Page 12 of Under His Touch

“This is so good.”

“Told you.”

I make a few more moaning sounds and note the way Alec is shifting uncomfortably beside me. Maybe he has that disorder I

recently heard about. What was it called? Misophonia. Yeah, that’s it. A hatred of sounds that causes negative emotions, even violence. I stop moaning, and chew as quietly as I can. Heck, I don’t want to be the one getting a fork in the eye. I wash my slice down with my wine, and the next thing I know my glass is half full again. A yawn pulls at me, but I stifle it. I want to finish this form here and now. Another hour in his apartment just might do me in.

“Another?” he asks.

“Pizza after the gym, now that’s conducive to staying fit.”

“You’re perfect, Megan.”

Perfect? Alec thinks I’m perfect?

Okay, maybe the alcohol is getting to him, and to me. Last time I had too much, I took my clothes off for this man.

I finish off a second slice and wipe my mouth with the napkins. “Should we get started again?” He nods. “Okay, now we’re on to, ‘How well do each of the following describe you?’”

“Can’t wait,” he says, and I laugh.

“You answer with not at all, somewhat or very.”

“Got it.”

“First one—you tell your partner everything. How well does that describe you?”

He goes quiet for a moment and my mind goes back to all the secrets we shared, all the hopes and dreams we only told one another.

“Very,” he says, and I like his answer. A person should be open and honest with their partner.

“You are good at keeping secrets.”

His hand goes to his jaw and he scrubs it roughly. “Very,” he says.

“Me, too,” I say under my breath.

“What?” he asks, and my gaze lifts to his.

He leans forward, finishes off his brandy. “Next question,” he asks.

All righty, then.

“Monogamous,” I say. “Answer with not at all, somewhat or very.”

He jumps to his feet, and paces to the window. “Is this all really necessary?” he asks, his empty glass dangling by his side. He angles his head to see me.

I stand and go over to him to take in the skyline. “I... Yes, it’s necessary,” I say, his blue eyes burning through me. As my body turns traitorous, and I’m no longer able to hold his gaze, I turn my attention back to the sky and work to pull myself together. His glass hits the table, and the noise cuts through the deafening quiet.

“Megan.”

I turn to face him, take in the stiffness of his posture. “Yes.”

“It’s late and you’re tired.” He leans toward me, and I wobble slightly, partly from the wine and partly from his close proximity. “Phillip has probably clocked out, and I don’t want you in an Uber alone this time of night.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl.”

“I know that but why don’t I just drive you home myself.”

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