glass coming from his office every now and then.
“I haven’t sworn yet today,” he said, still holding my chin. He softly caressed it with his thumb.
“It’s only eleven-fifteen,” I teased.
“What can I say? I’m a work in progress.” He continued to stroke my jaw with his thumb as he lowered his face toward mine.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me, a large part, danced in anticipation. I dreamt of kissing Booker. He was the first man who’d sparked my interest since I escaped. Another part of me wanted to run and hide. I’d not allowed myself any close relationships with men, or anyone, after Garen. But I missed human contact. Coming from a boisterous, loving, Irish catholic home, we laughed, we teased, we hugged. All things Garen hated. All things I longed for again.
As Booker closed the distance between us, I held my breath.
Chapter 6
“I'm too sexy for my shirt / Too sexy for my shirt / So sexy . . .”
“Maggie,” Booker half grumbled, half chuckled as he pulled back, digging his cell phone from his pocket as the magic of the moment evaporated.
“Sorry. If I leave my phone lying around at Seth’s, Maggie sabotages it. Last week I had Barbie wallpaper on all my screens,” he explained, as “I’m Too Sexy for my Shirt” began again. He glanced at the display. “Oh, good. It’s Dewey, the guy working on your car.” He pressed the phone to his ear.
I used the interruption to gather myself. Strong attraction or not, I still didn’t know if I wanted to try to have a relationship again. With Booker, I felt safe, and I’d even let my guard down, opening up and letting my former self peek through. Yet fear still owned me, no matter how hard I tried to put it behind me. It didn’t help that every time I took a shower, the scars across my stomach and back reminded me just how lucky I was to be alive. I ran my hand over my shirt, rubbing the healed wounds beneath—well, physically healed wounds. I doubted I’d ever heal emotionally.
“Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Booker asked, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
“Good?”
“Dewey replaced the battery, and he has to replace the radiator which means it’s not a cracked head. The bad news is that since the car is old, he doesn’t have it in stock so he’ll need to order it. It ’ll take about three days.” He shrugged. “I’ll give you a ride to and from work until then, so no need to worry, and with your moving into Maggie’s trailer, it’ll be even more convenient for you.”
“Thanks, Booker. I appreciate everything.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “If you need boxes, I know that Donna and Haley, the interior design duo decorating on the sixth floor, have some. You might want to run and grab them before they break them down for the recycle bin.” Booker reached into his pocket. “Here.” He tossed me the key. “Stick them in the car.”
“Whoa,” I said, catching the keys despite the poor toss.
“Sorry,” he grimaced, “but nice catch.”
“I was captain of the lacrosse team in high school, both my junior and senior years.”
“No kidding,” he said, clearly surprised. “I remembered you saying you played, I didn’t know you were captain. You any good at basketball?”
“I can hold my own,” I bragged a little.
“Aren’t you just full of surprises today, Tess Layla ?” he said with a nod, adding, “By the way, some of my MET gear is still in the trunk. I keep forgetting to take it in the house. Just shove it to the back.”
“Okay.” I reached for the door.
“I’m expecting a client so leave that ajar, will you?”
“There’s no one on the calendar until two thirty.” Had I messed up? My stomach tightened.
“She’s not on the schedule. This is a friend of a friend,” he explained. “It’s not even real estate related, actually. She just needs some legal advice.”
She. He’d had several female clients come in over the past
“I haven’t sworn yet today,” he said, still holding my chin. He softly caressed it with his thumb.
“It’s only eleven-fifteen,” I teased.
“What can I say? I’m a work in progress.” He continued to stroke my jaw with his thumb as he lowered his face toward mine.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me, a large part, danced in anticipation. I dreamt of kissing Booker. He was the first man who’d sparked my interest since I escaped. Another part of me wanted to run and hide. I’d not allowed myself any close relationships with men, or anyone, after Garen. But I missed human contact. Coming from a boisterous, loving, Irish catholic home, we laughed, we teased, we hugged. All things Garen hated. All things I longed for again.
As Booker closed the distance between us, I held my breath.
Chapter 6
“I'm too sexy for my shirt / Too sexy for my shirt / So sexy . . .”
“Maggie,” Booker half grumbled, half chuckled as he pulled back, digging his cell phone from his pocket as the magic of the moment evaporated.
“Sorry. If I leave my phone lying around at Seth’s, Maggie sabotages it. Last week I had Barbie wallpaper on all my screens,” he explained, as “I’m Too Sexy for my Shirt” began again. He glanced at the display. “Oh, good. It’s Dewey, the guy working on your car.” He pressed the phone to his ear.
I used the interruption to gather myself. Strong attraction or not, I still didn’t know if I wanted to try to have a relationship again. With Booker, I felt safe, and I’d even let my guard down, opening up and letting my former self peek through. Yet fear still owned me, no matter how hard I tried to put it behind me. It didn’t help that every time I took a shower, the scars across my stomach and back reminded me just how lucky I was to be alive. I ran my hand over my shirt, rubbing the healed wounds beneath—well, physically healed wounds. I doubted I’d ever heal emotionally.
“Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Booker asked, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
“Good?”
“Dewey replaced the battery, and he has to replace the radiator which means it’s not a cracked head. The bad news is that since the car is old, he doesn’t have it in stock so he’ll need to order it. It ’ll take about three days.” He shrugged. “I’ll give you a ride to and from work until then, so no need to worry, and with your moving into Maggie’s trailer, it’ll be even more convenient for you.”
“Thanks, Booker. I appreciate everything.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “If you need boxes, I know that Donna and Haley, the interior design duo decorating on the sixth floor, have some. You might want to run and grab them before they break them down for the recycle bin.” Booker reached into his pocket. “Here.” He tossed me the key. “Stick them in the car.”
“Whoa,” I said, catching the keys despite the poor toss.
“Sorry,” he grimaced, “but nice catch.”
“I was captain of the lacrosse team in high school, both my junior and senior years.”
“No kidding,” he said, clearly surprised. “I remembered you saying you played, I didn’t know you were captain. You any good at basketball?”
“I can hold my own,” I bragged a little.
“Aren’t you just full of surprises today, Tess Layla ?” he said with a nod, adding, “By the way, some of my MET gear is still in the trunk. I keep forgetting to take it in the house. Just shove it to the back.”
“Okay.” I reached for the door.
“I’m expecting a client so leave that ajar, will you?”
“There’s no one on the calendar until two thirty.” Had I messed up? My stomach tightened.
“She’s not on the schedule. This is a friend of a friend,” he explained. “It’s not even real estate related, actually. She just needs some legal advice.”
She. He’d had several female clients come in over the past
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