Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel (5 page)

“Why would who’s on the phone change whether or not you like orchids?” he asked.

“It’s irrelevant to my like or dislike of flowers. It’s what strings are attached to a yes or no answer.”

He chuckled. “Cynical. Hey, Julie. This is Des. I assume you know that, though.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny. If I confirm, it suggests you made enough of an impression on me that I recognized your voice.”

“And if you deny?”

“I only had a clever retort for Option A. For ‘deny’, I’ve got nothing.”

“Let’s focus on confirming then. Come with me to the Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden tomorrow morning. I like walking through the orchid garden in the Conservatory. We can do that, hang out, get a snack at their café. I’d have you back to your theater by noon. Harris said you work there 24/7, so I figure morning’s as good as any other time.”

“I have an internal leak. I’ll have to plug that.”

“Go easy on him. I overcame his resistance with carrot sticks.”

Julie leaned against a post. She had a lot to do, but tomorrow’s schedule wasn’t dependent on anyone but herself, so she could work into the evening hours. Madison had been admonishing her to take a day off every once in a while. “I’ll meet you there. That way if I do have to get back sooner than later, I won’t cut your trip short. Okay?”

“I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

“How disappointing. I’ve always wanted to meet one. From a safe distance, of course, and the public area of a garden would qualify.”

“If I find one willing to come with me tomorrow, I’ll bring him along. So that’s a yes, then?”

Julie waffled, then chided herself for being a coward. “Okay, but only if you understand it means nothing. I’m really not into relationships anymore.”

“That’s interesting. I’ll look forward to hearing why. Eight o’clock too early?”

“I’ll be there.”

She clicked off and turned to face her friends. “Des,” she said in response to Madison’s quizzical expression. “He wants me to meet him at a place called Daniel Stowe Gardens tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s a nice spot. You made an impression.”

Julie saw her friend’s mind turning with possibilities and shook her head. “He knows I’m learning about the BDSM stuff. He offered to give me more information on the rope end of things. I guess he figures it’s a good setting to talk about it.”

“That was either a poorly executed lie or a badly thought out rationalization.”

“I’ll let you decide. But…um, while I’m on the subject, I told him I might be interested in letting him do some rope stuff on me. Purely to increase my understanding of the dynamics we’ll be bringing to life on stage. I can trust him for that, right? No caveats?”

Madison straightened, her speculation going to full wattage, but it was Logan’s instantly sharpened gaze that caught Julie’s attention in a heartbeat. Yep, he and Marcus were right there together in uber-Dom land. Julie told herself she was not going to fidget like some school kid under a taskmaster’s hawk-like scrutiny. And didn’t that thought just spur the fantasy train about Madison’s husband to full throttle?

But that was the interesting thing. She had a rich fantasy library on Marcus, and could add volumes with someone like Logan, but it was Des who’d been the first to make her want to cross the reality threshold. She didn’t think it was because he was less overwhelming in that role or more manageable. She felt safe and not safe with him, both in the right ways. It was like finding a kid on the playground with whom you clicked for reasons you couldn’t explain. Past life regression worked as well as any other idea. She and Des must have been BFFs in a foxhole in WWII together, or some such nonsense.

“Yes. You can trust him,” Logan said, relieving her by not asking her anything she might not be able to rationalize without stammering. “We call him Spiderman because he has a relationship with rope like a spider does its web. Very intuitive, though that intuition has been built through years of practice. And he puts his sub first, always. You’ll be totally safe with him. Safe as you want to be.”

“Good.” Julie ignored that last comment, and the gleam in Logan’s eye, because she was sure he knew that last statement had caused a somersault of reaction. Damn Doms.

“Julie.” Logan had stilled the swing as if by some kind of marital telepathy, so Madison could reach forward and touch her hand. “I agree with Logan, but when you decide to do this, if you’d feel more comfortable having an unobtrusive third party there, I’d be happy to do it. With a Dom like Des, you might find yourself going pretty deep into yourself. I know what you said, but I’m thinking you’re feeling an attraction to him, and…”

“No need for any warnings,” Julie said quickly. “I told him I don’t do relationships. Remember, the Loser race is over. You got married and I retired from the sport. This is strictly for research. I’m not denying there’s a personal component, but it’s taking a backseat to the professional. That’s the way I want it.”

She diverted them onto a new topic. While she was sure she didn’t fool them into thinking there was nothing else to talk about there, they were considerate enough to leave it be. The concern in Madison’s caring eyes that met and held Julie’s for an extra moment, told Julie her friend understood.

All well and good, because the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach reminded Julie of the common belief she and Madison had shared about their failed relationships. At least until Madison met Logan and left Julie alone with the feeling.

That belief was that the real loser in all her past relationships—and why they’d all failed—was herself.

* * *

T
he Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden
was in Belmont, another one of the satellite towns that perched on the edges of Charlotte’s urban sprawl. Julie enjoyed the pastoral scenery as she drove the rural route to get there. After traversing the winding driveway to the garden’s parking area, she parked next to a bed of brightly colored tulips interspersed with other flowers she didn’t recognize.

She’d been born with two black thumbs and a lack of passion toward adding to the green world, but she liked flowers and greenery as much as the next person, and possessed a cheerful gratitude toward those who created such places. The flowers edged the walkway up to a large hexagon-shaped building with a cupola on top, both created with lots of sparkling glass.

Des was waiting at the door. Despite the small handfuls of people walking in and out of the building, and all the sights of a new place to see, he stood out to her the second her eyes passed over him. She was struck again by his singularity. Yesterday he hadn’t fit her image of a Dom or roofing contractor, yet had conveyed his capabilities in both roles without doubt. Today he didn’t fit the manicured entryway, against the backdrop of a building she was sure was a pricey wedding venue. The contrast only enhanced his appeal. A man of mystery, yet one with an open, inviting personality.

He’d seen her and was walking to meet her. His hair fluttered over his shoulders, thick and all the more touchable for having been brushed to a silken sheen. He was wearing a black button-down shirt loose over blue jeans that, unlike yesterday’s, weren’t faded or stained with his builder’s trade. It gave her the pleasing sense he’d dressed up for her. She admitted she’d chosen her outfit with more care, though she refused to assign any significance to it, since for the past few weeks torn jeans and old T-shirts had been her uniform.

When he came closer, she noticed from the rolled-up sleeves that Betty and Marilyn were gone, the temporaries scrubbed clean. She inhaled coffee and French vanilla from the cup he was carrying. That enticing scent would linger on his lips. She’d left her mug in the car, but evidently they each needed a caffeine kick start.

“Good morning,” he said.

She could strike up conversations with total strangers on the subway. Success in her business was all about networking, and she’d made plenty of useful contacts due to her social skills. People fascinated her as a general rule, and genuine interest in another human being was a great way to make friends. Des seemed to possess a similar knack, his self-assurance making her curious about how he’d acquired those qualities. When they’d met yesterday, she’d let that curiosity lead her, but now she felt defensive, closed.

She recognized it, and it baffled her, but she didn’t seem able to turn it off. His proximity turned it up even higher.

“Good morning.” Retrieving the file folder she was carrying under her arm, she waved it before he reached her, like a sword keeping him outside her personal space. “I have a favor to ask before we get started, if you don’t mind. It’ll only take a minute.”

It was a legitimate request, but she’d brought it to reinforce the message that she didn’t want this to move too far from a professional relationship. Should she have come at all?

Why did she always second guess herself like this? Every fucking time she found herself edging toward a relationship with a guy, all the confidence she possessed to excel in every other aspect of her life deserted her like rats from a sinking ship.

“Sure,” he said, appearing far more casual about it than she felt.

She sidled to his left side, opening the file to let him see. Thank goodness her head was dipped, so when she closed her eyes briefly to inhale his scent, he didn’t notice. But he touched her back between her shoulder blades and slid down, a reassuring stroke. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. He was looking at her, not the folder, and his brown eyes were thoughtful.

“You okay?” he asked. “You seem a little tense. I promise this will be fun. No stress. Unless you have a flower phobia.”

She forced a laugh. “I’m fine. I guess I’m stuck in work mode. These past few weeks have been crazy.”

“Okay. Let’s take care of it, and then put it away for the next couple hours. All right?”

There it was, that tone of voice, the direct look, a subtle, enticing taking-of-control that put a nervous twitch in her hand. It made the folder shudder like a trapped butterfly. His gaze shifted to it and she forced herself to stillness.

“Yeah, okay.” She looked down at the folder contents as if she’d just affably agreed to something far more innocent. His hand remained on her back as he pressed closer to her to share her view. The heat of the full palm contact penetrated her thin, silky blouse, a jewel blue color. She’d kept her hair up in a ponytail, though she’d taken more care with it, arranging short wisps around her face. The thick tail had an abundance of curls that wouldn’t turn to frizz until the day gained more humidity, so for now it was looking good. She’d refused to shellac it with hairspray. He might want to touch her hair, bury his fingers in it, tip her head back to put his mouth on her throat…

So much for the pretense that this was an arm’s length, friendly exchange of information. For one thing, she was standing well within his arm span.

His fingers played with the end of the ponytail, making her think he was wrapping short curls over his knuckles as she showed him what she’d brought. She’d never let anyone touch her so intimately, so casually, so fast. She needed to tell him to stop, to reinforce what she’d told him on the phone. She hated being one of those women who said one thing but acted just the opposite, whose words were a smokescreen to cover what she really wanted.

Long and short of it, she didn’t want to get hurt one more time. She was done with the slide along the rainbow that always dumped her into a pot of ice cold sludge.

That reminder recalled her to sanity. She sidled away from him, breaking the contact, and thrust the folder at him so he had to take it from her. There. If she had to get more direct about it, she would. Hands off. Her mind approved of her self-control even as her skin registered severe annoyance at the loss of his touch.

"I know New York prices. I don't know Charlotte's,” she said. “These bids I collected for Madison on other work seem low to me, but would you mind taking a look before I turn them over to her? I don't want to waste her investors’ money.”

Des slid the small pack he was carrying on his shoulder to the ground and handed her his coffee. He paged through the folder, skimming the data on the thin sheets of yellow and pink paper, tear-offs from estimate pads. She curved both hands around the cup.

He closed the folder, took his coffee back and handed her the paperwork. “All of those are good, with the exception of Bolton. That bid is way over the top. Derrick does great work, but for that price, Jesus
and
Joseph better be your carpenters. It should be about thirty percent cheaper. My guess is he heard your Yankee accent and figured he could squeeze more out of you because he’s from Jersey himself. He knows how high prices are there. I'll give him hell for that next time I see him."

"Oh no. Don’t you dare deprive me of the pleasure.” She wrote down the percentage, tucked the pen into the folder and walked with him back to her car as she spoke. “I've negotiated at Hell's Kitchen flea market. When I'm done, he'll be paying me for the work."

Desmond's eyes warmed in appreciation. "I believe it. Now put the work away. The world can spare you for a couple hours.”