Page 47 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
I finished my shopping in a daze, moving through the aisles on autopilot while my mind replayed every moment of our conversation.
At the checkout, I glanced around, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen, probably for the best. I wasn’t sure I could handle another dose of his smile without doing something stupid like accepting his invitation, knowing I couldn’t see it through.
Back in my condo, I put away groceries and tried to focus on normal Saturday afternoon activities. I did laundry, cleaned the already spotless kitchen, and attempted to read a book that failed to hold my attention. But every few minutes, my mind drifted back to the grocery store, to the warmth in Christian’s eyes and the desire in his voice.
By evening, I was restless. I poured myself a glass of wine and settled on the couch, scrolling through my phone for something to distract me. Every app I opened felt pointless, and every article I started was boring.
I opened a text and typed Christian’s number, but my fingers hovered above the keys.
Everything I wanted to say seemed outside of our boundaries. I couldn’t find the words that would sound casual when nothing about my feelings were casual anymore.
I set the phone aside and finished my wine, trying to convince myself that not texting him was the wise and safe choice. The choice that protected both of us from complications neither of us was supposed to want.
But as I got ready for bed later that night, slipping into the black lace bra and matching panties I’d bought on a whim last week, I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror. The lingerie looked good against my dark skin, feminine and sexy, making me feel powerful.
Quickly, I grabbed my phone and positioned it perfectly, angling the camera to capture my torso from my nipples peeking through the lace to the apex of my thighs where my lace panties could be seen.
I took several shots, deleting the pictures that didn’t look right, until I had one that made me look ethereal, confident, sensual, unapologetic.
I attached it to a text message with just three words:“Until next time.”
And hit send before I could change my mind.
The phone rang thirty seconds later. Christian’s name flashed across the screen, and a giggle bubble up from deep in my throat. I became so giddy whenever it came to him nowadays.
I let it ring, watching his name appear and disappear as the call went to voicemail. Part of me wanted to answer, to hear his voice roughen the way it did when he was aroused. But a bigger part of me was enjoying this power of knowing I’d affected him. It was the thrill of being wanted.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text:“Teasing me? I’ll make you pay for that.”
I read the message three times, each time feeling heat flourish across my skin. The promise in those words, and the way he could make “pay” sound like the most delicious threat imaginable made my pussy thump.
I typed back:“Looking forward to it.”
Then I turned off my phone and slipped between my sheets, with anticipation spinning through my thoughts until I fell asleep.
Chapter
Ten
NAOMI
I was reorganizingmy desk drawer for the third time this week when I found the business card I’d been looking for. Dr. Caroline Mason, the psychiatrist who specialized in trauma therapy. Journey had given me her number months ago, insisting I should talk to someone about Gerald and everything that came before him. The card had been buried under old receipts and forgotten lip glosses, but there it was, pristine white with elegant black lettering.
I turned it over in my fingers, debating whether now was the time to make that call.
“Ms. Blackford? I have Mr. Nathan Bullard on line two. He’s requesting an appointment for Saturday, the twenty-eighth, but you’re marked as unavailable that day.”
I glanced at my calendar, confirming what I already knew. Saturday the twenty-eighth was blocked off in red—my personal time, and I rarely gave that up for anyone. But Nathan Bullard wasn’t just anyone. He was one of my most reliable clients. He paid promptly, treated my girls with respect, and never caused drama.
“Put him through, Tamara.”
I straightened in my chair and picked up the phone, slipping into the smooth, professional tone that had built my reputation. “Nathan, good morning. How are you?”
“Naomi, I’m great. And I know you’re beautiful as always, I’m sure.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I’m calling with a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“There’s a very important gala coming up and I’m desperate to have the most stunning woman in St. Louis on my arm.”
