Page 52 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Riding in the passenger seat to my apartment, I’m all warm and tingly. And I can feel the dampness between my legs. Is this really happening?

Do I want it to?Oh, my God, did I shave this morning?

Second thoughts race through my mind. I’m crossing a line. Could we hurt Maisy?

Then Beth’s words come back to me.How bad could a few romps with him really be?

I study him as he drives the short distance to my place. He is undoubtedly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. But how much of that is based on him being a doting father?

I quickly make a list in my head of reasons why I shouldn’t do what I think we’re about to do.

He’s a client.

He’s not deaf.

He’s no doubt got much more experience than I do.

…

Before I can get to 4, he reaches over and traps my hand against my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles against the side seam of my jeans. Just like when he trapped me against the refrigerator, I lose all sense of reason and decide there is no number 4, and that 1, 2, and 3 don’t matter since this may well be a one-time thing. Even if it’s a two-or-three-time thing, they don’t matter.

Because all I can think about right now is Blake’s hand on me. And if this one hand can cause such a visceral reaction,imagine what it will do when there aren’t any clothes between us. When his hand is on my bare skin. My stomach. My thighs. My breasts. My—

The car stops, Blake turns with a wry smile and quickly exits the car, racing around to open the door for me before I can even gather up my things. He reaches in and grabs my messenger bag then extends his hand out to me. He’s acting like this is a date when we both know this is nothing more than a hookup.

Then again, if this is how he treats all his past flings, I get why there have been so many of them. The man is beyond charming.

At the entrance to the building, I fumble with the code, having to enter it three times. I don’t look to see if he noticed. He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. The last time he was here, I still had unpacking to do. This time my place is tastefully put together and, thankfully, clean.

He glances around. “Nice,” he signs. “How’s the TV?”

“Good.” I widen my eyes. “Big.”

“It’s bigger than mine.”

“That’s what he said,” I quickly sign.

He narrows his eyes. He didn’t pick it up. And I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I tell him, “Good for closed captioning.” I slowly fingerspell the last part so he understands.

His eyes concentrate on my hands. I’m not sure why that makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. Everyone concentrates on my hands when I sign. Maybe it’s because I’m aware that his eyes will soon be focusing on much more than just my hands.

In an instant, I’m having more second thoughts.

He grabs my hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s nice just being alone with you.”

See—charming. It’s that charm that has me wanting to jump into his arms and throw caution to the wind. Is he a jumping-into-arms kind of guy? We’ve spent a lot of time together, butI feel like I barely know him. One of the obstacles to being deaf is I’m not privy to all the information the hearing get. The overheard phone calls. The gossip in the coffee line. The side conversations. The under-the-breath comments. The only information we get is what others want to tell us. Nothing more. So there’s always that question of—are we getting the whole story?

“Do you want a drink?” I ask.

He slowly shakes his head, his sultry stare burning into me.

“Have you eaten? I could make—”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “I don’t want food or drink, Ellie. I just want you.” He signs the last part.

My heart does three full revolutions inside my chest. No man has ever said that to me. It’s sexy. And he doesn’t know it, but I’m fairly sure I just became putty in his hands.

That caution?… I decide to throw it to the wind.

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