Indulgence (117 page)

I shake my head. “Nope. Oh, yes. Here. Can you fill this out
so I know a little more about what I’m doing?” I hand him the form I have all
my clients fill out. It’s an innocuous little thing, just contact information
and things like that.

“Sure. No problem.” He picks up a pen from the countertop
and stands there, filling out the form and occasionally glancing my way. I’m
trying so hard to pretend I don’t notice. When he’s finished, he takes the pen
that was lying on the countertop and returns it to the pen cup, then stands
behind me with the form. “Here you go. If you need anything else, my phone
number’s on here.”

“Thanks.” I finally turn to take the form and look up into
his face. There’s something there that I can’t quite define. Mirth? Confusion?
Sadness? Annoyance? What the hell is it? I’m not sure what to do or say, so I
just force out, “Well, thank you for your business.”

“Business.” He almost spits the words out. “Yeah, business.
You’re welcome. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. So, I guess I’ll
just let myself out. Bye, Kimberly Hendricks. I’ll see you around.”

“I doubt that,” I throw at his receding back. That’s when he
spins to look at me.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes. Why would I see you around?”

“You go to the club, don’t you?”

Now I’m starting to tremble. “Y-y-y-y-yes. Why?”

“Because.” A sly grin shoots its way across his face.
“Because I was just accepted for membership yesterday. So I’m betting I do. See
you around, that is.”

Oh shit. No. This can’t happen. “Um. I don’t go very often
so . . .”

He smirks and I want to slap him. “Whatever. Thanks again.”
With that, he opens the door and closes it gently behind him.

Damn it. I’m in deep shit.

*****

I’ve managed to stay away for four days. Four long days. I
can’t hold out much longer. Last night I had the granddaddy of all nightmares,
and I know it’s because I’m holding all of the pain in. Something’s gotta give.
So I decide I’ll go. I’m sure he doesn’t go
every
night. Maybe this’ll
be the one he doesn’t.

But after twenty minutes, those hopes get dashed when I hear
another woman three stools down the bar mutter, “Holy fuck. Sex on a stick just
walked through the door. Wouldja take a look at that.” I don’t even have to
turn around; I know exactly who she’s talking about.

“Um, how about a Sam Cold Snap,” I hear him tell the
bartender, followed by a, “and hello, ladies.” I don’t turn and look, but
before I can slink away, I get nailed to the wall with, “And hello down there,
Kimberly Hendricks!”

Shit.

I turn to see him grinning at me and the other three women
sitting there glaring my way. Great. I force out a less-than-clever, “Hello,
sir.”

“Ah! Now
this
is the place for you to address me that
way! Very nice. Very nice indeed.” He throws a five down, thanks the bartender,
and picks up his beer. And, to my discomfort, he heads directly toward me.
“Mind if I sit?” he asks, pointing to the stool next to mine.

“No, sir. Suit yourself.”

He takes a sip, followed by a long, “Ahhhhhh.” Then he
stares directly into my face. “Oh, Kimberly. You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.” He waits a few seconds, then says, “Oh, that’s
usually followed by a, ‘And you look amazing yourself, sir.’”

Damn him. I counter with, “Yes, sir, you’re looking well.”

He chuckles, and it makes me furious. “Tough crowd, I see.
Oh, well, the night is young, isn’t it? Think I’ll go change.” Standing from
the stool, he grins at me, this mischievous grin that makes my stomach flutter.
“Never know where the evening will lead.” That statement is followed by a wink
as he walks away.

As I watch, a half dozen other guys walk into the locker
room as they come in, but he’s still in there. They come out one by one, and
then the last one comes out, accompanied by Jasper. They’re chatting, but that
doesn’t matter. What matters is Jasper Givens.

He’s wearing a pair of skin-tight leathers that disappear
down into his knee-high, silver-adorned biker boots. They have flip clasps all
the way up the sides and they had to have cost a fortune. And the leathers
weren’t cheap either. They’re just about the nicest I’ve ever seen, a far cry
from the simple ones I make, and I’m almost embarrassed. Why would he want any
from me if he can afford something like that? But studying all of that is my
attempt at avoiding the obvious.

His chest. God have mercy. It’s broad and sculpted, with a
smattering of smooth, dark hair between his nipples that’s headed straight down
the center of his torso, down the center of those ripped abs, and disappearing
into his leathers. The tips of his “V” are peeking out the waistband of the
pants, and I desperately want to see where that covetous letter points.
Refusing to stare, I try to watch out the corner of my eye, checking to see
where he is and what he’s doing.

Before he’s been standing there a minute and a half, one of
the women down the bar rises and heads straight to him. She walks right up, practically
gets in his face, and starts to chat. Of course, she’s about ten or more years
younger than me, toned, blond, tanned, and has the whitest teeth I’ve ever
seen. I think they’re lit from the inside, actually, or coated with some kind
of phosphorescent paint. Still watching without watching, I see him change his
stance, spread his legs wider apart, lean back into it, fold his arms across
his chest, and flex those pecs. She’s laughing and nodding and generally coming
on strong. And something I never expected happens.

I’m completely overcome by a wave of jealousy the likes of
which startles me. What the hell? Well, at least I’m honest with myself about
what it is, but really? Jealous? I have no reason to be jealous. And yet I am,
horribly so, frighteningly so. Even though I’m fighting it, my head swivels
toward them and I find myself straight out watching them both.

To my absolute horror, he turns his head ever so slightly
and looks directly at me, his eyes meeting mine. With that action there’s that
look on his face again, the one I couldn’t identify, and I feel my stomach flip
and knot. It’s a look that’s instantaneous and is over as quickly as it
happens, his eyes pivoting back to the blond, laughing with her, pecs flexing
again. I can feel my face blooming with blood once more, can practically hear
the capillaries popping, smell my eyebrows as they’re singed right off from the
heat. Spinning on my bar stool, I see a sofa on the other side of the room,
completely unoccupied and in a corner, and I pick up my drink and head there
without ever giving him another glance. When I’m there and settled, I look
around, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Just when I figure he’s gone to a private
room with the blond, I see her over there, chatting up Ross. Jasper’s nowhere
in sight.

My drink is good – a mojito – and I take another sip, but I
spit it everywhere when a voice whispers directly into my ear from behind, “I
wondered where you’d gone.”

“Shit! You scared me to death!” I blurt out just as he steps
around from behind the sofa into my line of vision.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Well, actually, I did,
but not that badly. Are you finished?”

“Finished? With what?”

“Ignoring me.”

“Whaaaa . . . what are you talking . . .”

“Kimberly.” He points to the sofa. “Mind if I sit?”

Before I can stop myself, I snarl out, “Does it make a
difference?”

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline but, instead of
snapping back at me, he starts to laugh, which just makes me furious in a hot,
sexy kind of way, damn it. “Well, no, I guess not! I’m going to sit
regardless,” he announces, which he then does. Once he’s gotten comfortable,
and by that I mean legs crossed, arm stretched across the back of the sofa
behind me, and drink in the other hand, he smiles. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall
we?”

Now I’m seething. “What bullshit?”

“We both know you’re attracted to me.”

“And I know you’re an arrogant ass,” I manage to gasp out.

“Who’s also attracted to you.”

Now I can’t think of one damn clever thing to say. He’s
attracted to me? He’s attracted to me. Holy hell. Instead of uttering one
feeble word, I just take another sip of my mojito and wish I had a five gallon
bucket of the stuff. “You are attracted to me, right?” he asks.

Out of force of habit from dealing with puffed-up Dominants
for years, I just roll my eyes. “Well, actually . . .” I begin, not knowing
exactly how to finish the sentence, when he holds up a hand.

“Never mind. My mistake. I’m sorry. I just thought that
there was some kind of,” he stammers as he stands, “I don’t know, chemistry or
something. I guess I misread it. I’m very sorry.” I watch in horror as he turns
and takes about three steps.

And then I do the thing I know I’m going to do, the thing I
know I’ll hate myself for doing, that I’m probably going to wish I could take back,
when I call out, “Wait!”

He stops, and this time when he turns to me, I can read full
well the look on his face. It’s sadness. Something in my chest spasms and the
pain is almost unbearable. There’s this wounded look about him, like someone
who’s been kicked in the gut one too many times, and it surprises me. The idea
that someone like Jasper Givens could ever be broken like that has never
crossed my mind prior to this moment. In that instant, I wonder if all of that
swagger and starch is actually a cover for hurt and loneliness, and that makes
my insides melt. “Sit back down, sir. Please? I’m sorry, really.”

He doesn’t move, but instead, he just says, “Are you sure? I
didn’t mean to intrude. I was just trying to be honest.”

“I’m sure.” I pat the seat beside me. “Come on back and sit
down.”
Now what the hell do I do?
, I wonder.

He heads back slowly, almost as though he expects a bear
trap to snap from somewhere beneath him, and then sits down beside me again on
the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t settle in like he did before,
just kind of slumps there, leaning forward over his lap, left elbow on his knee
and right forearm resting on the other thigh, drink still in hand. He hangs his
head. I feel terrible, and I’m wondering what to do or say when I hear him
mumble, “Ever wish you could erase time and go back, do things differently?”

I snicker. “Boy, do I ever. About twenty-five or thirty
years.”

He tips his head and looks back at me, a hopeless smile on
his face. “I’d take thirty minutes.”

I can grant him that wish. “Know what? You’ve got it.” I
move my drink into my left hand and stick out my right one. “Hello, sir. My
name is Kimberly Hendricks. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

The smile he gives me is warm and genuine as he takes my
hand, and there’s a sizzling sensation on my palm when his connects. “Hello,
Kimberly Hendricks. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jasper Givens, but my friends
all call me Jaz.”

“Hello,” I say, and add with hesitation, “Jaz.”

The lines on his face soften, and he settles back into the
sofa like before, looking straight into my eyes. “Hi. I’ve only seen you smile
about twice since the first time I saw you, and both times I couldn’t miss how
beautiful you are.” I hope he can’t see my heart slamming right through my
cami, and I’m fumbling for something to say when he quietly says, “Just a
simple thank you is plenty.”

“Thanks. Sir.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

I nod. “Sure.”

As he speaks, he turns away from me to his drink. “What are
you afraid of?”

I snort, “After what I’ve been through? Pretty much
everything.”

That sad look faces me again. “Me too.”

“You, sir? You’re afraid? Of what? I just watched three
women at that bar almost puddle at your feet.”

For the second time since I met him, he says, “Ah, looks can
be deceiving, Kimberly Hendricks.” There’s that look again, and I get the
distinct impression that he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, just turns
back to his beer. We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes before he
finally says, “Well, enough gloom and doom, huh? Let’s talk about something a
little more cheerful. Would you like to scene with me sometime?”

Hot damn. I almost blurt out,
Of course!
, but then I
think,
No, wait; is this a loaded question?
My brain is running ninety
miles a minute. Yes, I want to scene with this guy – he’s fucking gorgeous. No,
I don’t want to scene with this guy – I have this feeling he’d be my newest
addiction. I don’t know what I want. I
do
know that I don’t want to fall
for someone. “So what exactly did you have in mind?”

His smile is gentle and warm. “I don’t have anything in
mind. That would be up to you. I don’t know you well enough to know what you
need. I do know you’re supposed to be some kind of enormous pain slut, but I
don’t know about that. You don’t really seem the type.”

I counter with, “Looks can be deceiving, sir. How could you
know that?”

“You’re right. I don’t. I’m just saying what I see. And I
don’t see a pain slut.” He finishes his beer and sets the glass on the floor by
his feet. “What I see is someone who’s trying to forget something. Or should I
say someone?”

Now I’m getting pissed again. “What has Michael told you?”

He shakes his head. “Michael hasn’t told me shit. I’m just
telling you what I see.”

I smirk. “Is this one of those ‘it takes one to know one’
things?”

He’s not smiling but he’s not being sarcastic when he says,
“Probably. But you’ll never know if you don’t get to know me.”

I feel one of my eyebrows creep up. “Did you just issue me
some kind of challenge?”

“No challenge.” After reaching down to pick up his beer
glass, he stands. “I’m not that difficult to get to know. Unlike most people,
I’m pretty forthcoming when I’m asked a question.” He stands for a few seconds,
staring off into space, then seems to come back to himself and sighs. “Think about
it and let me know. Good night, Kimberly Hendricks.”