Chapter 3 #3
I think about the things that made us stand out, the parts we shared that made me feel good.
“Green eyes,” I say, smiling. “We each have award-winning personalities, but we also have the same shoe size. Shared a big, fat love of heels and boots.” It feels wrong talking about them out loud like this, like I’m sharing too much of myself with someone who hasn’t earned the privilege.
Shaking my head, I try to come back to the present with him.
“I think that’s why I liked all of that—palm reading, astrology, and tarot.
Everything’s up for interpretation, but .
. .” I run my pointer along his deepest-set line.
“I appreciate the idea that it’s not all predetermined or that we don’t inherit a life we don’t want.
” I lower my voice and lighten the moment.
“And it’s a fun party trick that’ll sometimes score me a really thick tip. ”
“Jesus Christ,” I hear Viv rush out as she heads for the door with a clove cigarette hanging from her lips. “You said thick tip . . .” She shakes her head like I’m killing her.
My gaze whips back to Julian, slightly mortified, but he just widens his eyes and smiles at me with amusement.
Biting my lip, I draw my finger along the center of his life line when he asks, “Does this tell you anything about the incredible woman I’ve just met? Or why talking with her has me feeling like I don’t want to go anywhere else?”
I release a shaky breath. Maybe he’s just handing me a line, and maybe that’s even better.
Allowing whatever this is to play out. Attraction?
Desire? And not read into it any more than that.
I can’t think of the right word for what this feeling is as I brush my fingers along each line of his hand, so instead I finish the task I’ve started and read.
“This is your heart line,” I tell him. “It’s the deepest one, and there’s no deviation, which some might say means you connect with people and you love deeply. Are you married?”
He tips his head down, trying to find my eyes. When I glance up at him and smile, he asks, “You can’t see the answer?”
Shaking my head, I look back to his palm and brush my pointer along the center line again and trace the mounds that are typically called Venus and Jupiter. “Eyes up here.”
I look up again, eyes on him as he requested.
He smirks, another low and pleased hum coming from his throat that feels as if it rumbles through my limbs and settles at my core. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I were married, Naomi.”
I swallow, already knowing that in my gut and so distracted that I don’t know what I’m seeing in these lines anymore.
“It could be assumed that you will have one great love of your life,” I say, then, with a twinge of joking sarcasm, I add, “No pressure.” But then I sway slightly closer and exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Just one?” he asks jokingly. “You said it’s all up for interpretation, so what do you think that line really means?”
“Beyond the luxury of loving someone, I understand what it feels like not to be in control over any of it. So I would say, this line means wherever you focus your love for something or someone, you’ll do it without hesitation.
Fully focused and in control.” I laugh at how opposite that sounds from the life I’m living.
“Why is that funny?” he asks quietly, smiling as he stares at my lips.
On a sigh, I answer, “That must be nice.”
His fingers move slowly, grazing mine as he asks, “Which part? To feel in control? Or to let go of it?”
The idea of both has me squeezing my thighs in response. What would that feel like? To take control and then to lose it, with him.
He looks down at his fingers, curving them upwards and drawing them along my palm that’s been hovering above his. On an exhale, his gaze travels back up, and the confident man with the cocky smile slips as something vulnerable settles across his brow.
A wave of panic rushes through me—there’s no leaving here with him. He can’t know that the ranch he asked about when he first stopped in here is where I call home. Maybe this is where it ends. Soft touches and a fantasy to play out later.
“You can’t come home with me,” I say quietly, hating how much I’m enjoying the way his fingers tease along my palm. I focus on the way his lips tilt up as if what I’ve just said is amusing.
“I don’t remember asking if I could,” he volleys back.
“But I like that you’re thinking about being alone somewhere else with me.
” He leans in, close to my ear, and the scruff of his beard scratches along my cheek, sending a shiver throughout my body.
“What would you do with me?” His lips skate along my earlobe. “To me?” he breathes. “For me?”
I swallow audibly, breathing faster as he pulls back. Grabbing a rocks glass, I pour a finger of whiskey and toss it back. I don’t taste a thing, only the welcome burn of courage that travels to my chest, off setting the thrum of anticipation at what I’m about to say.
You’re in your mid-thirties, single, and wildly attracted to this man. Woman-up, Wyn.
Closing my eyes, I stand from the bar stool. What I’m going to say could lead to the bravest thing I’ve done in a long time.
He watches and waits, like he knows what’s coming.
With one more steadying breath, I tilt my head toward the dimly lit hall across the bar and say, “Then, there’s something I’d like to show you.”