else.
Including, she suddenly realized, herself. She’d never allowed herself to be this free, this wild. She had insisted on so much control, in her life, her career, her relationships.
It was an amazingly heady feeling to hand over responsibility for the next few hours to someone else.
She wouldn’t have to worry about making sure he was happy because he’d be telling her exactly what he wanted. She hoped.
For once, she could let someone else call the shots. She could relax into the moment and let Simon direct her, touch her, move her, as he wished. All she had to do was enjoy it.
Her mind focused into a moment of rare clarity. Even if this relationship with Simon never went any further, Eve had learned something. Learned that to love someone was so much more than being compatible in bed or liking Indian food.
To love someone was to give them control of yourself, knowing that you’d get even more in return.
Eve breathed deeply, trying to come to terms with her epiphany.
She jumped at a sound and brought her whirling thoughts back to the bedroom.
Simon had arrived.
* * * * *
The sound of Eve’s door shutting firmly behind him echoed the thudding of Simon’s pulse as he shucked off his jacket and left it on the coat rack. He felt surprisingly hesitant as the air hit his bare chest.
He’d realized that his entire wardrobe for the evening was that one pair of leather pants, no shirt, no underwear, no shoes, nothing else had been left for him.
He’d showered in feverish haste, then dressed slowly, unaccustomed to the feeling of nothing coming between him and his trousers. The lining in the pants had slid coolly over his cock, caressing him and stiffening him.
Like he needed any help.
Given what he wasn’t wearing, he couldn’t begin to imagine what was waiting for him at Eve’s, and his erection was flexing its muscles in preparation for what was to come.
In fact, it could well be into bench-pressing by now.
Stepping into the darkness of Eve’s rooms he took a deep breath and inhaled that particular scent that screamed her name to his olfactory system. That wonderful blend of perfume, coffee, furniture polish and English muffins. That certain aroma that crept up his nostrils and down into his heart. The one that said “ my woman.” And meant it.
Simon was well aware of the date. It was six months, and he’d never forgotten her suggestion.
Tonight was the night, as far as he was concerned.
The night he put their relationship to the test and told her how he felt and what he wanted. Which was quite simple.
He loved her. He wanted to marry her.
And he should have gone to the bathroom before he left his apartment.
The magnitude of what he’d planned ran over him with the force of a large earth moving front-end loader, and he shuddered, pausing on Eve’s soft carpet as he realized how his life might well change from this night forward. The urge to disappear into the toilet and lock the door for about two weeks gradually faded as he let thoughts of Eve fill his mind and his heart.
She was in there, in her bedroom, waiting for him. God knows what she’d planned, but whatever it was, he was sure he’d like it.
Probably.
He hoped he wouldn’t fail her and shatter her expectations. She’d probably set up some very romantic scene for them both, especially as she made no secret of her love for romance novels, devouring the latest one with unfailing regularity.
If his hands would stop shaking he could probably do a better job of being a leather-clad bare-assed romance hero.
Should he sweep into the room and gather her in his arms? Should he sweep into the room and grab her up and over onto the bed, coming down on top of her with, what was the phrase she’d giggled over, “a deliberate intent to adore her body? ”
He already adored her body, so that wouldn’t work.
Why hadn’t he thought to bring flowers? Dammit.
Simon pushed his hands through his hair and exhaled. This was not helping
Laurence Cossé, Alison Anderson