Conflicting Hearts (11 page)

Chapter 10

Setting the Rules

The next few days crawl by. Ian hasn’t called or emailed.
I’m filled with worry, but have convinced myself that he’s been busy with work.

When Friday morning arrives, I stare at my computer and feel
nauseated inside. I don’t want our relationship to end so soon, because I know
I could easily fall in love with him. He embodies the normalcy that I desire in
life, along with an unscathed past and emotional health I lack.

At three-thirty, which seems to be his calling hour, my cell
phone vibrates on my desktop. Caller ID shows his firm. I jump up from my
chair, run over into the employee lounge and answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Ian announces half-heartedly.

“Hi, me.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and I’m petrified.

“Sorry I haven’t called, but I’ve been pulling a few
all-nighters at the office.”

“That’s okay, I figured as much.”

“Listen, I need to get away for the weekend to unwind.”

My heart drops to the floor. I can hear the thud and see the
pool of blood at my feet. He doesn’t want to be with me.

“Hey, I understand, Ian. No problem.”

“That’s not what I mean, Rachel.”

I draw in a breath of air and hold it in my lungs. “What do
you mean?”

“Come to the coast with me this weekend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We need to start spending some serious time
getting to know one another.”

I quickly disassociate myself from the threat, and my mind
breaks out into that stupid song,
“Getting to know you, getting to know all
about you
…
”

“You there?” he asks, since I’ve wandered off to my safe
place for a second or two.

“I’m here.”

“Is that okay? You and me, at my place?”

“Yeah, but I’m scared.”

“Not of me, are you?” His voice sounds exasperated that I
don’t trust him yet.

“No, it’s that
getting to know
you part. Well, not
you, I mean you knowing me.”

“Scared or not, you’re coming.”

He’s telling me what to do and making the decision for me. I
nod in agreement, even though he can’t see me. I couldn’t say no, even if I
wanted to.

“Okay.” There’s that submissive word again from my little
girl.

“Can you be packed and ready to leave by seven o’clock this
evening? I don’t want to leave in the morning. I’ve got to get away from this
damn office and city sooner than later.”

“Seven o’clock is fine.”

“Good, see you then.”

The call ends, and I let out the air I’ve been holding in my
lungs in a huge sigh of relief. He wants to take it to the next step. That’s a
healthy sign. Well, sort of, or it could be disastrous.

I walk back to my desk with the “King and I” soundtrack
blaring in my head. This isn’t going to be easy, but at least I’ll get to see
the ocean again, and that brings a slight sense of peace to my panicked state
of mind.

* * * *

When seven o’clock arrives, I’m standing salivating at the
door. As usual, he’s punctual, and I swing it open and smile.

“Hi.”

“Can I come in? There’s something I want to talk about before
we hit the road.”

I’m worried, but I surrender to his request. He glances
around like he’s looking for the cat, but Whiskers is sleeping on my bed, as
usual. Then his eyes look at me, and I see a serious expression spread across
his face.

“Listen, Rachel. I want to set the rules for the weekend
before we leave.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah, rules.” He shifts his stance as if he’s nervous, and
then he looks at me straight in the eye. “I’ve felt pretty crummy these past
few days about how fast I allowed our relationship to get sexual. It was
disrespectful to you, and I’m thoroughly pissed at myself. We’re obviously not
ready for such intimacy.”

My mouth drops open over his confession. He closes his eyes
for a moment, as if he’s regrouping, and then looks at me seriously and
continues.

“This weekend it is hands off, except for kissing and
hugging. You sleep in the loft upstairs, and I’ll sleep on the couch
downstairs. I don’t want us to have any sexual relations whatsoever. The
weekend is for us to grow closer together.” He lets out a breath of air like
he’s relieved he got it out of his system. “Do you understand what I’m trying
to say?”

For a second, he sounds like my father scolding me. A part
of my body is disappointed, but another part of me is relieved. But when I chew
on his earlier “getting to know you” comment, I’m afraid I’ll be pressured into
confessing my past before I’m ready. I think back to my counselor’s advice of
safe zones.
Boundaries,
I repeat in my head.
Boundaries.
Not that
I’ve ever succeeded in keeping them, mind you, but the thought of trying oddly
helps.

“Deal, but I have a requirement too.” I can barely speak, as
I choke out the words. My voice is trembling.

“Sure, what is it?” He looks intently into my eyes.

“That when we get into these getting to know you sessions,
if I start feeling uncomfortable, I get to say ‘time-out.’ I can’t tell you
everything about me in one single weekend.”

A worried look spreads across his face. Maybe he wants full
disclosure. He probably thinks he can place me on the stand and ask me
questions under oath. It’s his attorney-brain mentality.
Raise your right
hand. Rachel Ann Hayward, do you agree to tell the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth? Hell no!
After thinking far too long about it, he
answers.

“All right, if you become uncomfortable over anything I ask,
I’ll give you the safe exit.”

“Whew!” I say, heaving a sigh and wiping my brow. It’s going
to take every ounce of strength within me to do it, but at least he’s left the
door open for me to run out.

“Come on. Give me your bag to carry, and let’s split this
place.”

“Gladly.” I grab my coat and call back to my cat in the
bedroom. “See you later, Whiskers!”

* * * *

Ian has his spiffy roadster back in one piece, and I’m back
in the cockpit. It’s close quarters, but I don’t mind. Our trip is quiet,
interspersed with shallow chit-chat. I am curious about this job, because it
seems to take a toll on him physically. It’s time to poke.

“So, can you tell me what you did this week at work? How
come so many hours?”

He pulls his mouth to one side as if he’s uncomfortable
about the subject. Ian shifts in his seat.

“Can’t talk about it much. Client confidentiality and all
that stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” I’m disappointed.

“Just hours of negotiating with the other side over terms
and conditions. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, and I’m about ready to think
of a career move.”

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I say sympathetically.
“Of course, I’m not the happiest in my position either, but we spend so much of
our lives working, I often think we need to find a content-filled job—if there
is such a thing.”

“You’re right, and one of these days I’m going to start
looking. I can’t right now. Obligations.”

Ian grows quiet, and I sense he doesn’t want to discuss the
matter any longer. It’s only fair that I give him the same out, as I hope he
will give me this weekend. I leave the subject and gaze out the window. It’s
almost dark outside.

We arrive at Cannon Beach at eight forty-five. Ian looks
tired when he slips his key into the lock at his beach house, and frankly, I am
too. He flips on the lights and expels his thoughts. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“You look drained,” I agree. “Why don’t we just call it a
night? I’m kind of spent too.”

He lowers his head and climbs up the stairs ahead of me,
carrying my bag. “Sounds good to me.” After plopping my suitcase down on the
bed, he turns and puts his hands on my upper arms.

“I’m sorry. I’ve only had about eight hours sleep in the
past forty-eight hours. My body is shutting down.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I bring my hand up to the side of
his face and give him a comforting stroke on his more-than-five-o’clock
stubble. “We have the entire weekend ahead of us. Get some sleep.”

He forces a tired smile. The light in his beautiful blue
eyes is dim from exhaustion. Sweetly, he lowers his head and gives me a brief
kiss.

“I just need to grab a blanket and pillow. Make yourself
feel at home, Rach.” He walks over to walk-in closet and swings open the doors.
On the top shelf, he grabs a blanket and pillow, some sweat pants, and clean
tee shirt. “See you in the morning,” he announces, slowly descending the
stairs. I stand and look at him adoringly and feel sorry for the guy.

When he’s out of sight, I turn around and look at the vast
king-size bed I have all to myself. I feel selfish, and I hear him downstairs
flipping the blanket open and tossing the pillow on the couch. My body and mind
are exhausted, as well, so I start my own preparations to pass out. It doesn’t
take long after my usual nighttime bathroom routine to flip back the blankets
and crawl into Ian’s bed. The light in the great room has already been turned
off, so I reach over to the nightstand and dim mine.

My head rests upon his pillow, and I can smell a faint scent
of the shampoo he uses. I smile because it makes me feel as if he’s here
holding me. After closing my eyes, I embrace the cased feathers and imagine his
body next to mine, with his strong arm draped over my waist. It doesn’t take long
before I drift off to sleep in the contentment of Ian’s presence passed out on
the couch below.

* * * *

My nose inhales the aroma of coffee and bacon wafting up
toward the loft. I hear the faint sizzling of the frying pan and open my eyes
to be greeted by a glorious sunny morning. I sit up in bed and look at the
view. For the first time in years, I pray.
God, let me die here.
A silly
grin crosses my face when I see the white waves rolling into shore. “Just not
today,” I add out loud, “or anytime soon.”

I jump out of bed and grab Ian’s robe hoping that he doesn’t
mind me wrapping myself inside his cocoon. Quickly, I brush my morning breath
away, run a comb through my hair, and then slowly sneak downstairs. Ian is
standing in front of the stove flipping the bacon over. He’s dressed in sweats
and a tee, and his hair is a tousled mess. I don’t care.

“Morning.” I greet him, shuffling across the hardwood floor.

“Hey, sleepy head, you’re awake.” He flashes me an endearing
look.

“Yes. I can’t remember the last time I slept all the way
through. You’ve got a comfortable bed.” I wonder about his night on the couch
and the state of his back. “How about you?”

“Yeah, I passed out until this morning as well.”

“Comfortable?”

“Doable,” he laughs, rubbing his lower back.

“I’m sorry, you could have slept way on the other side of
the bed with me.”

He raises one brow at me like I’m naughty for suggesting it.
“I wouldn’t have slept,” he answers with a sly drawl. “Besides, you’re
off-limits this weekend.”

I pout. “Breakfast smells good.”

“The coffee is done,” he points over to the hot caffeine.

“Where do you keep your cups?” I look at the long line of
cupboards over the counter.

“Second one over, on the left.”

I open the cabinet and see a perfect line of matching coffee
cups on the second shelf and perfect line of clean glasses on the bottom. The
sight sends me into a silly giggle.

“What’s so damn funny?” he asks, scowling at me.

“You’re a neat freak,” I say teasingly. Hopefully, he
doesn’t take it to heart.

“Huh, never been called that before,” he says, wiping up the
grease from the splattering bacon. “I like order in my life.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I quickly agree, pouring myself a
cup of coffee. “Most of the time, I feel out of order.”

“So what do the insides of your cupboards look like?”

For some reason, I equate the thought to sex. I’m useless
around this guy. “Uh, disorganized. Nothing lined up; nothing matches. I’m a
mix-and-match girl, myself.”

Ian doesn’t say much. He looks as if he’s digesting the
newest tidbit about the girl that crashed into him. I can’t help but wonder if
his ex-wife was a neat freak, as well.

“How do you enjoy your eggs? Sunny side up, over easy,
medium, or hard?”

A laugh escapes my lips, because he already knows I want it
hard. I think he sees the devilish twinkle in my eyes, because he starts
shaking his head back and forth like I’m a naughty little girl, and I am.

“Eggs, Rachel. Eggs.”

Whatever you do, don’t say hard. Go with the flow
, I
tell my voice
.
“Uh, over medium?” I seriously hate runny eggs, but if I
say hard, I’m going to burst out into red blotches, run back upstairs, and hide
beneath the covers.

“Over medium it is,” he drawls, making his own sexy comment.

“Eggs, Ian. Eggs.” I can’t help myself.

He flashes me a wicked grin, but I know there’s not a shred
of wickedness in him. He’s clearly not the bad-boy type, so why do I want to
turn him into one for my own selfish pleasure? He’s a clean catch, and I’m a
dirty trawler.

“So, you don’t have problems dining in with me, it’s just
out?”

The funny thing is I haven’t thought about it, because I’m
feeling more comfortable around him. “I can do in, not out.” Why does
everything that comes out of my mouth equate to sexual preferences. Good God,
my mind is in the gutter this morning.

“Good to know. I was worried you’d starve this weekend.”

He serves me up a hearty breakfast, and the two of us sit at
his dining table. The entire western wall of his house is a window to the
ocean, and I’m mesmerized at the view. I can hear the roar of the waves outside
and the wind whipping around the building. The sun is shining brightly, and the
ocean in the distance sparkles like thousands of diamonds.