing to. A knock sounded at my door and I sighed in frustration.
“Come in!”
The door opened and a clean cut, designer-suited Ash stood looking at me with a resigned expression on his face.
“I hope Andrew doesn’t want to see me, because I haven’t quite finished the technical plan yet.”
Stepping further into the room, he closed the door.. He stood motionless, saying nothing, yet gazing at me with a longing I didn’t quite understand. Then his eyes flicked down at the vase of flowers and back at me, a question in the turn of his head and the expectant expression on his face.
Then it dawned on me. The suit, the fresh shave and shape-up, the heady aftershave that I could have licked off his skin, and the longing in his eyes—it all made sense.
“Tell me you did not send those to me.” I demanded in shock.
He snorted and looked at his feet. When he looked back at me, he had a confident smile on his lips and a quirk to his brow.
“Oh no…” I walked around my desk to find the chair and dropped into it. “No, no, no, you are not asking me out to dinner?”
“You need to eat and I need to eat,” Ash said, “why not eat together?”
The motherfucker sounded so reasonable that I almost fell for it. I caught myself and leaned across the table.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, pointing at him. “You… want to have dinner with me?” I rested my hands on my chest.
His mouth twisted, then stretched in a grin that showed perfect, white teeth. He nodded his head slowly, yet with firmness in his gaze.
Words that had wanted to spill from my lips a short while before had fled. I was more than simply speechless, I was dumbfounded. Shocked to an extent that I doubted my own reasons for wondering why he’d asked me.
“But why?”
“Because, despite trying my hardest to avoid you, I can’t,” he responded with a sigh. “So, let’s go out and have dinner and get to know each other better. No strings.”
He held up his hands showing he was harmless, but I wasn’t buying it. I’d been dreaming about this man almost every night and even though he’d said there were no strings, I wanted to jump his bones. Even if it only happened once. And for that reason alone, I didn’t trust myself in his company.
“But I’m not even dressed right for going out to dinner,” I lamented.
He looked at me, really looked and seemed to see everything he wanted. “Have dinner with me, Rowanne.”
How the fuck could I refuse when he asked me like that. I licked my lips and sighed. I was going to regret this, but what the hell?
“I’d love to.”
11
Him
She’d actually agreed despite me telling myself that I was wasting my time. Something in my chest seemed to squeeze once before it settled into a comfortable place that gave me the confidence to hold a conversation with her.
I’d made a reservation, only so I didn’t change my mind and stay home and order a pizza. That was not the idea of ‘n
o strings’ I had in mind and I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t put any pressure on her to have more than just dinner. But I wasn’t opposed to the idea if she brought it up first. After all, a man had to make sacrifices, right?
Staring at the canvas that had held me captive just over a week ago, new details emerged that I'd missed the last time I’d looked at it. The swirling lines of light and dark appeared to have far too much to say. The vortex in the center that spread outwards, seeping colors until there was a swirling mass of pigment. At first glance, it appeared uncoordinated and crass, but on closer inspection, there was a voice whispering, that if you were silent enough, it would share itself with you. I wasn’t sure if the answers it was giving me were ones I wanted to hear, yet I couldn’t pull myself away from the painting.
“It still has you?”
I wondered when I’d be aware of her creeping up behind me and not have to hold myself from retaliating. Rowanne had done it so many times that I wondered if she didn’t have cat feet. One thing I did notice was that she stood further away from me than she’d done the last time and a small smile played over my mouth before I suppressed it. There was no point in pissing her off before we even got out the door.
“It's a very moving picture,” I told her. “There’s something about it that holds a person’s attention, even mine.”
There was a tremor in her cheeks at my answer. It seemed I’d shifted her preconceived perspective, and she didn’t like it. There was nothing I could do about her misconceptions. She would have to deal with it in her own time and at her own pace. But I couldn’t help the twist of satisfaction at having the opportunity to knock each and every one of them down whether she liked it or not.
I appraised her attire and had to hold on to a groan. She wore a sheer silk blouse that hid barely anything of her dark areolas that stood out against the lighter caramel of her skin. The long satin skirt had a slash all the way up to her thigh, higher than I ever thought this woman would venture. She wore open-toe, black sandals that eased her upwards a few inches.
