He shook his head, his smile strained as he adjusted himself beneath the tablecloth. “Nope.”
“Just one?” The curiosity was eating her alive.
“Don’t be so nosy.”
“I don’t like secrets.”
He sobered. “There are a lot of things you don’t like. And I’d say today was one of them.”
She looked away, slightly abashed that he would refer to it so carelessly. “Parts of it were okay.”
He took her hand in one of his, drawing her attention back to his face. His gentle grip stilled her restless fingers where they played with bread crumbs on the tablecloth. “I’d like to say it was difficult for me, as well,” he muttered. “But I have to be honest with you.”
She cocked her head, studying his look of shamed, mulish defiance. “By all means. Be honest.”
He ran his free hand through his hair and rubbed his thumb in the center of her palm. The slow caress was surprisingly erotic. “It was bloody fucking awesome.”
Eight
Morgan figured she deserved to know the truth. He wasn’t an enlightened male after all. Scratch the surface, and he was a horny bastard like all the rest. And it had seriously gotten his rocks off to tie her up and
punish
her.
The shocked look on her face was priceless. She took a sip of her wine and continued to stare at him, apparently speechless.
He shrugged. “Not what you expected to hear, I guess.” Now he felt guilty. He should have kept his mouth shut. He was supposed to be teaching her to trust him, not giving her reasons to toss his ring back in his face.
She leaned back in her chair. “What was so great about it? For you, I mean.”
She appeared genuinely curious, so he tried to put his feelings into words, not exactly a guy strength. He shrugged. “At first I spent a lot of energy wondering if you were okay, mentally I mean. I knew I wasn’t really hurting you. But soon, the whole visual scenario grabbed me. God, if you could have seen yourself. ” He swallowed, his tongue thick, and grabbed his water glass, feeling raw heat grip his package as the memories flooded back.
She licked her lips. “Was it just the nudity? Or the setting? Or the props?”
“It was all of it,” he muttered. “Some kind of primitive male dominance thing.”
Finally, she smiled. And the relief he experienced took on tidal-wave proportions. He felt her bare foot play with his shin.
She laughed at him. “Well, don’t look so guilty. It’s all that testosterone. It’s bound to make you crazy sometimes.”
Her humor diffused the near-painful postmortem, and suddenly they were back on even ground.
As they left the restaurant, she linked her arm in his. “Well, if there is any justice in the world, I’ll get my turn. You wait and see.”
Hannah worked hard on Wednesday. She was organized and efficient and productive. She filed tax receipts. She cleared her desk. She updated her calendar. She was on top of things.
But none of her ultrasuperwoman activities managed to erase the memory of being helpless and at the mercy of a man. Morgan. Her fiancé. Her big problem.
He continued to hint at meeting her parents. She continued to ignore him. In an attempt to deflect his single-mindedness, she had urged him to set up a dinner with
his
parents. So tonight— much sooner than she had anticipated—she and Morgan were off to Ocala to meet Mr. and Mrs. Webber.
Morgan had offered to take them all to dinner at a nice steak house, but his mother insisted on cooking. So the only thing Hannah had to do was pick out a dress that made her look like the girl every mom wants her son to bring home.
Easier said than done. She discarded four that showed too much cleavage. The skirts on two others were too short. A trio of sundresses left her back bare . . . too racy. The sheer fabric in a handful of others showed her nipples.
It occurred to her that maybe she had too many clothes. It was definitely a weakness.
Finally, in desperation, she pulled out the dress she had worn to Grammy’s funeral. Both her maternal grandparents had died far too young, Papaw from a stroke and Grammy after a brief battle with cancer.
Hannah had been furious with God at the time. Lots of people lived to be ninety or a hundred. Why not
her
grandparents? How was it fair that they died in their early seventies? God had been remarkably silent, and eventually, her bitterness faded. She didn’t have it in her to maintain such self-destructive anger.
And after all, she had filled the void with so many wonderful new surrogate family members . . . not the least of whom was Elda. Their close relationship shored up the emotional gap in Hannah’s life.
Hannah stared in the mirror at the navy knit dress. Its three-quarter-length sleeves and collar edged in white were suitably puritanical. The hem landed discreetly just across her kneecaps. And with the appropriate bra, not a sign of a nipple. Perfect.
When Morgan picked her up that evening, he tried to suppress a smirk and failed. “Pearls, Hannah? Good Lord. Did I miss something?”
She slid into the passenger seat and waited for him to close her door and take his place behind the wheel. She smoothed her skirt. “I don’t always favor the bohemian look,” she said primly. “I felt it important to dress nicely for your parents.”
He spared her one quick glance before returning his concentration to the hellish rush-hour traffic. “All you have to do is be yourself and they’ll love you, sweetheart. They’re very nonjudgmental people.”
“No mother is nonjudgmental about her son’s female companionship.”
He chuckled. “If you say so.”
It took just over an hour to make the trip. Which was good, because any longer, and Hannah’s nerves would have reached the breaking point.
But her worries were needless. The elder Webbers turned out to be even nicer than she had hoped or expected. Stan Webber was much like his son in build, looks, and demeanor. Elaina Webber, also slender and tall, was a bit reserved at first, but warmed up as the evening progressed. Her frosted hair was cut in a simple bob and she wore black slacks and a colorful, dressy blouse. She had prepared fresh broiled redfish with a lime salsa and served it with new potatoes and a Caesar salad.
Over dinner, the conversation was general. Hannah suspected that Morgan had warned his parents in advance how to behave, because there were no awkward questions about Hannah’s family or setting wedding dates.
Stan had retired recently and had sold his very successful car-rental business. Hannah sensed he was still coming to terms with the unaccustomed leisure time. The two of them bonded over stories of her many clients and their eccentricities.
Elaina had been a stay-at-home mom until Morgan went off to college. Afterwards, she had renewed her teaching certificate and now taught eighth grade English. There appeared to be a bit of tension concerning Stan’s desire to travel now that his time was free versus his wife’s newly resurrected career.
After one or two snappish remarks were exchanged, Hannah hastened to turn the conversation to a discussion of Morgan’s theme park project. That did the trick. Both parents were justifiably proud of their son’s success.
Stan stirred a third teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, despite his wife’s frown, and grinned at Hannah. “You should have seen him in elementary school. One time he built an entire city out of pretzels, copper wire, and glue. The school had promised a new bicycle to whoever came up with the most original project design, and Morgan was bound and determined to win. Even though he’d just gotten a bike for Christmas that year.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t the bike, Dad. It was the competition. And I gave the bike to charity.”
His mother patted his arm. “You always did like to win, son. Nothing wrong with that.”
Morgan sighed inwardly. He couldn’t gauge the evening’s success. Hannah was on her best behavior. Not a single anecdote about sky-diving or reckless pursuits. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was the quietest, most conservative woman he’d ever met.
Not that she wasn’t charming. She’d won over his dad instantly, and even his mother was now smiling genuinely and offering to share her sacred angel food cake recipe. But it was a bit eerie seeing Hannah dressed up like a Stepford wife. Where was her outrageous wit and her to-hell-with-what-the-world-thinks smile?
It was almost as if she was following a script, acting out the part of the perfect fiancée. It was seriously freaking him out. No way did it compute that the erotically beautiful and sexy female he’d made love to in a jungle hut was in fact this same woman.
Hannah was quiet on the way home, and he drove in silence, with plenty to occupy his own mind. He’d hoped that seeing his parents . . . witnessing their long-term, happy marriage might make her feel more secure about her own wedding plans. But with Hannah, who knew?
When she finally did speak, it was on an entirely different subject. She stared out the windshield at the sea of red and white lights on the interstate and wound a long strand of hair around her finger. “I wonder what tomorrow’s session will be like.”
His dick surged to attention with a Pavlovian response that made it difficult to drive, much less carry on a conversation. “Who knows?” His voice sounded like rough gravel.
Hannah folded her hands demurely in her lap as though her conventional dress was actually dictating her responses. “I think it would be fun if I had a chance to tie you up.” She said it nonchalantly, but his body got the message loud and clear.
He shifted in his seat. “We don’t have to wait for some shrink to give us permission,” he said. “Feel free to have a go at it tonight if you want.”
She half turned to face him. “Really?”
He shrugged, trying to be cool about the whole thing. But the boulder in his throat made it tough. “I’m not a total Neanderthal. Turnabout is fair play.”
When Hannah reached across the console and touched his thigh, he nearly ran off the road. She stroked lightly, almost as if she didn’t realize she was doing it. “Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She’d reduced him to terse sentences. “I can sleep when I’m old.”
She chuckled. “Men will do anything to get sex. I find that strangely endearing.”
He kept his attention on the road. “It’s not exactly breaking news,” he muttered.
She moved her hand to his forearm, combing the light fuzz of hair with her fingernail. “I liked your parents.”
Oh God. “Could we please not talk about my folks when I have a boner?”
She giggled. “What
can
we talk about, then?”
He shuddered, his skin tight all over his body. “You could expand on the tying-me-up thing. Is that all? Don’t you want to punish me?”
Please let her say yes
.
“Not so much punish as torture. You know . . . sexually. To see how long you can hold out without climaxing.”
He cursed beneath his breath. Maybe he should pull off the road. His concentration was seriously compromised. Thankfully, he was now only minutes away from her driveway. When he made it there without wrecking, he put the car in park with a jerk and turned to face her, grabbing her and dragging her toward him for a desperate kiss.
She kissed him back for maybe thirty seconds before she wiggled away and opened her door. He grabbed for her hand. “Wait.”
She slid from the car and bent down to peer at him through the open car door. “Anticipation makes things that much hotter, don’t you think? I’ll see you tomorrow at four thirty.”
Hannah knew she was being mean. Perhaps it was payback for being tied up. Until now, she’d never thought of herself as a vindictive person, but the look of astonishment on Morgan’s face when she left him hanging (or not) was sweet vindication for what he’d put her through.
True, he’d simply been following directions. But he’d had the gall to admit that he enjoyed her subjugation. So he deserved to suffer a bit, the rat.
As she showered and got ready for bed, she began to realize that her petty revenge might have backfired. She was jumpy and aroused and wishing she hadn’t been so quick to send him away. Especially when he seemed willing to let her turn the tables and make him
her
prisoner.
She settled beneath the covers and picked up the phone. When he answered on the second ring, she made her voice a soft purr. “Are you naked?”
She heard the rough chuckle on the other end. “Is this an obscene phone call?”
She twisted the cord around her finger. “Define obscene.”
“Naughty. Intended to serve as foreplay.”
“Then yes.”
There was a long silence and she heard him sigh, a ragged sound that conveyed even more than sexual frustration. “Before we indulge in phone sex, my love, I think we need to talk.”
She pouted, even though he couldn’t see her face. “Talk, talk, talk. Talk is cheap. I like a man of action.”
“I’m serious, Hannah.”
She gulped. She’d never heard that note in his voice before. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Of course we can talk.”
“Did you like my parents?”
“Definitely. They’re both lovely people, just like their son.”
“Flattery, Hannah? You really must think I’m easy.”
“A girl can try,” she teased softly.
“They’ve been married a very long time, you know. And they’re still happy. She looks after his health. He changes the oil in her car. They’re devoted to each other.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Is there a
but
in there somewhere?”
“Not at all. I wanted you to see that I come from a family where marriage is for keeps. It’s what I know. It’s what I expect.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
After an awkward pause, he coughed and muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. “There’s something else, Hannah. Something I want you to hear loud and clear.”
“I’m all ears.” Her flippant response wasn’t in keeping with the serious tenor of the conversation, but his dogged determination to make her see life his way was disturbing. He didn’t seem to realize that
her
life experiences were the direct opposite of his. And it took two to make a marriage work.