Tracy Wolff: Unguarded

“Whatever it is, it better be good,” she said finally, reaching for the bag with a touch of defiance. Her fingers rubbed against his and a little shock of electricity crackled through him, between them, as he felt her skin brush his. Her eyes darkened to a deep, molten chocolate and he waited for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her fingers linger for a few seconds, as if—in that moment—she was as curious about the feel of him as he was about her.

And then she was pulling away, the connection between them severed, though heat lingered in the air between them. Shawn stared at her, wondering what she was thinking. What she was feeling. Whatever it was, she had a poker face and projected nothing but a calm serenity he knew she couldn’t be feeling, not while the gift bag she now held was rustling with each tremor of her fingertips.

After a minute, she broke eye contact and started rummaging through the bag, pulling out the tissue paper he’d crumpled up and shoved in the top a few hours before. After laying it neatly on the bar, she finally reached in and pulled out his present. For a second, she didn’t react at all, just stared at his gift in silence. And then she started to laugh—not a small, tinkling giggle like he’d heard before but a warm, full-bodied laugh that filled up the entire room around them.

He felt himself grow hard at the sound, and at the sight of her so free and uninhibited. So unselfconscious. He watched her, fascinated by the transformation, and wondered—which was the real Rhiannon? This woman with the big laugh and dancing eyes, or the sedate woman who always dressed in neutrals and rarely made a move she hadn’t thought out?

The contradictions were driving him insane, the edges of the puzzle refusing to fit together in his mind no matter how hard he tried to find the right angle. There were too many missing pieces, too many stories left unsaid. Tonight he’d gotten one of those pieces. He’d have to wait and see what other ones showed up in the next few days and weeks.

“You bought me slasher movies?” she asked, a little incredulously.

“Not just any slasher movies. I will have you know that you are holding the Saturday Night Cinema Special in your hot little hands—the trifecta of slasher movies. The greatest slasher movies of all time, bar none.”

“According to you.”

“According to anyone who has taste. I’m telling you, if you’re as big a fan of the genre as you say you are, then it is an absolute travesty that you haven’t seen those movies.”

“A travesty you just had to remedy?”

“Well, obviously. And look—” He pointed at the large cardboard tub the movies had been resting in. “I even got you popcorn and an extra-large chocolate bar.”

“I’m more of a gummy-worm girl myself.”

“Who isn’t? But the store was out of gummy worms, so I had to improvise. Next time, I’ll go with the gummy eyeballs.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

He sighed with exaggerated patience, loving the spark that came to her eyes. “Of course there will be. I have an entire wall of horror films and I won’t rest until you’ve seen them all.”

“That’s quite a sacrifice you’re making there.”

“It’ll be tough, but someone’s got to do it.”

“I just bet.” Rhiannon leaned back against the bar, more relaxed than he had ever seen her. It made his blood boil and his erection throb and he was seized by a nearly overwhelming urge to kiss her. But he hadn’t come this far to blow it when he was so close to the prize.

For Rhiannon was a double-edged sword, one that required a very careful balancing act. Normally that would be enough to make him run in the other direction—after Cynthia had killed herself, he’d made a point of sliding through life with a wink and a smile, steering clear of any major complications or entanglements.

But this was different, this energy that pulsed between Rhiannon and him whenever they got too close. It was sweet yet exciting, sexy yet comfortable—as much a mystery and a contradiction as Rhiannon was herself. Even knowing that she was a risk—that he might very well end up on his ass six weeks from now, watching as she zoomed off into her own sunset—couldn’t keep him from wanting her.

“So, I suppose you want to watch these movies with me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

“I appreciate the gift—I really do. It was incredibly thoughtful. But…” She paused and he waited for the brush-off he could tell was coming. It upset him, because he knew, deep down, that they could be good together. But she had to know it, too, or at least suspect it. Otherwise, it didn’t do him any good to stand around mooning over her.

“You know it can only be business between us, Shawn.”

And there it was, the line he’d been waiting for. “Why?”

“Because you’re a client, one whose event is going to bring in big word of mouth for my firm. I can’t afford to get tangled up with you.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “You’re fired, then. Problem solved.”

Her eyes widened. “The problem is definitely not solved. I can’t afford to let you fire me. My boss would kill me.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest we do? Because I’m not willing to just forget being with you, talking to you, simply because I hired your firm to do my party.”

“It’s a conflict of—”

“Don’t give me that tired old line about conflicts of interest.” He moved closer to her, crowded her just a little bit even as he told himself it was the wrong move.

But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be near her, wanted to feel the silky soft brush of her skin against his again. Wanted to smell her sweet honeysuckle scent. He didn’t touch her—he still had enough control not to do that—but he couldn’t make himself take that step back, no matter how much he knew he should.

“Because if you feed me that line, it means one of two things. Either you’re not interested in me and you’re looking for a convenient excuse to step back gracefully, or you are interested and I should just eliminate the conflict so that we can move forward.” He took a deep breath, inhaled her into his lungs. “So which one is it, Rhiannon? Do you want to go on a third date with me or don’t you?”

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