Protecting Her Heart

by Chance Carter

  Emma stood up and offered a friendly farewell to her new acquaintances, then skirted back to the party, hoping to spot Luke. She wanted to ask him if he knew who her mystery man was, certain he would spill the beans in spite of the silly rules. She had to know.

  As she was searching the room she saw Arran leaning on the bar. He made eye contact with her and waved her over. She nodded and wandered over to him, searching for Luke along the way. She couldn’t find him. Odd, she thought, it wasn’t like him to wander off. She took one more look around the room before she finally landed in front of Arran.

  “Well hello,” he chirped, pulling her into his embrace. She looked up at him and smiled.

  “Are you ok?” he asked, caressing her shoulders. Perhaps it was the worried expression on her face that made him question her.

  “I am. Sorry, you haven’t seen Luke have you?”

  Arran’s expression of concern faded, replaced with curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite interpret.

  “He left after you were escorted into the holding room. I thought you knew?” he offered, regarding her carefully.

  “How would I know?” she asked, mindful not to roll her eyes. She’d been blindfolded the entire time.

  “I thought he might have texted you,” he smirked, casually shrugging his shoulders.

  “My phone’s in the closet, in the jacket pocket.”

  “Ah,” he responded half-heartedly. He turned his head, casually glancing around the room.

  Emma pulled her breath in sharply, shocked to see a fresh hickey on his neck, masked under the collar of his shirt. Was that her handy work? Arran was her mystery lover? Maybe! His hair was the right length, his face clean shaven...and the frigging Obsession! She shuddered, goosebumps rising on the back of her neck.

  Was he the one?

  He had been much more assertive than their first date together, yet all the pieces fit together. Maybe it was the sexy atmosphere that made him more confident, or her blindfold. He was, admittedly, a kinky guy. She reached up and pulled his collar back, grinning at him. How much proof did she need?

  “Looks like you had an enthusiastic partner tonight,” she alluded, offering him a cheeky wink. He chuckled back softly and shrugged his shoulders, ambiguously playful.

  “You could say that,” he agreed, absently raising a hand to his neck, grinning back at her.

  Should she ask him outright? Would it be appropriate? Would he admit it? Christ, where the hell did Luke go, she wondered crossly. He would be able to solve the mystery!

  “That was an interesting experience,” Emma pressed, hoping Arran would bite the hook.

  He chuckled at her again and winked, the closest he could come to an admission, she assumed.

  “Ah, yes, but I would have chosen a different way to describe it,” he insisted, reaching out for her hand. She let him take it, recalling the incredible intimacy they’d shared only moments earlier. She couldn’t deny their chemistry any longer.

  “What would have been the word?” she purred demurely.

  “Eye-opening,” he winked obscurely.

  Emma regarded him curiously and grinned, “I agree.”

  Maybe it had surprised him as much as her. She’d held back on their date too. Perhaps this was what they needed to break the ice and step forward together. She certainly couldn’t deny the explosive chemistry they’d just experienced together. She laced her fingers through his and smiled warmly. He slowly returned it, gently shaking his head, his expression a combination of surprise and surrender, as though he had suddenly made a realization about her too.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked hopefully, raising her hand to his lips. She was ready to leave, but her thoughts turned to the woman Arran came with.

  “Do you need to find Diana? Take her home?”

  “We came in separate vehicles but I should say my goodbyes...will you give me a few minutes?”

  Emma nodded and released his hand, “yes, I’ll just grab my jacket. Meet you at the front door?”

  Emma found her coat among many others and slipped it on, but Luke’s coat was missing. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone, certain he would have left her a message. He’d never walked out on her before and she was feeling uneasy. She felt a little better when she saw his text:

  I had to leave. I suddenly felt sick. Can you catch a taxi home? Sorry, this is embarrassing, but I left you in good hands. Call you later.

  Emma was about to text him back when she felt Arran’s arm slip around her waist. She placed her phone back in her pocket, turning to him.

  “Everything ok?” she asked, observing Diana far behind him. The woman appeared unsettled and Emma hoped she wasn’t the cause.

  “Yes, yes, everything is fine. Diana told me to bid you farewell,” he chirped, his accent thickly agitated. She smiled apologetically at Diana, hoping she wouldn’t think her insensitive, but the woman just turned away, as though accustomed to the routine.

  “Let’s go,” he insisted, opening the door.

  Chapter 30

  Emma was still dazed from the whole crazy experience the week before. Although she hadn’t seen Arran since he dropped her off that night, she was going out with him later that evening and was truly looking forward to seeing him. They’d talked a few times throughout the week, and although they hadn’t spoken about the experience, it was clear that their relationship had kicked up a few notches. He’d definitely been more flirtatious and assertive since the party, his confidence unquestionably inflated in the best way possible.

  Luke, on the other hand, never called her. She texted him several times but his responses were always short and direct, curt even. She wondered if it had anything to do with the party and even asked him outright, but he denied it. He said he’d been under the weather for a few days and had fallen behind at work, that he was just really busy. She had no reason to doubt him but still, something made her uneasy. She was going to give him a few more days and approach him again. They had gone weeks without speaking in the past, months even, but since she and Andrew had split, they had seen one another at least once a week, sometimes more. If she was being completely honest, she missed him.

  Emma was home early for a Friday. Jennifer was away that afternoon at a conference and insisted that Emma take the rest of the day off. It was an unexpected offer but she welcomed it. They’d been busy all week working on a special project that was quickly reaching its deadline and both of them had been pushing hard.

  She had just taken a shower and was lounging on the couch with her laptop, researching the Frye Art Museum. Jennifer had told her about a fascinating exhibit featuring Nicola Abernathy, a fifty-something American woman who, over the course of 10 years had traveled around the world creating art in different forms, painting, sculpture, photography, collaborating with different artists she met along the way. It had been rated one of the best exhibits in the country, boasting an amazing collection. She thought that Arran might appreciate it as much as she would and she really wanted to go.

  The phone rang. She quickly retrieved it from her purse, unable hold back her smile when saw Arran’s name on the display.

  “Hello,” she sang, easing into the sofa, “are you done work for the day?”

  “Hello, Darling,” he greeted cautiously. Something seemed off.

  “What’s the matter. You sound down.”

  “It’s been a long day, everything is fine.”

  “Yeah? Are you still up for going out tonight?”

  He hesitated for a moment, pausing as though preoccupied by something. Emma waited for the shuffling and muted conversation to end before repeating herself, suddenly reminded of the many distracted conversations she’d had with her ex over the years.

  “Arran?”

  “Yes, sorry. I just had to take care of something important. What were you asking?” he replied flatly, clearly in work mode.

  “Are we still going out?” she asked hesitantly.

  “What did you h
ave in mind?”

  “We could go to the Abernathy Exhibit at the museum? It closes Sunday,” she offered hopefully. Arran hesitated for a moment too long, making Emma wonder if he’d been interrupted again.

  “Hmmm, I don’t think so. We should just stay in. This day has been bullocks. I’ll just pick up some dinner and come to your place. I’m in the mood for some Indian. Right then?”

  Emma pulled her breath in slowly, unsure why she felt so apprehensive. The man had a shit day, if he didn’t want to go out that was fair, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to be selfish and insist on her own way but at the same time, something wasn’t sitting easy with her. It was the flavor of his words, the way they were seasoned with authority and delivered without any concern that she might want something different. She was bitterly intimate with the tone.

  As though her silence gave him pause, he suddenly spoke up, this time his words more sincere, lighter. “Emma, I will make it up to you another time, you have my word on that. To be honest with you, the thought of sharing an expensive bottle of wine and shagging ourselves silly was more of what I had in mind,” he purred playfully.

  Relieved, Emma smiled, swallowing her doubt and chiding herself for being so sensitive. It was kind of sweet that he wanted to stay in and have a romantic evening with her, and the truth was, she wanted the night to end passionately anyway. His way made it easier to skip the formalities.

  “Ok,” she agreed softly, “but not Indian. I’m not a fan of Indian food.”

  “What? It’s fantastic, Darling! Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to a fabulous dish. I know you’ll learn to love it if you just give it a chance,” he gently insisted, punctuating his words with a confident chuckle. Emma was pretty sure he was wrong, but kept it to herself. At thirty-one, she knew what she liked and didn’t.

  “Well, another time maybe,” she appeased, ignoring the irritation creeping up her spine. “How about you just bring the wine and I will order in some Italian for us. I know this authentic Italian restaurant that makes the best lasagna, with gobs and gobs of cheese.

  It’s frigging fantastic!”

  “Lactose intolerant, I’m afraid. Not sexy.”

  “Ah,” she replied, avoiding the image it evoked, “how about sushi?”

  “Hate it.”

  “Greek?”

  “Um...,” he hesitated.

  “Let me guess, too greeky?” Emma teased. She inhaled slowly, trying desperately to think of something that would please him.

  “Ok, bring the Indian...but nothing too spicy for me, ok?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Not because she gave a shit about the food, but because she heard it, the people-pleasing, the submission, the surrender. Months and months of healing and she found herself right back where she started, prioritizing someone else’s needs above her own, placating a man. She felt nauseous. Luke would have kicked her ass.

  “You got it,” he approved quickly, oblivious to her discomfort. “I should be out of here in about an hour and then home for a shower and shave. Shall we say 7:30?”

  “Yes, that works,” she agreed, allowing her frustration to settle. In spite of being disappointed with herself, she really was looking forward to seeing him. Thoughts of the thorough shagging they ‘anonymously’ shared only a week earlier trumped every single one of her doubts. She hadn’t stopped thinking about her ‘mystery lover’ since he made her deliciously cum, three fucking times.

  “Wear something pretty. Something I’ll want to tear off you,” he growled flirtatiously. Emma giggled, surprised by how hot his request made her.

  “We’ll see...” she purred, deliberately tormenting him.

  “Do as I say, Emma, or I may have to spank you,” he warned her mischievously.

  Emma’s smile faded slightly as she considered his words. She knew they were meant to be provocative, but for some reason she found herself resisting them. She hated how distrustful she felt and chalked it up to her own insecurity, her painful past. Once bitten, twice shy.

  Poor Arran, she thought, he didn’t deserve to be second-guessed at every corner, but why did he keep triggering her?

  Chapter 31

  Arran showed up precisely on time with a bottle of wine in one hand and a take-out bag, filled with their aromatic dinner, in the other. He looked handsome, relaxed, happy, and Emma felt ashamed by her earlier ambivalence. He leaned in and kissed her, long enough to say ‘I missed you’, then pulled away with a cheeky grin.

  “The restaurant was packed but they rushed my order after a generous tip...oh, and here’s your wine. It’s a 2016 Chateau Margaux. It pairs horribly with Indian food but it was expensive, as promised,” he clucked, placing the bottle in her hands. She looked down at the label, trying to place it. She was no wine expert.

  “Arran, you didn’t have to spend a hundred dollars on a bottle of wine, I would have been happy with cardboardeaux,” she scolded gently, reaching out for the bag of food.

  “Try a thousand dollars, Darling...”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, certain she heard him wrong. “You did not spend a thousand dollars on one bottle of wine...”

  “Yes, so you better enjoy it,” he smirked.

  “I’m not sure if you are trying to get a bigger bang for your buck but here’s a newsflash, I’m a sure thing,” she teased, tossing him a suggestive wink.

  He grinned mischievously, wrapping his arms around her waist, her full hands making her helpless to his playful advances. At first she didn’t mind, but as he hungrily kissed her, his tongue probing between her lips, offering her just a little too much moisture, she felt derailed. It always threw her for a loop how inconsistent his kisses were, as though delivered by different men. Powerless to change his pace, she giggled into his open mouth and leaned her head back.

  “Ok, mister, I’m starving. Let me get some plates and we can eat. How about you open the wine?” she suggested, casually squirming out of his grip. Oblivious, he let her go, smacking her ass as she turned around.

  “Have I told you how much I adore your curvy bottom?” he growled, walking behind her into the kitchen.

  “I do believe that’s the first time, but I will take the compliment,” Emma said, handing him a corkscrew. He took it from her and set to work opening the wine while she dished out the food. She had to admit, it did smell delicious.

  “What’s cardboardeaux?” he asked, popping the cork loudly. Emma smiled, recalling the inside joke she shared with Luke. They would buy a box of wine and refer to it as cardboardeaux so it would sound classier than it actually was. Funny how friends collected silly quips and quirks, stories and little jokes that stood the test of time, repeating themselves again and again to fits of giggles and inevitable eye-rolls. She and Luke had many of them.

  “It’s just a fancy way to refer to boxed-wine,” Emma explained, including him in on the joke.

  “I don’t get it,” he shrugged, filling two glasses with the ‘fancy’ wine he brought, the real stuff. He handed her a glass.

  “Cheers,” she saluted, taking a long sip. She rolled the liquid around her tongue, trying to discern the difference between a thousand dollar wine and whatever was on sale at the grocery store. Aside from the price tag, she wasn’t sure, but she enjoyed it nevertheless.

  “Here, take my wine and I’ll bring the plates into the dining room,” he suggested, passing her his glass. She happily obliged, following him to the table.

  “So what do you think of the lamb?” Arran asked her a few minutes into the meal. In spite of her apprehension, she actually enjoyed the sweet, rich, full flavor of her dish. She hated to admit it but she might have made a rash decision about Indian food. Just because she had a dish once that she didn’t enjoy didn’t mean the entire cuisine was unsavory. She took another bite, glad she gave it a second chance.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I appreciate you trying it, that was very brave.”

  Emma looked up from her plate, and
realized he was teasing her.

  “Oh, ok, smarty-pants, but might I remind you that you also turned your nose up at a few of my suggestions?” Emma rebutted, smirking impudently. “Next time it’s sushi for you.”

  He regarded her curiously, then nodded without protest. “Fair enough,” he agreed, chuckling quietly under his breath. He smiled at her thoughtfully, his gorgeous blue eyes twinkling with humor. He could be irresistibly charming, she thought, taking a sip of her wine, and wondered dreamily how long they might linger over dinner.

  “So I have news to share,” he offered, sitting back in his chair.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I have to jet overseas soon. I’m needed in Dubai and then I’ll be stopping in

  London for a few weeks. I have business to attend to, but I also thought I would see some family. My daughter is graduating at months’ end,” he said, his shrug indicating how inconsequential he considered the news.

  “You never mentioned you had a daughter,” Emma stammered, trying to hold back her surprise.

  “Did I not? Yes, she lives with her mother. To be honest, I haven’t really had a hand in raising her, aside from the maintenance.”

  “Maintenance?” Emma asked, questioning the reference.

  “Yes, what you call child support here in America,” he explained casually, enjoying another bite of his spicy stew. Emma stared at him for a moment, trying to process the admission. She was obviously at an age where most of the men she dated were likely to have children but she had never considered, until that moment, what that meant or how it might affect her relationships.

  “What’s her name,” she asked cautiously. “How old is she?”

  “Her name is Abigail, but she goes by Abby. I think she just turned twenty-five. I am terrible with birthdays.”

  “Wow, twenty-five,” Emma whispered, considering the very, very tiny age gap between herself and Abigail, otherwise known as Abby.

  “Yes, I was just a kid myself when she was born. Her mother and I parted ways and then business exploded. I’m afraid I didn’t see much of the girl growing up. It would be safe to say she might have some hard feelings. I can’t blame her, really,” he admitted, his smile as faded as his memories.