Page 32 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

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Sure enough, at 5:25 p.m., there’s a knock on my door, and I go over and answer it.

“Oh!” My eyes widen at the sight of him in a smart navy business suit, carrying a laptop case. It’s a three-piece with a navy waistcoat—very Fraser—and a white shirt. I thought he might have worn a bow tie—very Indiana Jones—but instead he’s chosen a light-blue striped tie. “You look nice,” I comment, going out and closing the door behind me.

His gaze skims down me like a laser beam. I’ve chosen to dress semi-professionally, thinking that maybe it might help me stay in the business frame of mind. I’m wearing a cream jacket and a matching skirt with lots of tiny soft pleats, a pretty peach vest, and high-heeled, cream strappy sandals.

His gaze reaches my feet, and he studies the sandals, then returns his gaze to mine. He looks a touch exasperated.

“Do I look okay?” I ask, concerned. I’ve twisted my hair and used a claw clip to hold it up, leaving one long strand which I’ve curled to hang to the side in a glossy spiral. I’ve taken care on my makeup, too, using black eyeliner drawn out in wings, and a bronze eyeshadow that brings out the orange flecks in my eyes.

“Good enough to eat,” he says. “Which is giving me all sorts of ideas, and I think we n-need to go to dinner before I c-carry you back inside and act extremely unprofessional.” He turns and walks away, toward the main building.

I jog to catch up with him, my pulse racing, and he glances at me. “You okay? You’re blushing.”

“Oh my God, Fraser, I wonder why.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

He frowns. “Okay, now I’m confused.”

I press my hand to my forehead as we walk, hoping I don’t fall off my high heels. “You say these things as if they’re nothing.”

“What did I say?”

I blush even hotter. “You said I was good enough to eat, and it was giving you ideas.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, so?”

“I don’t… I can’t… do you mean… were you talking about… you know?”

“Yes, Hallie, I was referring to oral sex.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “What?”

I shake my head. Fraser glances at me, then stops walking. I take a few more steps, realize he’s stopped, and turn to face him. This is beginning to be a pattern.

“Please,” he says, looking pained, “please don’t tell me Ian never went down on you.”

I blink, and just shake my head.

He stares at me. I stare back.

“I don’t know what to say,” he states.

Neither do I. He looks genuinely dumbfounded.

“I didn’t realize you were that kinky,” I say, hoping that a joke might lighten the moment.

He doesn’t smile, though. “Oral sex isn’t kinky,” he says flatly.

I give a short laugh. “Fraser, seriously…”

“BDSM is kinky. Fetishes are kinky. Oral sex is a standard sexual practice.”

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