Read Online Vulnerable by Bonita Thompson - Free Book Online

accompanying seat and placed a bookstore bag on the table and her oversized bag on the striking maple hardwood floor.
    â€œWhat did you buy?”
    â€œAn Oprah book. A friend in Deauville is into books she chooses for her book club, and I send her the ones she isn’t able to get her hands on. It’s amazing!”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe Oprah Winfrey phenomenon. She can share her ‘favorite things’ and the Zeitgeist trusts her judgment and they go out in droves and buy a favorite thing . How do we ever really know if we sincerely like something, or if we’re swayed by an invisible force to go along with it?” D’Becca sighed. “I don’t know your name.”
    â€œRawn.”
    â€œD’Becca.”
    â€œThat’s different.”
    â€œWhat’s different?”
    â€œYour name.”
    D’Becca avoided Rawn’s warm and sensual eyes, making every effort not to display even a nominal degree of intrigue.
    â€œWhat did you want?” And he added, “I’m buying,” out of respect.
    â€œI’m taking a risk. Surprise me.”
    When Rawn left the table, D’Becca could not resist checking him out. This guy is dangerous. I’m not in a good place. This is trouble. She tried to distract herself by looking at her watch even though she made note of the time while climbing the wide-planked stairs that led to the café. Occasionally she looked over at Rawn at the bar talking to the barista preparing the beverage. D’Becca admired her French-manicured nails so as to prevent from looking over to Rawn being cordial, if not reverential, to the teen-something barista. D’Becca smiled secretly; some part of her was reacting to how attentive and friendly he was to the young café worker while she flirted in that not-really-experienced sort of way.
    He returned with the tea served in a small porcelain teacup and sat with a private look on his face. Apparently the barista said something to him and he was embarrassed for her, or amused.
    D’Becca took her first sip of the tea. “If we could taste paradise, this could be it. Good choice.” Her full mouth spread subtly.
    â€œI’m sure you’ve heard it before, but you have a—your smile pops!”
    â€œPops?” She chuckled, looking directly into her cup of tea. Her voice blasé-like, she said, “Thank you.”
    â€œYou don’t look like someone who lives on Crescent Island.”
    â€œHow is someone supposed to look who does live on Crescent Island?”
    â€œDo you own a pair of Birkenstocks?”
    With a hearty laugh, she exclaimed, “Hell no!”
    â€œEnough said!”
    â€œWell, do you own a pair? Because it’s not like you—your energy doesn’t feel like someone who’s from the Pacific Northwest.”
    â€œThat’s not because I’m black, right?”
    â€œOf course not. You’re…you have a look, a feel. Classic comes to mind.”D’Becca scanned the six-table café. “You see that guy?” she said. “Over there,” she directed with her chin. Rawn followed D’Becca’s gesture. “He feels like he belongs in the Pacific Northwest. And he has that nerdiness, L.L. Bean thing going on.”
    â€œYeah…”
    The young man, with an early thirties look about him, sat across the small attic-style room and Rawn could only see his tight dirty-blond curls; his upper body was hidden behind a laptop. His table was cluttered with a coffee mug, an already-read Wall Street Journal, an empty plate, and several books on a variety of subjects that he had not yet purchased piled in a chair.
    â€œHe probably made his first million at Microsoft, retired and is trying to decide exactly what he wants to do now.”
    â€œI know someone who retired from Microsoft last year. He’s thirty-five. He’s in Dubai right now, and he’s—he has private