I lift my head, regret filling me. “I wish I could. But I have a full day of hair appointments.”

He gives me a disappointed smile, but he nods in understanding. “Of course.”

My return smile is lopsided. “If it helps… I would rather be here with you.”

One corner of his mouth tips up. “It helps. Are you up for The Wicked Horse tonight?”

Now that has my attention. It would be a fantastic way to end the evening. “What did you have in mind?”

Giving me an evil smile, he shakes his head. “You’ll find out when I want you to find out.”

Damn, that is sexy. And now I really want him again.

But sadly, I have to get out of here. Long drive back to Henderson to shower, have breakfast, and then work. With a sigh, I press my lips to the base of Benjamin’s neck, then pull off him before I can be tempted to start something else again.



It’s Thursday night. After four nights of consecutive trysts at The Wicked Horse, Elena is canceling this evening.

We’ve been together at the club every night since we stayed together at the hotel. It was a step I didn’t ever envision taking with a woman. Sleeping all night together in the same bed is incredibly personal and intimate, and I probably would have thought twice about it that night except sleeping wasn’t really on our minds. We kept fucking over and over again, not able to satiate ourselves.

It’s hard on Elena to make it to The Wicked Horse every night. She has over a thirty-minute drive each way, plus she works eight-to-ten-hour days.

It’s why I hadn’t begrudged the text message she had sent me while I was meeting with a patient a little bit ago. We both decided to do away with the fantasy app for our communications. Sending text messages was just easier.

Admittedly, I was a little hesitant when she asked for my phone number so we could switch to text. I was fearful she might want to call me all the time, or she might read something into the fact we’ve exchanged phone numbers. But that didn’t happen. The only thing she has done consistently since we exchanged our numbers is communicate with me about arranging meetings.

Exchanging numbers was not the only thing that changed. In the last four nights where we’ve met up at The Wicked Horse, we’ve started out in the Social Room to have a few drinks. It’s not like we need them to unwind and relax. But that first night we met there after the hotel, I had a craving for a good scotch. I’d suggested a drink, and one led into two.

It was easygoing. Elena kept me entertained with stories about her clients—never divulging their names—as well as her family. She’s the youngest of six and comes from a boisterous, obnoxiously close-knit unit. One night, as she sipped at a glass of wine, she warned me that her mother is Latina and her father was a combination of Greek and Dutch, and it made for weird emotions sometimes. She said she could go from weepy to pissed off in a nanosecond.

“It’s a good thing we really click,” she’d added. “I don’t think you have to worry about pissing me off.”

And she is correct.

We really do click. That’s been apparent in the fact we continue to meet up for drinks each evening before we move deeper into the club to take our pleasure. The conversation has been easy and enjoyable.

I haven’t had easy conversation in months and months. Not since before the accident. Why it’s happening with this woman is beyond me. There is no doubt Elena and I share an incredibly special sexual connection. She has turned out to be the perfect woman for me in that respect. But the fact we can carry on conversation without making me feel trapped or guilty for doing so must say something.

I’m just not sure what—or if I want to give any credence that the phenomenon is because of her.

But tonight, she’s begged off because she’s exhausted. I don’t question this in the slightest. She even admitted to me it was the drive that was weighing down on her tonight as she almost fell asleep on the road home last night. In her text, she said, I just need to catch up on my sleep tonight. I’ll be good to go tomorrow.

I’m finished with my patients for the day. I have notes to dictate, and I need to review my records in the Harlan case since my ethics hearing is next week.

What I should do is text Elena to let her know it is all right and I’m eager to see her tomorrow night.

It is completely disconcerting to me that I instead pull up her number and initiate a phone call.

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