Page 26 of Bedroom Therapy

Because she was frightened of being killed? That was part of it, certainly. But she knew that the attraction between herself and Zachary Grant was just as important a factor. It was as if the break-in last night had given the two of them permission to do something neither one of them would have done under other circumstances. And they were both taking advantage of the opportunity fate had handed them.

Because she was restless, she poked around the kitchen, seeing what equipment the owners of the property had provided.

Next she made a more thorough tour of the house, trying to decide where she wanted to set up her office area. There was a desk in the bedroom. That would give her privacy. But was privacy what she wanted? Or would it be interesting to discuss the letters with Zachary and get his input into the answers.

She wasn’t sure she liked the direction her thoughts were taking. She’d signed a contract to write the column. She hadn’t told Beth she was going to be using an assistant. A man, at that.

Still, it would be valuable to get a guy’s perspective. Like with that phone sex thing. He thought it was perfectly okay. She wasn’t so sure.

When she realized her mind was zinging back to Zachary again, she grimaced, then hauled everything into the bedroom and set the laptop down on the desk.

The letter she’d been considering was still at the top of the stack. But she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to answer it. Giving herself options, she opened more envelopes, pausing to glance up and look out the window.

She no longer had her river view. But Turtle Creek was beautiful, with trees and ferns dotting the bank. The geese liked it too. A trio of the waterfowl landed on the water and began swimming around, looking for food.

She could watch the geese all day, she thought, but that wouldn’t get her column written. Snatching up one of the letters she’d opened, she began to read:

Dear Esther, I’ve had several sexual relationships in the past. They were good, but I always felt like something was missing. Now I’ve met a man who really turns me on. We have mind-blowing sex. We do stuff I never imagined doing. I come so many times with him that I’m worn out after a weekend together.

But there are other things that worry me. Like our backgrounds are really different. I’m in the corporate world. He drives a truck. I know my family would think that he’s beneath me. And I don’t know if our values are too different for us to make a life together. What should I do? Is great sex enough for a relationship?

Dithering in Chicago

Amanda shifted in her seat, thinking about what it would be like coming so many times that you were worn out.

Usually with a guy or with her vibrator, she had one orgasm. She knew some women were able to have more, but she’d always been satisfied with what she had.

Now . . .

She grimaced. She was sitting here getting hot again. And when she thought about the letter writer and her boyfriend, the picture she got in her mind was of herself and Zachary Grant. What the heck was she going to do when Zachary came back? Jump his bones?

He wouldn’t mind. She was pretty sure of that. But then what? How did they deal with each other? This house was larger than the last one, but it wasn’t so big that two people wouldn’t be constantly aware of each other.

Like now, she thought, as she heard the front door open and realized that most of what she’d been doing for the past hour was waiting for him to come back.

“Zachary? Is that you?” she called out.

He didn’t answer, and she twisted around in her seat, looking down the hall. From her bedroom in the back, she couldn’t see the front of the house, and a little frisson of fear went through her. Suppose it wasn’t Zachary. Suppose it was the guy from last night?

When her cell phone rang, she jumped. It was on the bedside table, and she crossed the room to pick it up and slide her finger across the screen.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Zachary? Where are you? There’s somebody in the house,” she said, hearing the quaver in her voice.

“It’s me.”

“But—what are you doing?”

“Sitting on the living room sofa,” he answered, the simple sentence sounding provocative.

She stared down the hall, still unable to see him. “If you’re in the living room, why are you calling me?”

“Like I said, sometimes people can communicate better on the phone than they can in person.”

She felt the air whoosh out of her lungs.

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