Page 33 of Bedroom Therapy

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Zachary sat at the kitchen table, trying to look relaxed. He had his back to the living room, but he’d heard Amanda moving around in the back of the house. And now she was walking slowly down the hall as though she were being invited to her own execution.

He knew she was nervous about facing him. And he probably wasn’t any calmer, cooler, and collected about their phone session than she was.

When he heard her bare footsteps on the living room floor, he stiffened, then made a concerted effort not to show the tension in his shoulders.

As far as he was concerned, what had happened a few minutes ago was a small miracle. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Maybe never.

He wanted to shout, say something, Amanda. But he kept his lips pressed together as she walked directly to the counter, poured coffee into the mug he’d set out, then added cream and caramel syrup.

It took all his resolve to keep from jumping up and crossing the room, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her toward him. But he stayed where he was, gripping his own ceramic mug, feeling the warmth from the fresh brew seep into his hands.

Eons passed. Finally he heard her clear her throat. “How did you know I like caramel in my coffee?”

“I didn’t. But I saw the bottle, and I thought about how good it would taste.”

She turned to face him, her expression uncertain.

Well are you going to throw me out? The question stayed locked inside his mind. To moisten his dry throat, he took another sip of the coffee. He’d picked the blend because it sounded rich and flavorful. Maybe it really was good, but he couldn’t taste it.

Amanda took a sip of coffee. Then another.

Setting her mug on the table, she started to sit. Which gave him the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

As soon as there was no danger of her spilling the hot coffee, he was out of his chair and around the table.

Unable to say what he was feeling, he swept her into his arms, lowered his mouth and kissed her, trying to put all the warmth and passion he possessed into the kiss.

The last time had been an exploration. This kiss was more desperate and more possessive. But he broke it off long before he wanted to stop.

He lifted his lips from hers and skimmed them along her cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his hand stroking over her shoulders, then inching upward to tangle in her hair.

“For what?” she whispered.

“For being willing to try something . . . different.” He swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “Probably you’re thinking I fool around like that all the time. But it’s not true. I’ve never come close to anything like that before.”

“Why did you start it—now?”

He swallowed again, figuring he had to be honest. Well, at least as honest as he could be. “After I read that letter on your desk, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He managed a laugh. “I was going to seduce you first—with the coffee and the cream and the caramel syrup, before slowly working my way around to suggesting we try the phone. Then I came home, and you were in the bedroom, and I just . . . I just took a chance and punched in your number. Are you angry about that?”

“No.” Her throat worked. “I guess if you want to know the truth . . . I’m embarrassed.”

“Why?”

She could have ducked away from him. But he’d learned that she wasn’t the kind of woman who avoided a subject because it made her uncomfortable. “Because touching yourself is a very personal thing. I did it with you on the other end of the phone line.”

“Did you like it?”

A flush spread across her cheeks. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I did, too.” He stopped and dragged in a breath. “I did some reading about sexual therapy . . . before I came down here to interview you.” A long time before, he silently clarified but didn’t voice the qualification. “One thing I read was that the more comfortable partners are in letting the other person know what they want, the better their relationship will be.”

She nodded.

“Which is what we did.”

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