Deliciously Obedient (30 page)

“
Sometimes
it can be. There’s this meteorological phenomenon called—” And
then she was kissing him, her hip pressed into his, palm caressing
his shoulder, lips urgent and knowing, searching and seeking.

Unable
to interpret, he could just feel. Really feel who she was and who
they might become.

But
he had to let her go and explore what she needed to learn with Mike
before they could really know anything.

Truly
know themselves.

It
should have been so much harder than it was. Letting her kiss him was
so easy. Letting her go to Mike tonight would be, too.

The
hard part would be seeing her after, in understanding where her heart
wanted to go.

She
pulled away, eyes unfocused, and asked, “What do you want from me?”

“
Right
now?” He glanced down at his erection.

That
made her chuckle as she followed his look. “No, not that. I
mean…what do you envision our future to be?”

Our
future
. The weight of those words used to be a lead balloon,
uttered from every woman’s mouth except Dana’s—when Dana had
asked, it felt like the tether had been cut.

“
You
mean, what do I want?”

“
Yes.”

“
I
want…love.” There. He’d said it. The world remained intact.

“
But
this unconventional…thing you’re talking about. What does love
look like within it?”

“
Love
doesn’t have to look any different than it looks in any other
relationship.”

“
What
about jealousy?”

“
Does
it need to be there?”

She
gave him an incredulous look.“It’s always there when you have two
men and one woman.”

Ah!
She’d said it. Those words surprised him, given how simply she
spoke them—no wincing, no aversion of eyes. Dana’s entire body
had withdrawn, gone small, and while she’d gamely be up for
anything when it was all about sex, when push came to shove she’d
chosen Mike, and that had been the end of it all.

Because
what Dana hadn’t understood was that Mike wanted what Jeremy
wanted, too.

The
question was: did Lydia?

“
Jealousy
doesn’t have to be anywhere it isn’t welcomed.”

“
You
make it sound like a vampire.”

He
pondered that for a moment. “Isn’t it? All jealousy does is suck
the emotional life out of you. It makes you crazy with fear. Perfect
love means no fear. Only a deep knowing, a groundedness that comes
from wanting the most for each other.”

She
frowned. “That’s the best definition of love I’ve ever heard.”

“
And
sex. Lots of sex,” he added hurriedly.

She
punched him in the arm and stood, reaching her hand down to him, the
sun framing her face like an angel. “I need a triple latte after
all that.”

“
That’s
right. Like we need more mental stimulation right now.” But he
joined her and they walked in tandem, awkward laughter carrying off
them in waves as the reverberations of choosing to be open echoed
within him, joining together so many disparate parts that he didn’t
know could come together to be whole.

As
ten minutes rolled into fifteen, Mike wondered if Lydia was standing
him up. Maybe it served him right. To do so would have a certain
level of fairness to it, for never arriving was a form of
disappearance, and to tip the scales to an even level she certainly
had some rights.

Of
all the nights to do it, though, this one would be the most
difficult, for Mike felt like a live wire, capable of destroying
anything that he touched if not dealt with by someone who knew how to
handle his rawness.

The
double shot of whiskey burned in his throat, and the simple cotton
dress shirt under his wool jacket dug into his shoulders. Unable to
make himself comfortable, he let his frenetic energy take over,
succumbing to the reality of who—and how—he was in moments like
this.

Tense.
Eager. Aware.

And
the plate of goat-cheese-stuffed figs with grated parmesan and a
reduced balsamic glaze didn’t help. He should have waited to order,
but the server simply brought the plate with his drink, adding a wink
and “Compliments of the chef” with the delivery.

Ah.
He’d been recognized. And so he had gone ahead and ordered anyway.

In
his old life, even appearing at a restaurant could generate buzz and
sales for a place, skyrocketing its profile and helping send
restaurant owners into a frothing frenzy, thank-you cards and
specialty dishes sent to his office by the truckload. For as much as
his old life haunted him, this was one perk he didn’t mind.

Free
food.

Biting
into one of the tantalizing figs, he had to hand it to the chef—this
was good. Amazing. Incredible.

And
then he choked.

Lydia
marched in, shoulders back, her gait one of purpose. A tight cotton
v-neck, slacks that seemed tailored for those glorious hips, and hair
pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, the ends curled,
all rounded out with a light touch of makeup and silver hoop
earrings.

So
put together. So casual chic.

He
wanted to rip her clothes off and take her right there.

Suppressing
those baser natures, he stood and swallowed hard, nearly tearing up
as the food made him wince.

“
Mike.”
She managed to make his own name sound like a rebuke.

“
Lydia.”
Considerably more sensual in his pronunciation of hers, he let the
lovely three syllables slide over his tongue like an Irish cream.
Pulling out the chair opposite him, she ignored the chivalrous
gesture and sat, scooching in to the table with an inelegance that
bordered on crass.

So
that was how it was going to be.

If
she had been indifferent, he’d have turned off and tuned out,
knowing when it was time to throw in the towel. This? Her behavior
spoke of a broken heart and an angry mind.

Both
of those could be managed, revived, resurrected and reshaped.

Lydia
gave him something to work with, and for that he was grateful. The
absence of emotion would have ended this in seconds.

The
presence of so much was what fueled his hope.

More
than hope—his determination.

The
server interrupted, and Lydia ordered a pitcher of sangria.
“Thirsty?” he asked. Or did she intend to share it? Offering him
some would be the tiniest bit of a peace offering.

“
I’ll
need all the alcohol I can get to make it through this meeting,”
she intoned dryly, making his ribs ache, his back stand up
straighter.

Among
other body parts.

“
Did
you come here to spend this dinner insulting me, or to talk about the
past?”

“
Who
says a girl can’t do both?”

Or
have
both. The line of her dark hair against her jaw gave her
a pure essence, the look of a tightly wound librarian or a nun
recently sprung free of her vows. Those alluring eyes, and lips, red
and swollen, as if she’d been kissed a few too many times in
private, emerging to the crowds to find equilibrium, revealing a bit
more sensuality than was acceptable.

The
light sweater she wore hugged each rounded mound of flesh in all the
right ways, making her seem more substantial, so earthly and earthy,
a woman with a centered core and a grace that charmed him, her
confidence not at all fake. Anger may fuel that self-esteem right
now, but under the fury was a very real, very adult Lydia,

The
one he, like Jeremy, was falling for.

“
Both.”
His chuckle wasn’t bitter—in fact, it was quiet, a secret shared
by lovers. “Of course you can have
both
.”

Her
blush signaled something, though he was too captivated by the
back-and-forth between them to understand what meaning it might hold.

The
sangria delivered, she poured a glass and drank half before letting
her eyes float around the room, taking it all in. “Nice place.”

“
Yelp
recommended it.”

That
made her laugh and finally show a smile with teeth. “Relying on
social media to find restaurants? How low the great Michael Bournham
has sunk.” She drank more, then twirled the heavy glass stem
between her fingers. “Now you’re going to tell me you spent the
last month living in a Super 8 Motel.”

Not
quite.

But…close.

Telling
her the truth—the whole truth, and nothing but—was his purpose
tonight. Exposing himself entirely, like a woman naked and in labor,
caring only to get through the journey and to reap the rewards of the
birth itself, Mike wanted to show her the real, pregnant self under
the surface so that when he was birthed—the new Michael Bournham—it
would come as less of a surprise.

But
just as nature can’t predict when babies arrive, Mike hadn’t been
able to tightly control his own journey down a very different birth
canal.

“
No.
But I’ve been living somewhere very interesting.”

“
Better
be, considering you made everyone from Perez Hilton to Anderson
Cooper speculate on your whereabouts.” More sangria. She emptied
the glass and studied the reflection of the candles on the table in
the drops of liquid remaining. Filling the glass once more, she took
smaller sips this time.

“
Do
you really want to know where I’ve been?”
Stop it, Mike,
he berated himself. He was being a tease; there was no strategic
reason for drawing this out. The truth, though, would hurt and
confuse her, more than any rivalry between him and Jeremy. Mike had
gone into her family compound and inserted himself into the cradle of
her family, and when he owned up to his stunt, she wouldn’t
understand.

Not
at first.

Not
ever,
said his inner skeptic.

More
sangria down that lovely throat, her neck bobbing as she swallowed,
making him yearn for her. “If I ask where you’ve been, will I get
a straight answer? Does it matter where you’ve been?” She sounded
hurt. “What matters more is that you left in the first place.”

“
Actually,
you
left.” The words were out before he could think them
through, a blinding light filling his senses. So much at stake
here—not money, not deals, not influence.