Slave to Love (18 page)

“How long were you in the military?” I need to unravel the mystery that is Hale Lundström.

“A little under eleven years.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were in for that long. Did you just enlist or did they recruit you?”

I can tell he’s thinking about how to answer this. I love watching him; he gets very still, and I would kill to see the thought process that goes on within his mind. So dark and masculine, with those loose curls and stubble, I try and think if I’ve ever been so attracted to another man as I am to him. Yes, he’s exceedingly handsome, no doubt about that, but it’s the intelligence, the wry humor and the portions of his world that render him an enigma, that make him so damn attractive.

“Umm, a little of both.” Is finally his response.

“You can’t tell me, can you?” While these secrets make him even more attractive, I am frustrated and wonder will I ever scale his walls. Will I ever be allowed to?

He looks over and smiles at me with a closed mouth smile. He can’t tell me and I wonder in what kind of badass shit he’s been involved. Sexy just climbed another notch. And my freaking nipples are clawing at my tank top.

“Want to go out for an early dinner?” We’re approaching the light on Barton Springs and South Lamar.

“No.” I shake my head, “Get over into the left lane. Let’s just go over to Whole Foods, pick up some wine and cheese and stuff that’s just easy to munch on, and take it back to my place.”

The suggestion evokes a full-blown smile and he maneuvers the Lotus over two lanes with just a flick of the steering wheel. Why am I feeling every single thing between my legs? His smile, the turn of the car. I’m on fire.

“Let’s go, mermaid,” He helps me out of the Lotus, his arm immediately going around my shoulder with an ease, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. His hand gently rubs my upper arm as we walk through the underground garage and take the moving ramp up into the chain’s headquarters store.

I wonder if this feels as good to him as it does to me.

Entering this building that takes up a square city block of very prime Sixth Street real estate, I grab a small cart and we head toward long buffets of prepared hot and cold foods.

“Finger food?” I look up at Hale with the question and know I’m in trouble the minute it is out of my mouth.

“I hope so,” and there is that wicked, sexy smile.

I can’t even imagine how red I am. “I walked right into that one, huh?”

“With your legs wide open, babe,” he replies, looking at the food choices. “Yum, cold Chinese noodles in peanut sauce?”

I nod voraciously and Hale starts filling a container. After putting together an odd assortment of ethnic foods, we head to the cheese shop and then to the bakery section for baguettes.

I stop the cart to gawk. “Yum, look at these desserts.” The shelves are filled with delicate pastries and a lavish mélange of cakes, cookies and chocolates. “Should we grab two cupcakes?”

Standing very close behind me, Hale extends his left arm and puts his hand on our shopping cart’s handle, just to the left of where my hand rests. With his right hand, he moves my hair away from my neck and kisses it. A shiver lights up my body and he laughs, then scratches his stubble across my neck.

“I think tarts might be more apropos for you,” he whispers.

Without thinking I ram my elbow back into him.

“Oww,” he laughs.

“You called me a tart,” I act highly insulted, but all I can think about is how much he is making me smile and how yummy his lips felt grazing my neck. Silently, I’m begging, do it again, and as if reading my mind, I feel his lips back for round two. This time my shiver is almost a quake as that neck kiss is felt everywhere throughout my body.

“Mmm, a salted caramel tart,” he says. “You’re so sweet and more than a little salty.”

Laughing, I lean back into him. Three weeks, schmee weeks. How can I resist this? “Let’s get some wine.” I get the cart moving before he has my legs turning into jello and I swoon amongst the bread puddings and pot de crèmes.

Grabbing some plates and utensils from the kitchen, I set out the spread on the coffee table in front of my couch. I’m excited, I’m nervous. The intellectual part of me says, wait the three weeks, you know what the stigma is like for women in management, but my emotional side is telling me to straddle him and unzip his pants, show him how you feel about him. What’s a girl to do?

“Do the honors?” I pass the corkscrew and a bottle to Hale. “So, I have this idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“What if we turned the air conditioning down low, so that it gets really cold in here.” He reflexively looks at my chest and I continue, “And we start a fire in the fireplace.”

“Sounds cozy. How many nights a year do you actually use it?”

Thinking for a second, I laugh. “Maybe six.”

“Well, it is fall. In most places, anyway. Let’s get the chill on in here.”

As I knock down the thermostat to start our little seasonal adventure, Hale looks at me and smiles, his handsome face making me melt. “I have a request though.”

“What is that?” I have no clue what he’s going to ask for.

“Change into your white tank top and Texas shorts.”

He has issued a challenge knowing my nipples are going to go insane in the cold air and that I’m going to be freezing.

Without saying a word, I turn and disappear into my bedroom. I pull out the tank top and sweat shorts. I know what he wants. No bra under that shirt. I laugh, there is nothing in the world a woman loves more that taking off her bra the minute she gets home, so I’m going to be very accommodating. And I’m actually going to take it a step further because underneath those very short sweat cut-offs, I won’t be wearing any underwear. Whether or not he’s going to find that out is yet to be seen.

Before I head back to the living room, I grab a few seasonal items from the closet in my guest bedroom to help create an autumnal ambience.

Hale is positioning the wood on the grate when I return. I love seeing him down on one knee in front of the fireplace. On the mantle above him I place fall colored hurricane vases with candles inside. Grabbing a torchière lighter, I light three candles and immediately the light begins to flicker off the glass, projecting dancing shadows on the ceiling. When I’m done, I hand the lighter to Hale who lights some kindling under the grate. Immediately the dry wood begins to catch, illuminating Hale’s face as he sits back on his heels quietly lost in the flames sensual movement.

Pulling some pillows off the couch, I join him on the floor and pour both of us a glass of wine. Looking at one another in the fire’s light, we don’t immediately make a toast. Today has been an emotional one.

“To an incredibly successful TFV1,” I toast.

Hale smiles and nods. “Thank you for all your help on this. You’ve been a pleasure to work with.” He clinks my glass.

“Why does that sound like goodbye?” I’m taken aback by the formality of his words.

“Only for three weeks, mermaid.”

“I forgot something.” Popping up, I head to the kitchen. I actually need to collect myself. Is he already starting to separate? Is that what is going on?

Returning with two sets of chopsticks, “Excellent,” he comments and grabs a set as he opens the container with the noodles.

Sitting on the floor next to him, I start to unwrap the cheeses. Hale sidles a little closer to me and leans forward, noodles hanging from his chopsticks as they approach my lips.

With a smile, I open my mouth for the unexpected feeding of this treat. Slurping in the noodles, I can see the movement in his muscles to my sucking motion as the strands slowly disappear into my mouth. Everything seems enhanced, the flavors, the texture, the pulsing shadows of candle and firelight. A cold spray of sauce drips to my chin. Reaching forward with his free hand, Hale’s index finger gently swipes the peanut sauce and then he paints my lips with it before sucking his finger into his own mouth.

Picking up some noodles with my chopsticks, I lift a few long strands to his mouth, he sucks in the ends and then I run the chopsticks down the length of the noodles, bringing the far ends to my mouth. Smiling, I start to chomp toward the center of the strands, as does he, ready to stop only when our lips touch and I start to giggle.

I can feel his smile against my lips as he swallows the noodles. “I can’t kiss you with a mouthful of noodles.”

“Oh, are you going to kiss me?”

“I have you on the floor, in front of a roaring fire, we’re drinking wine. I’d lose all respect for myself if I didn’t kiss you.” His eyes are dancing with delight.

“The question is, would you lose all respect for me?” Leaning forward I slide my fingers into his shiny curls and pull him in for a kiss. Right before our lips meet, I can see how amused he is that I am the aggressor. Kissing him softly, I swipe my tongue over his lips and taste the peanut sauce.

“Mermaid, I respect that you go for what you want in both business and pleasure. You are truly a force to reckon with and you are like no other woman I have ever met.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Tell me, Hale. I want to hear it.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, I’m sure nowhere nearly as hard as you do. But tell me why I am like no other woman.”

“Look at that look on your face. So smug and amused, like let’s watch this guy just totally try and bullshit me.”

“Well…”

“Sierra, Sierra, Sierra… here’s the thing about you, you challenge me. Constantly. I’ve got to be on my “A” game because you are always on yours. Whether it’s in a business meeting or just hanging out, you really keep me on my toes. And yet, you are so easy to hang out with. I see you as my equal in every way. I never have to think, what am I going to talk to this woman about? You’re engaging and you engage me. That in itself puts you into a totally different league.”

“I hope you mean that. Because I really, really like you. I like you more than I have liked anyone in a very long time.”

“I know the feeling. I want to be in Austin all the time because you are here. I’d move headquarters here, but then we’d be working together again and we’d be right back to you not shitting where you eat. And I don’t want that.”

We both laugh.

“So, let me ask you a question.” I pick at the crust of the bread.

“Go for it,” he offers.

“You just said you don’t want that. What is it you do want?”

“Well, besides ripping that tank top off and having my way with your gorgeous nipples, which I hope you realize is imminent, I want this to be something real between us. We’re not twenty-one year olds. I want to wake up here in the mornings. I want you to feel totally comfortable in my place. We’ll give you a drawer to keep a stack of white tank tops over there,” he smiles a smile so sexy, I’m on the verge of tackling him. “I want to make you one of my famous salads.”

“You make famous salads?”

“In the Lundström world, I am known as ‘Salad Guy’.”

I love that he is telling me this. It’s personal and unguarded, which is so not Hale Lundström and that, in itself, makes it extremely intimate.

Sitting in front of the fire, fully clothed, it feels as if we are slowly disrobing and soon both the ripped muscles and scars will be on display. I want to see how they merge and the story that they write.

“And I want you to meet my nephew, Oliver,” Hale’s face lights up at the mention, “and watch him kick my ass at Hedgehog’s Adventure.”

Slathering a piece of French bread with Delice de Bourgogne cheese, I hand it to him with what I know is a silly smile on my face.

“I’m shocking you, aren’t I?” he laughs.

Nodding, “Totally.”

“That night at the Beverly Hills Hotel when Bob was thrusting his key at you…”

“That’s not all he wanted to be thrusting.” I sneer as I eat a piece of bread.

“Well, exactly and you handled him so beautifully. But I just felt such a myriad of intense emotions that night. It was really overwhelming and that was very unexpected. I was jealous, I felt protective, I was angry that he was putting you in such an awkward position, I was incensed at myself over how I’d made you feel. And I would have been really upset and disillusioned had you gone to his bungalow.”

I hand him another slice of bread. This time covered in Cambozola cheese and refill his wine glass.

“You really did not think I would go, did you?” Sitting back, I grab my wine glass, holding the stem tight and forgetting to inhale while I await his response.

“No, intellectually I knew you wouldn’t go. But emotionally, from that deep, base place where our caveman instincts still live and thrive, there was this jealousy and fear creeping in. What if you went with the other guy?”

“Is that why you checked on me that night?”

Laughing, Hale throws his head back, “Busted. Totally busted, huh?”

“Kemp checked on me too that night.”

Hale is very amused by that little piece of info. “Of course he did. You’re our girl.”

Our girl. A warm feeling glides through me and I love the protective nature in him. Our girl. Those two words are making me tingle.