Tempts Me by Megan Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

better offer?”
    “It’s not … better.”
    Simone huffed a sigh so deep it blew the fringe of her bangs off her forehead. “ She will let you gag her and tie her up before you spank her. She’ll call you ‘master.’ Don’t tell me that you don’t think that’s better. At least give me that respect, Aidan. We promised we’d never lie to each other, do you remember that?”
    He was silent for a moment or so. “She can’t take the cane like you can. Or a flogger, or a strap.”
    “It’s not a contest,” Simone snapped, her voice suddenly thick with an emotion that surprised her. Not jealousy. Not melancholy or nostalgia, but maybe a combination of all of those. A sickening thought occurred to her, and words tumbled out of her before she could stop them. “Oh. God. Oh my God, Aidan. You love her.”
    “No,” he began, but stopped himself when Simone made a low noise of disbelief.
    “You are in love with her,” she whispered.
    His silence was her answer. There was nothing more to say after that, so without another word, Simone disconnected the call. Her phone felt heavy and warm in her hands. It rang. Aidan again. Slowly, deliberately, she thumbed the screen and sent the call to voice mail.
    Then she turned off her phone.
    *   *   *
    Superstition.
    Elliott hated it, and ritual, and habit, at least the sort of habits that made no sense. Regular exercise, that was a good habit. Double-checking for your hotel-room key before you stepped outside, then remembering to pull the door completely closed behind you, that was a sensible habit. Flossing after meals made sense, too.
    But this … this list-making habit was ridiculous. He had a smartphone that knew more about him than his own mother ever had. He had not one but three phone apps that acted as to-do lists or reminders. And yet here he was with the pad of paper and this pen, making a list of everything he had to be grateful for.
    It was the only way to do this list that felt right. There’d been long periods of time when he hadn’t made the lists, when there’d been nothing to be grateful for, or so it had seemed. Molly had never scolded him about it. Never reminded him of his blessings. All she’d ever done was given him this pad of paper in the leather binder, along with the pen. The gratitude lists had been her thing. What kept her sane, she’d told him more than once. When you felt down, you reminded yourself of everything you had, and it made you feel better. He wasn’t feeling down, not exactly. But he was feeling out of sorts, and it had been awhile since he’d written one of these.
    Health , Elliott wrote.
    Financial security.
    Professional success.
    Molly , he wrote after a second or so of thought. It would make her smile that he thought of her as a blessing, though she often claimed she was nothing but a burden.
    And that was it. The sum of Elliott’s blessings. He supposed he could’ve gone further, noting the doctors and nurses and caregivers who made Molly’s life more comfortable, or the grandparents who’d believed paying him to stay out of their lives had been worth every cent of their generosity, or the well-chosen stock options that had allowed him to afford the best of care for the woman who’d raised him without having to sacrifice his own quality of living. He could’ve listed the beautiful fall weather or the lunch he’d had today, too, he thought with only a trace of sourness. This would have to do.
    Tearing the paper from the pad, he slipped it into his inner jacket pocket and then tucked the pen into the leather binder. He put everything in his briefcase and looked around the office. Friday night, what the hell was he doing in this place after hours?
    He got out of the elevator in the lobby without looking first, only to come up short at the sight of that woman, Simone, bending to slide her feet into teeteringly high heels. Her skirt had lifted enough for him to catch a glimpse of her ass, maybe his imagination