Page 145 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

I move back. I am hungry. “Let’s order something in.”

“Okay, come on, where’s the menu?”

We decide on sharing a club sandwich and some fries, and Linc phones through the order, along with a bottle of Champagne.

“Champagne!” I say when he hangs up.

“You’ve got to try it at least once in your life,” he advises.

I giggle and let him pull me into his arms again. “Happy to agree, Mr. Bossy.”

“I am bossy.” He kisses me. “But I’ll try to walk the line, I promise.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

He picks up his phone. “Hold on.” He presses a few buttons and types something in, and John Mayer starts singing Edge of Desire. I sigh, and he pulls me back into his arms, takes my hand, and we begin to dance.

Ahhh… it’s such a sexy, seductive song. Linc hums it while we move, and a shiver passes right the way through me, from the roots of my hair to my toes. They’re seducing me, John and Linc, and I can feel myself melting inside like a marshmallow held over a campfire. Oh God, I’ve got to be so careful, because at this rate I’m going to be completely heartbroken when he leaves. But how am I supposed to keep a shield up when he makes me feel like this?

He’s obviously put on a playlist, because more love songs follow, and we dance like that for about twenty minutes, sometimes singing to the music, sometimes just cuddling up, while outside the sun sinks slowly beneath the horizon, the sky begins to turn dark, and the stars pop out on the black velvet.

Eventually we see someone walking along the path with a trolley, and Linc stops the music while I go over to the door and open it. It’s Etana, still working, and he brings in our tray of food, and then an ice bucket with the Champagne, bids us to enjoy it, and disappears again.

Linc takes the tray over to the kitchen and begins to retrieve plates and glasses from the cupboards. I carefully lock the door. Then I stand there for a moment, looking at it.

I reach out a hand and rest it on the lock. I can feel the tension beginning in my shoulders and my stomach, my breathing turning shallow, as the urge rises within me to check it again—to turn the switch to make sure it’s truly locked, just in case I didn’t get it right the first time. Normally I’d do that five or six times at least. Sometimes as many as ten or eleven on a very bad day, repeatedly walking away, then returning to start all over again.

Behind me, silence falls for a moment, and I know Linc has spotted what I’m doing, and he’s watching me, even though plates clatter again, and he continues serving up the food. But I bring my attention back to the door, ignoring him for a moment.

I’m safe. And I’m so much more in control now. Last time I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t make it happen. It wasn’t my fault. It was a very particular set of circumstances, like a rare conjunction of planets. I’m older now. More aware. I know self-defense. I know how to hurt a man in the places he’s vulnerable. I know to shout ‘fire’ and not ‘help’. I’m more confident, and men don’t tend to pick on confident women. I’m not a girl and I’m not a virgin. I know about sex, and I’m not frightened of it anymore. Linc has helped me there. Despite his decision not to tell me about Maureen, he has given me the agency I need over my own life, while also letting me explore the differences between us in bed, so I understand the concept of control much better.

What happened to me before is not going to happen again, certainly not the same way, and even if it did, I’m so much more capable now.

It’s time to start dealing with my fear, and put it back in its box, rather than letting it free and reliving that moment every time. It won’t happen overnight—I’m not stupid. It’ll be two steps forward and one step back, probably. But I do need to move forward. I want to. I want to be better. I want to, finally, put it behind me.

I lower my hand from the lock, take a deep breath, and turn and walk away.

Linc watches me walk up to the breakfast bar that separates the living room from the kitchen, and I sit on one of the barstools.

“Hello,” he says, pushing over one of the plates that contains half the club sandwich and half the fries.

“Hello.” I pick up a fry and eat it.

He leans on the counter, picks up his half of the sandwich, and takes a big bite, chewing it while we watch each other. When he swallows, he wipes his mouth on a serviette, then says, “You okay?”

I nod and gesture at the Champagne. “Are you going to pour us a glass?”

He straightens, takes the bottle out of the bucket, and wipes it on a cloth. Someone—Etana, maybe—has already opened it, so Linc pours it into two slender wine glasses and slides one over to me.

I sip it. “Ooh.”

“You like?”

“It’s not as sweet as I thought it would be, but it’s lovely. Mmm. The bubbles go up my nose.”

Linc watches me have a mouthful, his eyelids lowering a little. Oh… interesting. “You find it sexy that I’m drinking Champagne?”

He leans his hands on the counter. “I find you sexy, Elora-Rose Bell.”

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