Page 49 of Bedroom Therapy

Chapter Nine

After scanning the letter, Amanda forced herself to take a breath, then read more carefully.

Dear Esther, I’m writing about the woman I’ve been seeing. We haven’t known each other for long, but I like her a lot. It’s been a long time since a woman has turned me on the way she does. I want to get to know her a lot better, but I worry that she’s not going to open up with me. One thing about her is that she thinks she’s really au courant about sex. But actually she’s kind of prim and prudish. I think it would help her in her work if she let herself go where I’d like to lead her. But I’m hesitant to push her because I don’t want to ruin our relationship. If I were going to tell her what I’d like to do, I’d suggest that she let me create a very sensual environment for the two of us. Then I’d like to watch her turn herself on. Well, actually I’d like to tell her the things I’d like her to do. But I get the feeling she’d think that was nasty. So I’m afraid to ask.”

Amanda stared down at the letter. He’d like to what? Not in this lifetime. Smart of him to be afraid to ask! Although he’d gone ahead and done it—in a very sneaky way.

The first thought that leaped into her head was to stomp down the hall and demand to know if he’d lost his mind.

But she’d never been someone who made rash decisions. She looked toward the closed door. She was the one in control now, and she was going to think about what she said before she went off half-cocked.

Half-cocked! Right. That was a great way to put it.

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Zachary stood by the living room window, gazing out into the night. He seemed to have spent a lot of time standing here. Earlier he’d taken a seat on the sofa, but he’d been too nervous to sit still. After pacing the room, he’d ended up at his favorite spot at the window.

He’d written the letter while he was out, then gone back into the house to leave it with the others. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But during dinner, he’d started worrying about her reaction. He’d known he couldn’t sit there dwelling on it.

Which was why he’d rushed her home and sent her to her room, where he knew she was going to discover the piece of notebook paper.

She’d had plenty of time to do that. Was she going to come charge through the door any minute and ask how dare he make such a raunchy suggestion? Was she going to order him out of the house? Call the police? What?

He wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the guts to write the letter. But he’d known where he’d gotten the idea. It was while he was walking past the linen shop and seen a gorgeous comforter in the window. It was beige and gold, with a subtle red stripe running through the pattern. And he’d stopped and stared at the beautifully quilted fabric, picturing Amanda lying naked in the middle of the comforter. He’d been immediately hard as a lead pipe.

Impulsively, he’d gone in and bought one—the queen-size, because he knew that would fit the bed in her room. Then he’d added other details that he knew would enhance the scene. The purchases were in plastic shopping bags locked in the trunk of his car.

He sighed. Maybe he should go outside and take a walk in the dark. Maybe that would cool him off.

Of course, he might find the door bolted when he came back. It would serve him right. He should never have written that letter. Maybe he could tell her he’d been under a kind of compulsion, because it was the truth.

He’d never had such intense desire for a woman. Not even in the early days when he’d been courting his wife. And certainly not since the divorce.

The need for Amanda burned inside him. But he couldn’t do what most guys would do with a woman whose essence had crept into their blood. It simply wasn’t going to work. Which was why he’d asked for something he could have.

Even now, the thought of what he wanted from her brought a wave of sensual heat sweeping over his body. Yet at the same time, he was suffering the tortures of the damned waiting to find out what she was going to say.

He had been listening for any sound from the bedroom. The knob turning was like a shotgun shell being pumped into the chamber.

Then her footsteps, light and slow came down the hall. He wanted to keep his back to the room, but he forced himself to turn around and face her. Waiting to hear what she was going to say was killing him, and he might as well get it over with.

The look in her eyes made his breath go shallow. Probably she had come down here ready to ask if he had lost his marbles.

But she didn’t speak as they stood regarding each other. It was agony to keep his arms at his sides and not fold them defensively across his chest.

Finally she cleared her throat. “Is that why you cut the dinner table conversation short?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted, glad to get that part out in the open. “I couldn’t sit there any longer wondering what you were going to do when you found the letter.”

“You were right to worry about it. What did you say—that you thought it would help me in my work?”

He dragged in a breath and let it out before answering, “That was probably going too far.”

“You’re damn right,” she shot back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “But that’s not the point at all.”

“What is the point?” he asked softly.

Although she didn’t answer, she didn’t turn and leave, either. Just the fact that she was still standing here gave him back a measure of the hope that he’d abandoned a few moments ago. Maybe she hadn’t decided anything yet. Maybe she was still weighing her decision.

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