Page 70 of Untether

I findCal waiting by the front reception desk, looking like every woman’s fantasy in a crisp white dress shirt and black pants with a lightweight jacket slung on top. His hair is styled artfully off his face. He’s every inch the City playboy. If I didn’t know him, I’d guess he was some flash trader or hedge fund manager.

He’s also holding an enormous bouquet of velvety dark-red roses.

I go in for a double kiss, but he grabs me after the first one and swallows me in a hug, holding the flowers away from his body. Geez, this guy can hug. He feels and smells as amazing as he looks.

‘These are for you,’ he says, shoving the bouquet awkwardly at me.

‘Thank you,’ I say as I accept them, cradling them in one arm like a baby. I lean forward to inhale their fragrant scent. ‘They’re so beautiful.’

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. ‘I wanted to… well. I respect you so much and—um, anyway. You deserve them.’

Okay.So they’re guilt flowers. I’ll let it lie—the poor guy’s already gotten himself tied up in knots.

‘Who are you, and what did you do with my favourite felon?’ I ask him, pointing at his smart attire as I lead the way to the elevator. It might be a joke, but it’s hard to believe this is the same tatted, masked guy who chained me up and did all sorts of wicked things to me last night.

He flashes me a huge smile designed to devastate vaginas everywhere.

Hmm.

On second thoughts, maybe it’s not so much of a stretch.

‘He’s serving extra time for bad behaviour,’ he says with a self-deprecating grimace, and I try to hide my smile.

‘Ah,’ I say sagely. ‘Makes sense.’

Yep. He’s definitely feeling guilty.

I lead him upstairs and sequester us in an empty meeting room off to one side. It’ll be a lot more difficult to smuggle Cal in here next week, when the trailer’s aired andeveryone knows our faces, but I still don’t want any questions.

We take our seats at one corner of the conference table and I place the flowers down on the shiny surface, facing me so I can enjoy them. They really are sumptuous. I can’t remember the last time a guy bought me flowers for non-professional reasons.

Cal shrugs off his jacket, muscles flexing beneath the thick, expensive weave of his dress shirt and reaches over to take my hand across the table. ‘I wanted to come and see you’—he clears his throat—‘and, you know, check in. See how you’re doing this morning.’

‘I’m great,’ I say automatically, though that’s a gross simplification of my tangled mess of feelings this morning. Physically I’m sore, yeah. Tired. My body’s still wrung out from last night’s exertions. But boy, did those orgasms take the edge off. They were a reset.

That said, I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t silently admit it was a lot. What I did with Cal not only went way beyond anything I’ve ever experienced with a partner, but vaulted over any fantasies I’ve ever let myself have into territory I’ve never even let myself explore in my head.

I met him there, though.

Somehow, despite my not really understanding what I was signing up for when I insisted on attending the party, my needs met Cal’s needs in that room. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say my needscaught up withhis. He was way ahead of me, but it terrifies me how easily I went along for the ride.

I trusted him.

I wanted him.

My thought process wasn’t much more complex than that.

If we hadn’t had that time together in the shower afterward, where he washed me and kissed me and dried me in that wonderfully unhurried manner, I’d probably be spiralling more right now.

But that time gave me what I needed. It made me feel like we were co-conspirators, for want of a better term. We came down off our highs together. He checked in with me then. He cared for me.

So he really doesn’t need to be here with his gorgeous big puppy-dog eyes and his well-meaning roses, because it honestly makes everything more complicated.

He frowns at myI’m greatresponse and strokes a thumb over my hand.

‘I pushed you really hard last night,’ he says slowly, like he’s trying to find the words. ‘And it was amazing, but it was selfish. I didn’t do that for you—I did it for me. And that was not how this partnership was supposed to go between us. I totally lost control, and it was unacceptable, frankly. So if you’re feeling a little, I dunno, fragile, or even used, then I’d like to know.’

He swallows. There’s an ominous sting behind my eyes, because I’d prefer to have left things with the memory of relaxed, post-orgasm Cal than with this officious, concerned version of him.

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