Page 51 of Bedroom Therapy

“Why don’t you relax and watch television out here. I’ll unlock the sliding glass door to your bedroom so I can go in and out without bothering you.”

She gave an uncertain little nod. “All right.”

“I’ll go start getting ready. But first I want to give you something.” He left the room, took a deep breath and let it out. He had started on this course, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop. Amanda O’Neal had become an obsession, and he didn’t like that. But he knew he was reaching for something with her. Something that he wasn’t able to put into words—not even in the privacy of his mind.

He stood in the darkened kitchen for a moment—wondering if he was really going ahead with this crazy scheme. Then he reached for the doorknob. Exiting through the kitchen, he opened the car where he pulled one of the packages from the trunk.

On the way back in, he carefully locked the door.

When he returned to the living room, he found Amanda sitting on the sofa. She was probably trying to look relaxed, but he could see the tense lines of her body.

He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and tell her they were both going to have a great time. But he knew himself. If he embraced her, he was going to start kissing her. And he wasn’t going to let go.

And he needed to keep things on track. Now that he’d gotten her agreement, he wanted very much to go ahead with the naughty little game he’d suggested.

He stayed where he was, looking from her to the television set. She’d taken his advice. On the screen was one of those DYI shows that he’d seen in passing. Had that been where he’d gotten the idea? He saw a man and a woman using steamers and scrapers to peel wallpaper off the wall, inch by inch.

It looked like torture. The show switched to another scene where another team was arguing about the deep purple paint one woman wanted to put on the walls.

“Trust me. You’ll love it,” she said.

Zach laughed. “Sure.”

Amanda shifted toward him.

“Interesting choice of TV shows,” he commented.

She gave him a long look. “Did you change your mind?

“Of course not!” He stepped toward her and handed over the bag. “I was thinking about what I wanted you to wear, too. And I pictured you in this. Nothing else.”

She set the bag on the couch, then reached inside and brought out something thin and silky, wrapped in tissue paper.

He discovered he couldn’t draw in a full breath as she carefully unfolded the paper. Inside was a dark blue robe, a silk and lace confection that he knew would look wonderful with her hair and skin.

She didn’t speak, and he found he had to break the silence.

“Do you like it?” he asked, hearing the catch in his own voice.

She kept her eyes on the robe, stroking her fingers over the soft fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wear it for me when you come into the bedroom.”

“And when will that be?” she asked with a small quiver in her voice.

He needed to touch her then—to reassure them both. Crossing the room, he stopped beside the sofa, cupping his hand over her shoulder, feeling the fine structure of her bones beneath his fingers.

He closed his eyes, caressing her. When he heard her little indrawn breath, he roused himself.

“I’ll be back as soon I can get ready. In about an hour, I hope.” He needed to leave, then. Before he spoiled everything by grabbing her, he exited the living room and started down the hall. Stepping into the bedroom, he looked around. He already knew the layout. Already knew some of the things he was going to do.

He kept his mind on the tasks at hand, trying not to think about where this was leading. If he thought about that now, he’d be too aroused to get anything done.

He focused on each small step as he leaned the mattress and the box springs against the wall in order to get at the bed frame. Quickly he took the frame apart, leaving the wicker headboard in place. Then he opened the sliding glass door and took the frame and the box springs outside. With the substructure of the bed out of the way, he positioned the mattress against the headboard—then went out to get the purchases he’d left in the car.

He smiled as he spread the comforter over the mattress, creating a soft, appealing surface that was low to the floor. Like the bedding in a nomad king’s tent. Then he changed the pillowcases for the beige silk ones he’d bought—along with a half dozen other pillows, which he piled against the headboard.

When he was satisfied with the effect, he went on with the other preparations.

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