Page 17 of Reckless Desire

Sydney is trying to stop herself from having fun and I don’t understand why. It’s not my place to push her, to provoke her. She believes dinner was simply a job performance for me. She doesn’t believe the confusing feelings are honest. Real. Too real for my comfort.

Though I’m trying hard to chalk this up to just a mutual physical attraction, I wish I could take her out on a few dates. Something I can’t do. Something I’ve accepted I can never do because of the situation that’s led me to this job.

“Ancient Rome. Atlantis. Any other civilization that vanished. I’d like to be there to see and understand firsthand what happened. And why.”

A smile lingers on her face and I’m ridiculously pleased she likes my answer.

“You want to prove the historians wrong?” She raises her eyebrow, taunting me.

“At the end of the day, all the records are just interpretations of those who’d taken them. We don’t know what really happened.”

She smiles at me and I’m glad she’s relaxed again. “And let’s not forget, most of thefactswere recorded by men.” She leans over to pick up her glass again.

“You don’t trust men?” I tease her, but the smile disappears from her face.

“I can’t say past experience has reinforced my confidence in the male population, but I trust my father. And to a certain extent my stepbrothers, I think.”

“Doesn’t that leave you lonely?” She mentioned her late husband and debts, so I guess I know who to blame for her attitude.

I wish I could ask her about her father and brothers, but I’ve made too many exceptions tonight already, and talking about family would be another lapse into forbidden territory. I only venture there as a listener if the client needs it.

Sydney averts her eyes with a frown. “It leaves me in control.” She looks back at me, probably seeking understanding.

“If you don’t trust people, you have control? Explain that to me.” I have dealt with many lonely clients, but I don’t think I know anyone who’s chosen loneliness.

“My husband betrayed me and I only found out after he died, leaving me with consequences. I lived with him for over four years, and I didn’t know him at all. I had my future planned out, and because I trusted him, I lost it. I lost control over my plans because they had to be adjusted due to his betrayal.”

“Would you have proceeded with your plans if he died without betrayal?”

Her expression tells me she’s never thought about it that way. She opens her mouth and closes it again, and then takes a generous gulp of her wine.

I get the feeling she doesn’t appreciate me challenging her. I don’t even know why I did. I should listen and support. That’s the key to success in this profession.

“I think having control over your life is important to be content,” she says finally.

“But we don’t have control, do we? You can’t plan for a disaster, a robbery, a disease. What you can do is live your life every day the best way possible. As if it was your last one. Because regardless of how well you think you’re prepared, the only control you have is over your attitude. How you respond to all the bad shit life throws your way. And choosing to exist instead of live is not an option in my book.”

We stare at each other for a long time. I see the war brewing inside her, but she doesn’t share what she’s thinking.

Finally, she says, “I can live my life fully without a man in it.” Her words ring with regret.

Still, I get that. Hell, I’m living it, but it wouldn’t be my first choice. I don’t tell her that. “I’m sure you can, but sometimes the walls we build to protect us grow so high and impenetrable, they isolate us.”

A sad smile crosses her face, and she stands and refills her glass. She gulps it down, possibly searching for courage. To do what?

“I miss dancing.” She puts the glass down.

I didn’t expect that. “You’d like to dance, Sydney?”

“Jeremy was an excellent dancer. I miss little about our life together because it’s all tainted by his deception, but I’ve always loved dancing and I haven’t danced in such a long time.”

There is vulnerability in her admission, and I want to kill her husband all over again for robbing her of this, among other things. I pull out my phone and find a slow love songs playlist. The music pours gently into the large space.

I stand up, place the phone on the table and kiss Sydney’s hand. “Would you do me the honor?”

She chuckles and curtsies. “I’d love to.”

As soon as I pull her closer, she gasps. It’s a soft sound, but it sends electricity down my spine. My cock twitches. I’ve had a semi several times since we met down in the lobby. Where I lost my self-control tonight, I’ll never know.

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