Page 70 of Bedroom Therapy

“But then it all blew up in my face. I didn’t satisfy him. Did I do something wrong? Or . . . or is there something . . . wrong with him?” she managed to say. “I don’t like putting it in those terms. But he’s not leaving me any choice, is he? Not when he’s so closed up. Not when he won’t talk to me.

Can you help me, Esther?” she finished.

But she knew the only person who could help her was Zachary Grant. Unless he told her what was going on with him, they didn’t have a chance.

Finally, when the water began to cool, she turned it off. Stepping out of the shower, she began to dry her body and her hair, knowing that she was drawing out the process because she didn’t really want to come out of the bathroom.

But finally she poked her head out the door. When Zach wasn’t in evidence, she went into the bedroom and retrieved her watch from the dresser.

After slipping her feet into a pair of sandals, she knew she’d stalled as long as she could. As she walked down the hall, the house felt strangely silent.

“Zach?”

She’d geared herself up for a confrontation. But he didn’t answer, and when she crossed the living room, she saw he’d left a note on the dining room table.

Gone for a walk.

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Zach leaned against the low-hanging branch of a tree, looking down at the dark waters of the creek, watching them rushing over the rock and gravel that lined the streambed.

The branch swayed under his weight, but he stayed where he was.

He’d left the house because he couldn’t deal with the look of disappointment on Amanda’s face after they’d made love.

He’d been a damn mess since his divorce. Every sexual encounter with a woman had ended the way this one just had. He simply couldn’t have an orgasm with a partner. And he’d assumed that he never would again. He knew on some level that he was punishing himself for what had happened with Mindy. But the insight hadn’t changed anything.

Until he’d met Amanda—and somewhere deep inside him, hope had bloomed. Despite his previous failures, or maybe because of them, he’d taken another approach.

Because he’d wanted her so much, his mind had started working on things that he could do with her that would give her some kind of satisfaction. Everything they’d done had been wonderful—for him. And he knew that she’d liked it too.

Because of her profession, he’d expected her to be sophisticated about sex. But he could tell immediately that she’d been shocked by his risqué suggestions—and by the games he’d initiated.

Still she’d been willing to do that stuff with him. Stuff he hadn’t tried with any other woman, because he hadn’t cared enough to be that inventive.

Yet he’d sensed she wanted more. Which was why he’d been avoiding her today—until she’d taken matters into her own hands. And she’d certainly thought of a very creative way to invite him back to her bed.

Lord, that erotic outfit she’d put together from stuff she must have had around the house. What was she doing with a garter belt and stockings anyway?

It didn’t matter where she’d gotten them. He’d been instantly hard as a broomstick when he’d seen her looking like a cross between a convent schoolgirl and an exotic dancer. He’d wanted her beyond reason. Wanted to please her. And there had been no way he could have refused what she was asking.

Truthfully, by the time she’d knelt down in front of him and opened his fly, he’d thought it was going to turn out okay for him—for the first time in over a year. She was so warm, and giving and sexy. And he’d been hot enough to go up in smoke.

But then they’d been naked in bed together, and when he’d started making love with her in the old traditional way, he’d been pretty sure it was going to end as it always did. With another woman, he might have left before the final humiliation. But not with Amanda. Because he cared about her too much to walk out, he’d done the only thing he could—dedicated himself to making sure it was as good for her as possible.

His hands clenched around the tree limb, rough bark digging into his palms. Pushing himself erect, he cursed, his angry voice ringing through the woods.

A little while ago, his own disappointment and frustration had made him lash out at Amanda—with that crack about Dr. O’Neal.

He’d seen the tears glistening in her eyes before she’d turned away. Those tears had overwhelmed him. He’d run from them, because he didn’t know what else to do.

But now that he’d had time to think about it, he knew he owed her an explanation—whatever the outcome.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists, standing there in the silence of the woods.

He didn’t want to lose her. But he didn’t want to live a lie with her, either. He’d said that he didn’t need any help from Dr. O’Neal. But that was obviously a lie. He needed help from someone. In fact, he’d asked for her help. But not in the way he should have. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he turned and started back toward the house.

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