Page 37 of Chasing Amber

In either case, I liked having Isaac in my bed. A lot. I wonder if I can get him to do so again tonight and all the rest of thenights of my life. I’m not being fair to him, though. I haven’t made a single sexual advance toward him, and I know he’s too much of a gentleman to be the instigator. He keeps assuring me that he will wait until I’m ready. What if that’s years?

It has already been two years, in a sense. The man has stood by my side and given no indication that he wanted me as a woman for all that time. He may have Daddied me in ways I either didn’t recognize or chose to ignore, but he didn’t make any sexual advances either.

I close my eyes and reach up to touch my lips. He kissed me this morning. It was quick and relatively chaste, but it definitely happened. It was so damn sweet that I nearly cried.

I want more. His little taste only served to whet my appetite. I wish I had been bold enough to grab his shirt and deepen the kiss instead of letting him pull away, but I’d been too startled to act.

I think back on what happened in the night. I climbed Isaac like a monkey, wrapped my body around his, and held on. I was barely covered, and I was well aware of his erection. It was empowering in a way, and I didn’t want to move. I wanted to feel his cock against my pussy forever. At first, I was legitimately distraught, but then I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to.

I jerk myself out of this line of thinking and wander toward my sketch pad, the one I keep on my design table. I prop myself on my stool and flip through the pages. The room is littered with sketch pads like this one. A dozen or more. They’re each color-coded in a way only I understand. I’ve never told anyone that the orange pad has fruit, vegetables, and other foods. The purple pad contains flowers and other nature sketches. The red pad is filled with mostly horror. I don’t use it as often, but when I’m in a dark phase, I tend to pull it out.

It’s the generic, nondescript black pad I’m flipping through now. Every page is a drawing of Isaac. Sometimes, I capturehim with his brow furrowed when he’s focused on his computer. Some of them have him with sweat dripping down his face while he lifts weights or jogs on his treadmill. Some show the intensity of his focus when we’re out somewhere and he’s scanning the area for possible threats.

That look is one of my favorites. He’s so thorough and good at his job. He has no idea how fucking sexy he is when he’s actively protecting me. I have no business noticing, but it’s unavoidable.

I have a dozen sketches of him standing near me while I shop or meet with a gallery owner. He keeps an earpiece in the entire time, though I’ve never known who he might speak to through it. It reminds me of a comms unit someone would use to call backup. I don’t think Isaac has a backup plan.

“Amber?”

I jerk my head up when I hear him call my name. I close the sketch pad, probably a bit too hastily, even though Isaac can’t see it from where he’s standing. He hasn’t entered the room at all. His feet are firmly planted in the hallway. His hands are on the door frame.

“Are you okay, baby?”

I nod. “I’m fine.”

“I just wanted to let you know we can leave whenever you’re ready. You wanted to go to a few other places before your meeting,” he reminds me.

I stand from my stool. “Yes. That’s right. We should go. I’m ready. I’ll just grab my purse.” I’m not much of a purse-carrying gal when I’m in jeans and tank tops. I tend to put what I need in my pockets, but when I’m in a more professional environment—basically when I’m wearing a dress—I usually grab a small clutch so I can add lipstick, breath mints, and a tiny mirror. I wouldn’t want to meet someone with lettuce between my teeth, bad breath, or pale lips.

It seems so frivolous and silly, but it’s what I do.

Isaac shifts to the side to let me out of the studio and waits in the hallway while I get my small black purse and drape the strap over my shoulder.

When I step back into the hallway, he says, “You should grab a sweater or something, baby. It might be chilly out.”

I inhale deeply and turn back to grab a black shawl to cover my shoulders. He’s right, and his suggestion isn’t odd. He nearly always reminds me to grab a jacket, sweater, or coat when it’s going to be cold out.

He guides me to the door with a hand on the small of my back. Has he ever touched me like that before? I don’t think so. It feels nice.

“Wait for me to make sure it’s clear, baby,” he says when we reach the door. He always tells me to wait so he can make sure the hallway is clear, but he never tacks on the wordbaby. Is that one word lulling me into Little space?

I bite my bottom lip while he steps into the hallway. When he turns back around, nods, and holds out a hand, my heart races. This is also not our norm. He’s going to hold my hand?

I can’t resist. I want the feel of his palm around mine. I raise my hand and let him take it. My breathing is erratic as we head down the hallway and into the elevator.

As soon as the doors close, he wraps his arms around me from behind, dips his mouth to my ear, and whispers, “Relax, Amber. I’ve got you in every way.”

I’m not certain what he means, but I trust him to navigate this strange new world we’re living in. I have to trust him. He’s my bodyguard.

CHAPTER 15

Isaac

My girl is slightly off-kilter, and it’s my fault. I’m causing her to feel unsettled. I want her to trust me to make the right decisions for our new normal, both inside and outside the apartment. I want her to realize that I will hold her differently when we’re alone, but I will still make it clear she’s mine when others are watching.

Before the elevator doors open, I release her and return to touching only the small of her back. I love the little shudder that slides down her body. I love this dress, too. From the moment she first entered the kitchen, I’ve been thinking about what’s under it.

The top of the dress is slinky and fitted. I’m almost certain she doesn’t have a bra on, and if I slid a finger under the V between her breasts, I would be able to stroke her nipple. The entire dress hangs perfectly on her, and I find it equally unlikely that she has on panties, either. I haven’t noticed a single line.

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