Page 36 of Colton's Secret Weapon
“Uh, about that…what happened earlier…”
Pulling up an innocent look born of knowing neither of them did anything wrong, she said, “What happened?” He had absolutely nothing to castigate himself for. And she knew she’d done nothing requiring an apology.
At least not in the moment he was speaking about.
“I never should have hugged you. It was inappropriate. Something I’ve never done before. And I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t possibly keep,” her mother’s words of old popped out of their own accord.
Frowning, Mitchell wrapped his dark blue robe about him further, tightening the knotted matching dark blue fabric belt holding it in place. “I keep my promises.”
“I fully believe you intend to, Mitchell, but how can you possibly see forty years into the future, which could be when you retire, and know that you’ll never have occasion to give a client a moment of comfort?”
He stared at her.
And she moved in a little closer. Not physically. But with the softening of her gaze. And the words she let out. “As for the rest…the perfectly normal bodily reactions that occurred when you reached out to offer me comfort…it’s not fair to yourself to guarantee that it won’t happen again. What if I was falling, and you reached out to catch me, and we ended up in a kiss?”
He scoffed. “You’ve watched too many Christmas movies.”
Aha! That had to mean he’d seen at least one, right? Maybe with his mom or sister?
Could be he even tuned in to one on his own at some point. Or with a girlfriend.
The last thought not as pleasing as the others, she let them go. And grew completely serious.
“Sex has a power of its own, Mitchell. When two consenting adults are both consumed by that force at the same time, there’s a good chance they’ll come together physically.” She was practically quoting her mother then—from her reaching-puberty talks—but with an experience Dove had gained on her own.
He leaned against the counter, suddenly seeming a little more amenable to staying a while, rather than hightailing it back up to his ablutions.
And getting himself all decently covered, tucked in and hidden away.
With a quirk of his head and narrowed blue eyes, he said, “You’re telling me that you’d be consenting?”
Delicious flames shot down between her legs. She knew to welcome the release from the dread that had been closing in on her as she pictured her father on a cliff ledge fighting for his life.
“I’m assuming we’ll have a talk about it first,” she told him.
Was that the time to have it? Right then? Did they schedule a time? She’d never actually done it that way before. Generally she was out socially with the guy and they’d already established that they were just friends.
“What kind of talk?”
“The kind where we establish guidelines. So no one gets hurt.”
His eyes narrowed again. Kind of deliciously. And she didn’t bother to camouflage her glance down to his crotch. A look that lingered as the robe moved, seeming of its own accord. “Do we make an appointment for this conversation?” he asked.
How the hell did she know? Mitchell Colton had a whole hell of a lot more experience than she did in the mingling-with-the-opposite-sex department. But if he thought that was a good idea… “We can,” she said. Then added, “But we better make it soon, just in case. The whole power thing—” she glanced down at his crotch again “—it seems to be gaining on us rather quickly.”
She’d grown wet. Without panties on. It was kind of intoxicating. And a bit uncomfortable, too, considering she’d probably have to wear her pajama pants again before she moved home and could wash them.
The way he was watching her…as though she was a slice of double chocolate cake with rich icing…no man had ever looked at her like that before. “Let’s say, over lunch,” she blurted. They’d be at the marina. Or she would be, and he’d be on the phone. All classes at Namaste had had to be canceled until the negativity bombarding her life had been resolved. No way she could live with herself if her bad energy spilled over onto those who came to her for help with their inner healing.
She was pretty sure Mitchell was holding back a grin as he nodded. “Over lunch it is,” he told her and turned and walked away.
Right as the timer on the lasagna buzzed. “Mitchell?” she called out. Saw him stop, start to turn, and she grabbed the hot pads, pulling open the oven as she said, “Breakfast casserole will be out in forty-five minutes. If that’s too long, we can finish it off at the marina. Dad has a toaster oven there.” It wouldn’t be nearly as delicious that way, but she wasn’t the one who would be eating it.
“That’s fine,” he told her. “It’ll give you time to get showered. I can make a couple of calls here in my home office, and we can take it hot to share with Wes and the rest of the crew. It will be a good way to start what will be an unusual day for them.”
Bringing good to overshadow the bad. She smiled. Nodded.
