19
EMILIA
I pressed my lips into a tight line, and before the walls around me closed in on me, I said, “Yes.”
Dean’s eyebrows lifted in pure, unfiltered shock. Like he had braced himself for the worst and hadn’t dared to hope for anything else. “Yeah?”
he asked, voice a little breathless.
I nodded, folding my arms across my chest, just to keep my hands from shaking. “Yeah.”
He exhaled a laugh, the kind of laugh people let out when the weight they’ve been carrying finally falls away. Then he took a step closer but stopped himself. “I won’t read too much into it,”
he said, holding his hands up, surrendering to the fragile terms of our truce. “It’s just dinner. That’s all. Just…dinner.”
“Right. Just dinner,”
I repeated, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.
But we both knew it wasn’t just that.
There was tension between us again. It wasn’t the icy, distant tension that had kept us apart for weeks. It was charged, electric.
“I’ll forward you the reservation details,”
Dean said, his tone casual, but filled with so much hope and maybe a bit of excitement. “It’s this Saturday at eight. You’ll need to wear something formal. I mean, you always look great, but…” He trailed off, then shook his head at himself. “Never mind.”
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite everything. “Okay.”
Dean looked at me for another long moment, like he didn’t quite believe I’d said yes. Like he was afraid I might change my mind. But I didn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Because, deep down, I’ve wanted for something like this to happen.
***
Saturday came quickly, and I had planned my outfit the same evening he had asked me to that dinner. I chose a dark green satin dress with a slit on the side that didn’t reveal too much leg.
I kept my makeup simple, and the perfume I chose was subtle, warm, and a little nostalgic. Something I hadn’t worn in weeks but knew Dean would recognize because he once complimented the scent.
He arrived right on time, knocking at my door softly but determined. I gave it a few seconds before opening the door. He blinked at me, clearly stunned.
He looked incredible too in his black suit, a crisp black shirt underneath, no tie. He had shaved his beard, only leaving behind the hint of scruff to look effortlessly put-together.
And in his hand, he held a bouquet of peonies.
My breath caught. Pale pink, white, and soft coral. The prettiest colors. They were still dewy from the florist’s cooler, wrapped in brown paper with a cream ribbon. He remembered…
“You look…”
he started, then let out a breath. “I don’t even have the right word.”
“Good,”
I offered, lifting one eyebrow. “Decent?”
He smiled, that familiar half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Devastatingly beautiful.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my smile. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad either.”
“It’s what I usually wear to work,”
he said, looking down at himself with his lips pursed. “Minus the tie.”
“Shame. But hot.”
His gaze lifted, and his brow arched in amusement. “You like when I wear ties?”
I shrugged, taking in his suit and the top of his shirt which was unbuttoned. “You look handsome in a suit and tie.”
It hadn’t been my intention to be so forward. Sure, I had said yes to this dinner for a reason. Because, deep down, I could tell he was trying to change. Maybe not for me directly, but he wasn’t the man he once used to be.
“I’ll keep that in mind,”
he said, handing me the bouquet. His fingers brushed mine, and I held the flowers a little closer than I needed to.
“Peonies,”
I said softly. “You remembered.”
He looked at me like this moment meant so much more to him. “Of course I did.”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you, Dean.”
It was then that I knew tonight wouldn’t just be a dinner with a client. It was a chance for him to show me that he cared.
“I’ll put them in a vase.”
I smiled up at him and went back inside to put the flowers in some water, and after grabbing my purse and a light jacket, I was ready to head out with him.
The restaurant was intimate and upscale. Candlelight shimmered across every table, and soft piano music was being played by a man in a corner. We were seated at a table near the window, tucked in just enough to feel private.
Dinner started off light. Talk of the case, the outcome of it, and how Dr. Hofstetter’s team might handle the press. We laughed a few times, and while Dr. Hofstetter started to ask me more personal questions, I kept answering him in the politest way. He was a good man, and his wife had joked a few times about how much he needed this dinner, since he was always in the OR.
Somewhere between the second course and dessert, Dean’s knee brushed against mine under the table, and it lingered.
At first, I froze. Just for a second.
Then his hand rested on my thigh, and I glimpsed at him from the side, wondering if he was doing it on purpose. The smile he gave me answered my question, but when I didn’t fully react, he pulled it away, giving me an apologetic look.
I swallowed the piece of steak I was chewing and felt something shift within me. I hated that his hand wasn’t on my thigh anymore. I also hated how many flashbacks I got from his touch. Bad ones at first, but then, they turned hopeful. I ignored the emotional heaviness he put me through, and reached for his hand under the table, placing it back on my thigh.
His eyes met mine and for a moment, he just looked at me. I thought he would pull away again, but instead, he started to inch his hand higher. I squirmed, wanting to look away, but unable to. His touch was gentle, and his fingers toyed with the hem of my dress, sending a rush of heat through me. I wanted to be upset about this, but I wasn’t. It was almost like I had a devil and an angel on each shoulder, shouting at me, telling me what was right and wrong. But I ignored them both and just listened to my heart.
“You okay?”
he asked, as if he didn't know the answer.
I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Fine.”
He laughed softly, the sound low and intimate. His hand moved again, teasing, daring, until I could barely sit still.
“Do you want me to stop?”
he asked quietly.
I shook my head, trying to catch my breath. “No."
He laughed again, and his hand stayed exactly where it was, neither moving higher nor pulling away. My heart was racing, and I struggled to keep my face neutral, aware of the other people around us.
“So,”
he said, as if nothing was going on, “how's your steak, Emilia?”
I tried to focus. “Um. Good. Really good.”
He smirked, clearly amused by my flustered state. His fingers brushed lightly against me, now inching higher on my inner thigh. “Mine too,”
he said, finally picking up his fork with his free hand and taking a bite. “Glad we got to do this. Thank you for the invitation, Doc.”
Dr. Hofstetter lifted his wine glass, a wide grin spreading on his lips. “Had I known you’d bring Emilia, I would’ve invited you much sooner. She’s a delight.”
My cheeks flushed, and to make it even worse, everybody was looking at me. “Oh, I…”
I laughed nervously, feeling Dean’s fingers slide further up, urging me to part my legs. “Thank you, Dr. Hofstetter.”
He gave me a nod and a wink before turning his attention back to his wife, and I cleared my throat, side-eyeing Dean. “You can’t do this here,”
I whispered.
“No?”
He smiled at me, the wickedness of it making my pulse quicken. “Watch me.” His fingers slipped under the thin fabric of my panties, finding my clit. I bit down on my lip, my body instantly responding, and the world around us seemed to blur. Everything disappeared except for his touch and the way it made me feel.
I was barely aware of the conversation continuing at the table, the clinking of glasses and laughter, as my body tensed under his touch. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His touch was light, then harder, then light again, the rhythm driving me to the edge. I fought to keep my breathing steady, but it was a losing battle.
“Everything okay, Emilia?”
Mrs. Hofstetter asked, her voice cheerful and unsuspecting.
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
“You’re looking a bit flush,”
she said, concerned.
Dean’s fingers moved faster, and I felt the world begin to spin. “She’s fine,”
he assured them with a grin. “I think the steak was just a little spicy.”
I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a gasp. I felt myself begin to unravel, the pressure building, until I couldn’t hold on anymore. The release was sudden and intense. My body shuddered, and I struggled to keep my composure. My hand gripped the edge of the table, and I prayed nobody noticed the tremor that passed through me.
Dean’s fingers eased, slowing, and he gave me a look of pure satisfaction. “You sure you’re okay?”
he asked again, his voice teasing.
I nodded, finally able to breathe again. “Fine,”
I managed, though I could still feel the aftershocks of what he’d done.
Mrs. Hofstetter chuckled, clearly amused. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Dean smirked, moving his fingertips to my entrance, and sliding them inside without a warning. “I think she is.”
I clenched my fists, shooting him a look of disbelieve. He was impossible, but I couldn’t deny the thrill of it. My body responded to every movement, and I was on the brink once more. This time the release was slower, building in waves until I felt it wash over me. I clamped my mouth shut, trying to stay silent, and Dean laughed, low and amused. He withdrew his fingers, and I watched, scandalized, as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them clean.
My lips parted, and my heart hammered in my chest.
“This sauce is just that good,”
Dean told Mrs. Hofstetter, after she commented on the way he licked his fingers. They both chuckled, and I shot Dean a look, still amazed at how easy he made an erotic moment like this seem.
“You’re insane,”
I managed to whisper, a mixture of disbelief and admiration in my voice.
He shrugged, playful, innocent. “I’m just a guy who enjoys a good dinner,”
he said, his voice louder now.
That caught Dr. Hofstetter’s attention, and he raised his glass again. “That’s what I like to hear. To good company,” he said.
“Yes,”
I replied, my voice shaky but genuine. “To good company.”
By the time the check arrived, we had said more in silence than in words. The tension between us had grown taut again, but this time, it wasn’t something either of us seemed willing to fight.
Outside, we said goodbye to the others, then walked toward Dean’s car parked at the side of the street. I was still reeling from the way he’d touched me. So casually, recklessly. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like he didn’t care who noticed. And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all: how much I had liked it.
He opened the passenger door for me, but I didn’t slide in. I stood there, looking up at him with lust lingering in the air between us.
“Everything okay, Emilia?”
he asked, looking worried now. But when he continue to look at me, and I kept being silent, his expression changed. He understood what this silence meant. And, suddenly, he looked unsure. “I don’t want to rush things. I know that’s stupid to say after what we did in there…but I want you to be sure.”
I licked my lips and tilted my chin up, standing up straighter. “I’m sure. I want to go home with you.”
“Emilia.”
His voice was lower now. Uncertain, and filled with regret. “Shit…”
I studied him, watching him battle every single thought in his mind. I stepped closer and paced a hand on his chest, gently adjusting his suit. “It wouldn’t really make sense if you’d take me back to my place now, instead of spending the night with me. I know you’re conflicted, since you’ve been a real big asshole toward me, but…I can see that you’ve changed. You’re trying, and you’re…different. Toward me. Toward others.”
I stopped but kept on watching him as his eyes searched my face.
He let out a sigh and closed the space between us, wrapping one hand around my waist. “I’m glad you noticed. I still can’t shake the idea of taking you home and messing up all over again.”
“You won’t.”
“How’d you know?”
I smiled gently, caressing his jawline with my fingertips. “Because I’d be really stupid to let you back in after everything, if I didn’t trust myself with what I feel now. How I see you. You’ve changed,”
I stated, needing to say it out loud once again. “And I can see it in your eyes that you’re giving it your all not to ruin this.”
Dean exhaled a soft laugh through his nose, the tension in his body slowly unraveling as he looked at me like I was saying everything he didn’t dare hope to hear. His hand slid a little lower, pulling me even closer.
“Okay,”
he murmured. “I’ll take you home with me.”
I nodded, and without another word, he helped me into the car, shut the door, and walked around to the driver’s side.
When we pulled into his building’s garage, he killed the engine, glanced over at me once again, and smiled faintly. “Emilia, before we go upstairs, I just want you to know that if at any moment you don’t feel comfortable anymore—for whatever reason—I want you to tell me. I won’t be in control anymore. Not unless you want me to. So, if there’s something, please let me know.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his words. “See…that’s why I wanted to come home with you. You’re a new Dean. A gentler, more understanding Dean.”
“I try my best,”
he said with a low chuckle. “But I’m glad you see me in a different light. I thought I had lost you forever.”
I didn’t let those words settle long enough. I wanted to go to his apartment and see yet another part of him. A more private one. The Dean he when no one else was around.
Once we reached his apartment, which turned out to be an incredibly large penthouse at the top of one of the highest building in Montreal, I was stunned by everything surrounding me. It took me a while to take everything in, and while I did, Dean headed over to the open kitchen.
“You want a drink?”
he asked, voice more casual, hands already reaching toward the cabinet.
I stepped more into the living area, still admiring his place. When my eyes met his, I shook my head and said, “No.”
He frowned, and before he could start worrying, I added, “I want you.”
The shift in him was instant. Tension, focus, desire. All of it sharpened in his blue eyes. “Say it again.”
Control.
I had it, and he was making sure I wouldn’t forget.
“I want you, Dean.”
He took three long strides before his hands cupped my face, and his mouth covered mine. Fast and hungry, and full of passion.
He kissed me like he had been desperate to, even though he had done it many times before. This time, it was different. His hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.
We had finally found our way back to each other. In a way I had always hoped we would. And when Monday came, and we returned to the office, we both knew things had changed.
And everyone else would know too.
Your choices led Emilia and Dean to find their way back to each other.
If you’d like to explore how things could have gone differently, return to Chapter 7 and try another path.