He’s actually the nicest date I’ve had in a long time. He embodies the quintessential Austin ethos, laid back and friendly. And I need to give him a chance. I really need to give him a chance.
Don’t fuck this up, Sierra.
Flying back first thing in the morning. Need to meet.
A text from Hale. Our first contact in ten days. I’m elated. I’m angry. My heart hurts and I don’t know if it’s happiness or despair. Need to meet could mean anything. I’m trying not to read too much into it.
Sure. When? My fingers are shaking.
Dinner This is so Hale, no question mark after it asking me if I’m available.
Where? Oh Sierra, you are so easy. You didn’t even make him work for it.
I’ll pick you up at 7:30
Pick me up where? I need him to clarify it.
At your house, Sierra. I can hear the exasperation in his text and I’m amusing myself.
That’s really not necessary. I’ll meet you somewhere. You haven’t contacted me in 10 days, douche, so now I’m going to fuck with you a little.
I will pick you up at 7:30
Seriously, it’s not like it’s a date or something.
Just promise me you won’t shit in the restaurant. Ha-ha, amusing. Throw my own words back at me.
I’m very professional on business dinners, Hale. I’m shaking my head. I can’t date him. This is business. Anything else will end badly for me. Very, very badly.
Yeah well, we have a dinner date tomorrow night. Goodnight, Sierra. I really don’t like being dismissed.
Hale I’ve let five minutes pass.
Yes, Sierra
My ass is off-limits The guy needs ground rules.
So are you saying your ass is not on the table?
Yes
I can still work with that. Goodnight, Sierra. Dog.
Girls will be girls. It doesn’t matter if we are sixteen, thirty-three (my age) or sixty-three. Girls will be girls. And based on that irrefutable fact of the universe, I am forced to call an emergency meeting of The Swale Club.
Three-way call initiated. Text shared with all parties. Monica and Beverly up to speed, it’s time to beat this topic to a dead horse.
“You have to call Cuntessa about something tomorrow and dig around. Find out if she saw him in the last few days.” Beverly is all about gathering facts and then putting together a strategy.
“I’m reading this,” Monica cuts in, “you really have to look at the sub-text. It’s like he’s totally over this exile and just wants to come back and go for it. He’s really very funny, Sierra. I like his sense of humor.”
Why am I the only one not laughing? I really need to lighten up.
“The ass comment,” Beverly laments, “I’d kill for my darling husband,” her voice drips with sarcasm, “to say something like that to me.”
“He wants your ass against a wall, Sierra. Or maybe on your kitchen counter.”
“Well, that’s not happening. I have to work with the guy. We have two very major events to get through. When I no longer am in his ‘quasi-employ’, then maybe we can explore having something. This might not mean anything. This could just be his normal pig self.” I keep reading his words. Just reading his double entendres is killing me. I want to know what his mouth tastes like and what it feels like to be nestled against his muscular frame. I want to know if my kisses can get him hard. And I want to feel their power pressed up against me.
“You’d better call us immediately after he leaves,” Beverly demands.
“If he leaves,” Monica loves to torment me.
Travis Heights is quintessential Austin. The location, bordering the Colorado River, makes it prime and expensive real estate and like many other older Austin neighborhoods, homes are being bought strictly for the choice location of the lot and then knocked down, giving way to large new homes next door to 1940’s Craftsman cottages.
As I pull up to Sierra’s house, I think how much it looks like her. Sunshine and comfort, amid change. And I wonder if what is changing is actually me. A year ago, I would have been banging Robyn Stiles in my office and last night she just grossed me out.
Taking a deep breath before I knock, I have no idea how to play this. The last time we saw one another I was completely inappropriate. She has to be nice to me because basically she works for me. But what would she be feeling if work were out of the equation? Would she even return my texts?
Lifting my hand to knock feels like an uncovering of my fate and I’m immediately grabbed by that uncomfortable clench in my belly, something that I learned to quell overseas and does not happen often to me. I am not yet ready for this answer.
Her smile is automatic as she opens the door.
“Hale.” She seems genuinely happy to see me. “Come on in.”
Relief is instantaneous, fears dispelled by just a smile. Refreshing is the word that comes to mind, especially after the likes of Robyn Stiles, as I take in the girl that mirrors her neighborhood. Quintessentially Austin. In a short white linen sundress and well-worn cowboy boots, Sierra is clad in Austin’s version of “dressed up”. With loose tousled hair and not a lot of make-up that I can detect, she looks even more beautiful standing here than the dream that’s haunted me for ten days.
“Great place,” I look around as I peer over her shoulder, so that I don’t stare at her too long. It reminds me of a beach cottage. The walls are a sky blue that gives the place the feel of a perfect sunny day.
“Your garage is probably larger than my whole house,” she laughs nervously.
“This is really nice. Did you do the decorating?”
She nods and I continue, “I’m always amazed by people who can put things together and create a great space.” I pick up a photo of Sierra with two other women, they are clearly laughing hysterically.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I can tell that I am making her uncomfortable as I stalk around her living room, picking things up and learning about her by her choices in the finely crafted surroundings. It’s the coffee table that catches my eye.
Pointing to it, “Sticks?”
“Yes.” She looks amazed that I know who created the beautiful hand painted table depicting the four seasons.
“Surprised I know that, huh?” I raise my brows, feeling very proud of myself.
“You must have a girlfriend that enjoys dragging you to high priced craft furniture stores.”
She’s astute and has totally nailed me here.
“Ex-girlfriend who loved New Hope, Pennsylvania.” I can almost see her mind spinning and I answer the question, “But we never bought any.”
“Okay.”
It’s evident that she’s not sure how to answer me. I am really making her uncomfortable. The opposite of what I want to happen.
“Here’s the shocking part. I’m the one that liked it. She didn’t,” I confess.
“That in itself is reason enough to make her an ex.” Sierra smiles for the first time.
Laughing, “Damn right.” And I get my second smile from her.
I look at my watch, “Hey, we need to head out.”
“Where are we going?” She grabs a big oversized soft leather bag.
“The Carillon.”
“On the UT Campus?”
I nod. “Have you been?”
“No, and I’ve always wanted to go there.”
Sierra stops dead in her tracks when she sees my car. “What is that?”
Laughing, “It’s a Lotus.” I’ll never tire of saying that.
“I probably should not have worn a dress.” Sierra is looking at the car, clearly trying to figure out how to negotiate her way into it.
“You look very nice tonight.” She knows I’m messing with her by the amused look on my face, and I am silently praying she’s commando under that dress and really sweating it out. “Do you need help getting in?”
Smiling through gritted teeth, “I think I’m capable of getting into a car.”
/> “Okay.”
Smiling, I fold my long frame into the low seat of the Lotus. It takes practice to get in and out of a low street racing car. And I’ve never done it in a dress.
“Ready,” I ask mockingly, eyebrows raised, when she’s finally in and tugging at her hiked up hemline.
With a dirty look, she whacks me in the arm. “Ass.”
Laughing, “We’ve previously established that.” And down her street I tear, loving the guttural sound of the engine and feeling like a teen showing off to my girlfriend.
Just a few minutes later as we’re pulling up to the building housing the restaurant, Sierra concedes, “I’ll bet this is a great car to take out into Hill Country.”
“Totally, we should drive out to Bandera some weekend.” I did it again, just overstepped it with her, because I’m not thinking, and it just seems so natural.
Parking the Lotus, I quickly head to her side to help her out. She gives me a look and I laugh, “I’m only trying to be a gentleman.” I feign innocence.
“Mmm-hmm.” Even her mmm-hmm is dripping sarcasm.
Not commando. White lace. Oh God, she’s destroying me. I want to rip them off and lower her onto my lap. Impale her and discover what kissing does to her with my cock inside her.
Damn it. Will I be able to keep the promises I want to make?
Our waiter comes by and I order two Manhattans, smiling at Sierra.
“Craving cherries?” Her eyebrows are raised.
Oh man, she really is going to kill me tonight.
“Only if they are yours.”
“You want mine?” she asks and I can see she feels it. She feels our energy.
“More than you can imagine.”
“I would hate to deny you.”
“Good girl. Then don’t.”
The waiter places the Martini glasses in front of us and I lift mine, “Good to see you again.” And I hope she can see how sincere I am.
“Good to see you.” She takes a sip and her nose scrunches up. “This tastes different.”
“They make theirs with rye whiskey instead of bourbon.”
Another two sips and the cherry is no longer submerged. Sierra reaches into the glass and plucks it out. About ready to pop it into her mouth, she catches my eye and smiles. She’s just messing with me. Reaching out, I grasp her slender wrist and slowly pull it to me. Taking the tips of her thumb and forefinger into my mouth, I suck the cherry out from between her fingers and show it to her on my tongue before slowly chewing it, a smile firmly planted on my face.
I’m still holding her wrist and with my free hand, I signal to the waiter for two more.
“We need to talk, Hale.”
I can see she is struggling. We are in such dangerous territory and we escalate there quickly and too easily. She is clearly unnerved and I’m not sure if it’s by her own behavior, mine or what happens when we’re together. Her eyes search mine as if she is hoping to find some truth. I loosen my hold on her wrist and pick up my drink.
“Let me start by first saying something I have yet to say to you. I’m sorry, Sierra. I’m sorry I disrespected you.”
“You treated me like a bimbo, Hale. That is just not acceptable.” She stops and picks up her drink. “As a woman in the corporate world, I have to work twice as hard to get to the same place as my male counterparts. So I work three times as hard. And I’m good at what I do, really good. So for you to treat me that way, is just not excusable.”
“I don’t even know how to explain myself. I know what I did was inappropriate and wrong. I was touching you and then I was touching you.”
“I have never crossed the line in business. Men can do it. Women can’t. When men do it, they get an “atta boy”. Women get labeled as sluts and never taken seriously again from a business perspective. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am.”
The sincerity in her eyes is eating at my gut. How do I even explain this to her? How do I tell her?
“It wasn’t my intent to offend you or disrespect you and I totally understand why you feel the way you do. I had no right to be touching you. You didn’t give me that permission and I way overstepped my bounds by taking something you didn’t give me.”
When she remains silent, I cave. I’m crumbling. This girl has no clue that I would do anything for her.
“It’s just,” I pause, knowing if I continue to speak, I’m going to sound like a lunatic, “it’s just, I wasn’t thinking and it felt so natural and right to be touching you. Unfortunately, it was inappropriate and offensive to you.”
“Would you grab a male colleague’s ass?”
“No. But if I’m going to be totally honest with you, I would never be fantasizing about a male colleague’s ass.”
The shock that registers on her face is almost comical. But not quite.
“You fantasize about my ass?”
“Your ass is gorgeous, Sierra. I’d have to be dead not to notice it.” I kill the last sip of my second Manhattan.
With the timing of a Swiss clockmaker, the waiter approaches the table, handing Sierra her menu first and then one to me. I make eye contact with the man and he beats a hasty retreat.
Looking down at my menu to put a halt to the conversation for now, I pretend I’m reading the chef’s specialties, until I hear her small gasp. Looking up, our eyes meet. The surprise conveyed in hers are the reaction I was hoping for as I raise my brows, silently asking her to answer.
Across the top of her menu, the restaurant has printed the message:
Let’s start over again, Sierra.
My heart is melting. I want to stay mad at him, but I can’t. What he did was wrong. No doubt about that. But I think I understand now that we are both fighting something we’re really not quite sure how to handle. And probably not doing a good job of it.
I can’t believe he had the restaurant print a personal message to me on the menu.
“Yeah,” is all I say as I meet his deep blue eyes, eliciting a smile that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. The man is so damn handsome and I fear I’m going to break every rule I live by and become the ultimate hypocrite after all the shit I’ve given him.
“Here’s the thing, Hale,” I need to lay it out there for him so that there is no confusion. “While we’re working on your project, we really need to keep it a work relationship.”
“I understand.” He nods and I’m having problems concentrating on anything but the dark stubble on his jaw that makes him look so damn masculine. Hale Lundström is a man, he is not a little boy. And he’s the man that I want. “What I’m struggling with,” he goes on, “is how do we stop our rapport, our banter? The cherries, for instance. And do we even want to stop that? It’s our way of getting to know one another, Sierra.”
“I don’t know,” I’m shaking my head. “This is really confusing.”
Hale flags down the waiter and orders yet another round of Manhattans. He responds to my wide-eyed look with a laugh, “Don’t worry, we’ll eat plenty of food to sober up before I make you get back in the Lotus; but one more drink will decimate both our walls so that we can be really honest with one another.”
He’s right, his words resonate and make the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Admitting that I think about him obsessively, wondering what it would feel like to be pinned underneath him as he uses his muscular thighs to nudge mine open is probably more honest than I want or need to be.
When the waiter delivers our drinks, I’m almost afraid to take the first sip.
“To crashing through walls without decimating all boundaries,” he pauses and I take a sip. “Yet.” He finishes his sentence and I choke.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” We’re waiting for the valet to bring the car around. A typical summer’s night in Austin. The setting of the sun has yet to cool the still evening air, even as it approaches 11:30 P.M.
“Sierra, if I were not okay, we’d be in the back seat of a cab right now.”
“We’d?”
I’m surprised.
Laughing, “Yes, we’d. Because first we’d be dropping you off in Travis Heights and I’d be walking you safely to your door. And then the cab would be taking me home.”
“Wow, you’ve almost got me believing you’re a gentleman.”
“I do have manners. I just don’t always display them. As you’ve already witnessed.”
“Where do you live?” I’m dying to know.
“In The Austonian,” he’s somehow surprised that I don’t know he has a residence in the skyscraper where he’s got the executive office space, where my office is when I’m working on SpaceCloud business. “The other half of the floor is my apartment.”
Wow. I’m suddenly uncomfortable at how close I’ve unknowingly been to his bed. And now that I know, well, that adds another level of distraction. I’m going to have to keep myself from fantasizing about nooners.
The valet pulls up with the Lotus. “Sweet ride,” the kid excitedly says to Hale.
“Need help getting in?” The smirk on his face shows how much fun he is having fucking with me.
“Maybe that should be my question to you,” I shoot back without missing a beat.
His laugh is hearty, “Baby, I never have problems getting in.” And he folds his long, muscular frame into the car with the ease of a mountain lion.
Me and my smart ass mouth. I am never going to make it to TFV1 without ‘shitting where I eat’, if this keeps up. I can’t let that happen. There’s so much on the line. Kemp’s promotion is imminent. I cannot throw it all away now. No matter how overwhelmingly attracted I am to this man.
The physical space in the cockpit of this tiny car is my enemy right now. We are so close together, that with every turn my knee brushes his hand on the stick shift and there’s nowhere for me to move away. I hate that part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and turn my back on everything I know to be true. I hate it. And what I really loathe is my fear that I’m going to lose this battle at the most critical juncture of my career.
We cross the Colorado River and turn left on Riverside Drive. It’ll only be five more minutes in this car with him until we are pulling up in front of my house. Conflicted? That’s a freaking understatement. I want my personal space back, but I fear the emptiness when he retreats. The last twenty-four hours have been overwhelming and confusing. Is there a right or a wrong? I ask myself. And is he worth the risk or will he be the biggest colossal mistake of my life?
Slave to Love Page 5
