the third in the By Request Series
Putting Things in Motion
“I’m sure we can help you, Edward. I just want to you be certain you understand the risks.”
Edward Dean, who’d been sitting casually with his legs splayed and his arms behind his head, straightened, pulling himself in and moving his gaze across the chrome and glass of the downtown bar. A nervous sheen of sweat coated his neck and back, and he reached up to shove his hair off his forehead.
Sandra, the woman seated in front of him, was completely calm and in control. Her cool-blonde hair was wrapped into a complicated hairstyle that Edward had seen before but never understood. Her gray silk suit was tailored; her delicate shoes the only thing that hinted at her sexuality.
But given that they had just spent the last two hours talking about nothing but sex, he was certain she knew her way around a bedroom. And many other places as well.
She took a sip of her white wine then set the glass down gently on the crisp tablecloth before speaking again. “Do you need more time to think things over?”
“No. That’s the problem.” Edward picked up his half-empty bourbon and spun it, watching the golden liquid swirl. “All I do is think about it. Over and over. Nothing changes. And then I think some more.” He took a sip, felt the liquid burn down his throat. “I tried. I can’t change anything. I can’t do anything.”
“You are doing something. You came to me. All I’m going to do is put things in motion. The rest, what happens afterward—” She lifted her palms. “Will be up to you.”
He nodded, but remained silent.
“The risks, though. Those are something to consider. Once my man begins nothing can be undone.”
“But she’ll be given a safety word—violet. And she—”
“It’s isn’t the risks to your wife Kelly that I’m talking about now.” Sandra leaned forward, her brown eyes clear and focused. “It’s the risk to you.”
Edward set his drink down. “Me? There aren’t any risks for me. There isn’t anything that I can’t handle.”
She slid her notebook toward the center of the table and picked up the slender, silver pen she’d set down after Edward had selected his wife’s safety word. “You need a safety word too.” A small smile lightened her face. “It has to be a flower.”
Edward swallowed hard, reconsidering. The time for thinking had passed. He may have already waited too long. The next step—the only possible step—was action. “I don’t need a safety word.”
Her gaze remained steady. “It’s required.”
He almost laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m twenty-five not sixty-five and I weigh about two hundred. I know how to use my body.”
A soft smile flickered across her glossed lips as her gaze skimmed across his solid shoulders. “That isn’t the kind of safety I mean. You’re asking to be pushed to the extreme. An emotional extreme in this case.” She lifted an arched eyebrow. “Emotional extremes do exist.” The sly gleam faded. “Rarely do we need the safety word, but we must have it. Just in case.”
“Just in case?”
“That’s right. Please.” She twirled the pen. “Your word?”
A laugh rumbled from his chest. “A flower? Can you suggest one? I have no idea.”
She looked him over again, taking her time, letting her gaze skim across his body. Edward leaned back and took a deep breath. His chest swelled and his muscles tensed as a flicker of interest sparked in the woman’s eyes. Although she wasn’t leering, her assessment of him was thorough, and her comfort with appraising a man—a near stranger—gave Edward a glimpse of the life he’d heard Sandra used to lead. High-priced call girl who specialized in the unusual and never left a client—man or woman—unsatisfied. His heart thumped just considering the possibilities.