Page 25 of Spark of Attraction

He grunted and took another bite of his burger.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

He shook his head, but didn’t speak since he was still chewing.

“You let me stand up for myself.” I didn’t have to say the way Gareth never would have let me because I didn’t have to. Malcolm got it. After I’d asked him to back off, he had. He may have been silent, watching and ready to jump in to help if I’d needed it, but he trusted me enough to handle it myself.

“It about fucking killed me.” He dropped the hamburger back on the plate but wouldn’t look at me, staring at the burger instead. “I’m so scared of scaring you off. Of making you think I’m like that motherfucking husband of yours.”

Oh shit. “You are nothing like him. Tonight proved it.”

I caught his free hand between mine. “We’re in the early days yet. We may have known each other our whole lives but we’re still learning about each other. If you do something that pisses me off, I need to be able to tell you what’s wrong, and you need to listen to me.”

He shook his head. “That’s the way I’ve always tried to work. With you. With my clients. My family. I thought you knew that.”

I did. “But it works the other way around too. I’m going to do things that piss you off too. And you need to talk to me—not retreat and close yourself off. No silent treatment. We talk things out.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I don’t do the silent treatment so no worries there.”

“We both need to remember that every day we’re together, we’re going to change. And not necessarily in the same way, for the same reasons. If this relationship is to survive, we need to work as a team. Neither one of us is better than the other. Sometimes you’re going to be right, and sometimes I will be. Sometimes we’ll both be right, just in different ways. As long as we can both agree to that, I think we can be okay.”

“Wisdom according to your therapist?”

“Wisdom according to your mother.”

He huffed a laugh. “I guess since Mom and Dad celebrated their forty-first last month, they must know what they’re talking about.”

“I think it’s good advice.” Had Louise given my parents the same advice and been ignored? Is that part of why my parents had divorced?

He lifted his hand, the one I was holding, and kissed my knuckles. “I can’t read minds, so I hope if I miss any clues, you’ll come right out and tell me.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, come right out and say things rather than leaving clues. Even if you think it’ll upset me. If we are honest with each other, if we can be each other’s sounding boards, I think we’ll be good together.”

I leaned my forehead against his and whispered, “I think we are good together.”

He kissed the top of my head. “So do I.”

EPILOGUE

ELLIE

I pulled into the driveway of Hauser House a little too fast and parked my SUV beside Malcolm’s half ton. Once I turned off the ignition, I leaned back in my seat and scowled at the envelope I’d tossed on the seat. I hated the damned contract Sheila had handed me. Hated what it represented, even if, according to my financial advisor, it was in my best interest. It wasn’t best for Malcolm, and he was the best thing I had in my life. Had ever had in my life. He’d proven that numerous times over the past year. In his willingness to listen to my ideas, to offer suggestions without demanding I follow them. In how he’d made French toast for me every Saturday morning and served it to me in bed most times. Turned out he was a better cook than I’d ever been.

I loved how he knew when to make me laugh and when not to, in bed or out. I loved how he didn’t pressure me to marry him, knowing that would be the fastest way for me to freeze up. I even loved that he’d met Rebecca and attended a few therapy sessions with me.

I especially loved it when he made love to me. Loved the way he looked at me with complete adoration as he undressed me, or while I undressed him. Loved the way his palms skimmed over my belly, or cupped my breasts, worshiping them, worshiping me. The feel of his beard between my thighs when he went down on me was almost enough to make me come without the aid of his tongue and fingers. None of that compared to how much I loved when he was buried deep within me.

Which was why that damned contract Sheila had pressed on me felt like a betrayal. Of Malcolm. And of us.

I’d moved in with Malcolm the day before the first contractor had arrived to tear out the kitchen last September. Malcolm’s prediction about supply and equipment delays and contractors’ constantly changing schedules had been correct, interfering with my grand plans of renovating this magnificent Victorian home. Yesterday, almost a year to the day I’d faced an electrical meltdown and Malcolm came back into my life, we’d both moved back in to Hauser House—which I was considering renaming. Not that the locals would refer to it by its new name. To them, it would always be Hauser House, the same way the Rogers Centre will always be the SkyDome to most Torontonians.

Across the lake, heavy dark storm clouds with a curtain of rain shrouded the sun, and thunder rumbled in the distance. As much as I love watching thunderstorms, I don’t like being outside in them so I grabbed the legal envelope I’d tossed on the passenger seat, folded it and stuffed it in my purse, and raced to the cover of the verandah.

Once inside, I used my heel to kick the freshly painted front door closed. As I hung up my jacket in the closet and dumped my purse on the side table, I called, “Malcolm? I’m home!”

No cheery “hey!” that had become Malcolm’s usual greeting echoed down the hallway.

Huh, that was strange. His truck was in the driveway, so he was here. Somewhere.

I called out again.

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