Deliciously Obedient (33 page)

“
I’ll
tell you my story,” he said, reaching for her knee and patting it
with an infuriatingly condescending gesture that she wished would
turn into a sly slide up her thigh. But didn’t.

“
You
have to shut up and listen.”

Biting
her lips, she did as told.

“
After
I realized we were caught on camera, something in me that had just
come to life was instantly frozen, as if I’d found nirvana and then
glanced at Medusa’s eyes.”

That
was one hell of an image.

“
Getting
you out from under the camera’s eye at the office was my top
priority in those moments. I went into damage control. Normally, when
I kick into that mode I’m a robot. It’s all about initiatives and
targets and goals. Dissembling and becoming an emotional basket case
because of you wasn’t in my programming.”

Mike
paused and chucked back the rest of his drink. “We went to that
Asian restaurant, and the entire time my brain was a million miles
away, scheming and strategizing to suppress the video, pay off the
producer—do whatever it took to contain and control.

“
But,”
he added quietly, rubbing his chin, “what I didn’t realize was
that containment and control doesn’t work when it comes to my
feelings about you.”

Blink.
All she could do was blink and absorb as the rest of the restaurant
disappeared.

“
I
made love with you at your apartment not because I was using you, or
for a quick lay, or a good fuck.” His eyes twinkled with a slight
smile and she could read his mind, because it
had
been a good
fuck.

A
great
fuck.

“
Go
on.” She leaned across the table and let her hand rest within an
inch of his.

“
That
night was the best goodbye I could muster. Except you had no idea,
and I was torn inside, so conflicted and utterly destroyed, knowing I
had hurt you and you—you had no idea. Not yet. And the colossal
reach of that damn video was going to blow you out of the water and
make your world explode.”

“
It
nearly did. Thank God for Diane,” she muttered.

His
brow lowered with a thought she couldn’t discern, and he started to
say something, then shook his head imperceptibly. “Yes. Diane’s
entrance was…serendipitous.”

“
A
genius couldn’t have planned that,” she said.

“
I
wouldn’t go that far.” His voice was tight and different, so she
shut up. No interruptions. She gave him a look of encouragement, and
touched the back of his hand. Instantly, he turned his palm over and
clasped hers.

“
Nothing
I did with Jonah—the producer—mattered. Some intern must have
gotten the clip and made it go viral. I had no power.” He made a
noise of disgust. “Michael Bournham without power.” His eyelashes
fluttered against his lower lids, then those baby blues centered on
her. “You’re my Kryptonite.”

Laughter
bubbled up from her and he squeezed her hand. “You’re equating
being a CEO with Superman?”

“
In
this culture?” A dark chuckle joined hers. “Practically.”

Reaching
over, she playfully touched the center of his chest. A sharp inhale
of lust was his response. “Where’s your suit?”

“
I’ll
undress and you can find whatever you’re looking for.”

Could
it really be this easy? Pushing aside the past two months, pretending
he hadn’t virtually set her heart on fire in front of one seventh
of the world’s population, turning a blind eye to her time with
Jeremy and the emotional intensity that had brought—all so they
could just have a fantastic time in bed and she could audition for
the part of their…threesome?

What
had just been comfortable and amusing suddenly became grim, squeezing
all of the air out of the room. How could she banter and tease and
give weight to the surface while kicking her own injured heart down,
pushed subterranean so she could…what?

What
the hell did she really want?

An
unwelcome sense of shame rose up in her, short-circuiting everything
good about seeing Mike, all the pleasure associated with just being
in his presence and connecting once again.

She
needed to get out.

“
So
that’s what this is about? Come back to the source for a little
more ass?” She looked behind her back. “Or a lot?”

Shock
registered on his face. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t
protest. Didn’t take on her shift.

“
All
you want is some pussy, Mike. Only this time off camera.”

“
I
want you.”

“
Point
made.”

“
What
point do you think I’m making? You’re warping everything I’m
saying.”

Fuck
this noise.
Sometimes you just needed to run away.

Worked
for Mike, right?

Didn’t
work for you in Iceland.
Sabotage and undermine—that was all it ever did.

Fuck
you, voice in my head.

It
stopped.

Grabbing
her purse, she stood, wobbly on feet that felt a bit distant from the
rest of her body, bones at odd angles and heart threadbare and worn.
“If arguing is what you wanted out of the evening, then I’m
leaving.”

“
Sit.”

“
I’m
not a dog.”

“
Sit,
please
.”

“
No.”
And with that, Lydia reclaimed the only remaining shred of anything
that resembled normalcy.

Her
own damn will.

Stronger
than Mike or Jeremy realized, she turned to it when there wasn’t
much left of her. The court of last resort. Plan B. The Hail Mary
pass.

Storming
out of the tapas bar, she marveled at how warm and comfortable most
of her body was. Loose and happy, aside from being treated like a
fucking badminton birdie between two rackets called Mike and Jeremy,
the evening was going swimmingly well.

So
much anger.

So
much pain.

So
much want.

More
than that…so much desire. Taking deep breaths, letting the chilly
fall air spike her lungs with pinpricks of ice, she let herself
breathe, just taking everything in and letting so much more go.

Mike’s
warm hand encircled her arm, and as much as she wanted to push him
away and stomp off, she couldn’t.

She
simply couldn’t.

Call
it weak, or wanting, or crass, or—whatever judgmental word you want
to pick out of a hat, Lydia’s bottom line was turning out to be so
much more cogent than she wanted it to be.

Because
the complications were all figments of her over-worried mind, the one
that couldn’t let itself see what was startlingly obvious now, as
she kept her head turned away from him, but didn’t move to shrug
off his hand:

She
wanted what they offered.

Both.

Having
Jeremy and Mike would solve as many problems as it would cause,
wouldn’t it? People didn’t do this—one woman, two men? She
could barely manage her own sexuality and its multifaceted approach
within a strict orientation paradigm. Two men? Two sets of needs,
two…well, two of everything?

“
I
don’t think I can do this.” Her words came out as puffs of truth.
Because she didn’t think she could do it. Not really. Wanting
something never automatically meant you could actually
do
it.

“
Can’t?
Won’t?” Calm eyes studied hers. “And do you mean us? Or
something more?”

“
I
mean all of this.”

“
Why
do you have to tackle all of this in one fell swoop? You can eat an
elephant, but it has to be one bite at a time.”

“
You’re
comparing me, you and Jeremy to a pachyderm?”

“
I’m
experiencing significant cliché failure tonight.”

“
Is
that like erectile dysfunction?”

“
What?”

“
Neither
one gets the rise you expect.”

The
groan that came out of him cut through her gravid seriousness, making
her tilt her head up and laugh to the moon. Mike just shook his head
and watched her while she enjoyed being watched, reveling in having
him so close, so near, after so many weeks of not knowing what he
really felt.

“
Let’s
walk. Can we have a truce?”

“
Only
if you surrender.”

“
Fine.
Give me your panties.”

“
Why?”

“
White
flag and all that.”

“
Mine
are black tonight.”

“
Don’t
tell me that,” he growled, the hand on her arm sliding up to her
elbow, then migrating to her ribcage, the motion spontaneous, his
eyes darkening with a smolder she felt in herself.

The
kiss was inevitable.

When
they were done, she pulled back and asked, “How far is your
apartment?”

Lydia
couldn’t believe she’d just said that. The mystery and competing
self-interests weighed heavily on her, pushing the air out of her
lungs as her fingers and toes tingled with anticipation. It would be
so easy to say
no
. A moral code from a part of her that had
been so sure, so solid, just days ago screamed out rules that she
must follow. Deceptively simple rules.

Like: don’t
sleep with Mike.

Like:
you’re with Jeremy now.

Like: Mike
will hurt you.

Like: two
men?
Tsk tsk
.

Ignoring
that moral code with so little time to process where her own inner
divining rod really was pointing felt reckless and Mike wordlessly
led her to his car, the silence crackling between them with
expectation and yearning. Crazy. Irresponsible and so light and airy,
as if sex were just a toy, the men her playthings. Some friends in
college could do that
—
sleep
around
—
but
Lydia never could. Even the phrase
sleep around
carried its
own anchor, sinking into an underworld of muck and mess that felt
sordid.

The drive
to his place involved no words.

Jeremy had,
however, absolved her of the nastiness, the murk and the fetid fear
about all she was doing, holding Mike’s hand as he led her to the
elevator doors for his building, the two sharing a smile where they’d
just kissed two days ago. Heat poured through her as she remembered
the broken elevator encounter at work, and the ding! Of the machine
reaching Mike’s floor might well have been Pavlov’s bell, except
it didn’t elicit drooling, but wetness from a very different part
of the body as he led her into his apartment.

These men.
These damn, handsome, intense, vibrant men. Volleying her heart, her
lust, her interest between the two of them like an object to pass
back and forth, waiting to find its set point, watching for the toss
to end. No malice, no cruelty, no games
—
this
was a very real, very raw slice of emotional life that she felt
honored to be introduced into, and resentful to be so exposed.

Because by
telling her that she could, without jealousy, explore what she really
felt, Jeremy had given her both her greatest gift and her biggest
obstacle.