Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Seymour
I set rules when it comes to love and dating for good reasons. Never be alone. No texting. No smiling. No innocent coffee dates.
I consider breaking them all tonight. These rules have served me well, kept my life orderly, protected my heart from the mess of emotional entanglements that plague others.
I’m about to break a rule. Maybe several.
But tonight feels different. My chest tightens every time I glance at Mandy, watching her shoulders slump under the weight of tonight’s events.
Maybe I’m tired of seeing her trampled and worn down.
Maybe after she clearly stated how much she hates me—with emphasis—I feel safe.
Ever since that night, I’ve wanted to do something.
The same protective instinct that made me step between her and Darren earlier surfaces again.
The business-man takes over, straightening my shoulders and steadying my voice.
I approach Mandy. “Let’s go. Now.” The gallery’s overhead lights cast harsh shadows across her face, making her appear even more fragile.
She turns, her cheeks whiter than a full moon, her expression panicked. Her hands twist the strap of her purse. “W-we can’t just leave.”
“Yes, we can. Wait here. I’ll take care of everything.” I gentle my tone, though maintaining the authority that seems to steady her.
I take charge. After all, it’s what I’m good at.
I survey the room. Yes, I’ve played the charming art expert tonight, persuading, convincing those with money to purchase.
I can smell money. It’s easy to spot someone with wealth—the subtle flash of an expensive watch, the way they carry themselves.
I targeted those folks, because they can stand to lose some thousands on Darren’s paintings. The others? I left alone.
First, I order the other board members to help clean up. When they go to argue, their mouths opening in protest, I lie. “Mandy isn’t feeling well.” Or, “That’s what board members do. We help in all areas.” The words feel clumsy on my tongue—I hate lying—but tonight it serves a purpose.
I ask Julie if she’ll lock up. She agrees, keys jingling in her hand as she nods.
I start with the champagne glasses. The night is over.
The ambulance and police have already come and gone, their sirens still echoing in my memory.
The plastic fluted glasses go in the trash, along with the tablecloth.
The sweet scent of champagne mingles with the metallic tang of fear still hanging in the air.
Diana approaches me. “Why don’t you get her out of here? Bring her home.”
That’s all the permission I need. My spine straightens as I make the decision. “We need a board meeting tomorrow.”
She agrees. “Now go.”
It’s all taken care of. Mandy is surrounded by her friends. Scott is there, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. Grace, too, standing close enough that her sleeve brushes Mandy’s arm. They both hate me, but right now, I don’t care. I know what Mandy needs.
I push through her circle of friends. “Time to go.”
The fact that she’s with her friends and she has time gives her just enough gumption to fight me. Her chin lifts slightly. “No, thanks.”
I shouldn’t have given her time to think about it. My mind races for the right approach. “We need to talk about tonight. Come up with a plan.” That’s the last thing she needs, but it’ll work. She’ll do anything for the gallery. I watch her resolve waver, her teeth catching her bottom lip.
“Heartless, man,” Scott hisses, stepping closer. The gallery lights catch the anger in his eyes.
I don’t care what Scott thinks. My focus remains on Mandy, watching the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands keep clenching and unclenching.
Mandy touches his shoulder, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
Scott turns to me, jaw tight. “You’ll drive her home.”
“I have a car,” she says, voice small but determined.
“Of course, I will.” I meet Scott’s gaze steadily.
I grab Mandy’s hand and give the order. “We’re leaving.” Her skin is cool against mine, and I resist the urge to wrap my fingers more securely around hers.
She says goodbye to her friends, like they don’t see each other all the time, her voice catching slightly. Then we’re heading to the parking lot. The night air hits us, warm and heavy with humidity. I open the door for her, then we’re driving to her apartment.
She’s silent, lost in her thoughts. The same flood, the desire to do something, to fix something, that hit me yesterday when I saw her down on the beach, happens again. My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
Rule broken. Never be alone with a woman. The thought echoes in my mind.
This is different. The words feel like both truth and excuse.
Parked in her driveway, I say, “Grab your bathing suit.”
“What?” She shifts in her seat, turning toward me, eyes wide, like that’s the last thing she expected me to say.
“Unless you want to swim naked.” Honestly, on a sultry night like this, swimming in the buff is the best. The words come out before I can stop them, and I’m grateful for the darkness hiding what I’m sure is a flush creeping up my neck.
She disappears into her house, screen door clicking shut behind her. The crickets chirp in the darkness, filling the silence. Minutes later, she returns, clutching what must be her swimsuit in one hand. Soon, we’re back on the road, the headlights cutting through the coming darkness.
“Where are we going?” she squeaks.
“You’ll see.” I keep my voice steady, though my heart rate picks up at what I’m about to do.
“We’re not in an emergency meeting.” She turns to study my profile.
“Nope. That’s the last thing you need. I’m giving you what you need.” The truth of those words settles in my chest.
“You lied to my friends?” she accuses, but she has no emphasis on her words. Her shoulders remain relaxed, belying her attempt at outrage.
“Only way to get rid of them.” I navigate the dark roads with practiced ease.
We fall silent. No need for shallow conversation, and I meant it when I said we weren’t talking about tonight, and the immense pressure the next two events put on the gallery, on us. To succeed.
Tonight is about one thing. Mandy. To get her to relax. Forget.
And I’m about to do something I never do.
I pull down the long drive to the boathouse, gravel crunching under the tires.
This is the place I bring no one. It’s just for me.
Thankfully, the moon is almost full, casting silver light across the water’s surface.
I know this lake like the back of my hand.
Swimming in cold water at night relieves stress. I speak from experience.
She gasps. “Is this yours?” The awe in her voice makes me see the place through fresh eyes.
She’s acting like it’s a mansion. It’s a small house to store the boat with a room on top. It boasts a bed, bathroom, and small kitchen space. The weathered wood holds years of memories, nights spent alone watching the stars. Like I said, the perfect getaway when I need to be alone.
I park, then look at her in the darkness. Her face is in shadow, but I can make out the curve of her cheek, the slight part of her lips. I reach out and grab her hand. It is an impulsive move. Her hand is surprisingly soft and small, fitting into mine like it belongs there.
Another major rule broken.
Show no signs of affection, because they’ll start thinking about marriage within twenty-four hours. Trust me, Mandy is not thinking marriage and she won’t. She hates me. Maybe after tonight, I can earn her trust. We’ll work together better if she can at least bear to be around me.
“Hey,” I say, softly. I’m surprised at the rush of affection I feel. My thumb traces small circles on her hand without my permission. It’s a byproduct of wanting the gallery to succeed. That’s what I tell myself. “I’m making the rules for tonight. No fighting me on them.”
I see her mouth purse, then relax. The moonlight catches the slight furrow between her brows, betraying the battle going on in her head.
“I want you to trust me. I’m in charge tonight.
I give the orders. You follow them.” Kiss me.
What? That’s the first order that pops into my head, sending an unexpected jolt through my system.
I push the thought away. Mandy is an attractive woman and we’re alone. Now you understand why I have rules.
“Why should I trust you?” she asks, voice trembling.
The fact she hasn’t removed her hand sends warmth spreading through my chest. The fact she’s been compliant moves something inside me. I know where my body wants this night to end, but it’s not about that. My thumb continues its gentle circles on her skin, a motion I can’t seem to stop.
“Because you want the gallery to succeed. We need to be able to work together, and to trust each other.”
“Fine.” She nods, the motion barely visible in the darkness.
I know this works. When someone else is making the decisions and you have to follow them without question or hesitation, it allows the body and mind to relax.
That’s what she needs. Even if I have images of kissing her senseless against the wooden dock with the moon above us. The thought makes my throat tight.
“Follow me.”
We exit the car, gravel crunching beneath our feet, and walk down to the boathouse.
The wooden walkway creaks slightly under our weight as we follow the path that leads to a larger deck area.
Enough room for a couple of chairs. I grab towels from inside, the familiar musty scent of the boathouse greeting us, and place them on the chairs.
“We’re going for a swim.”
I test her and say nothing for a while. I close my eyes and take in the breeze, unnaturally warm for night, but it’s been a hot day.
There’s the sound of the night—water lapping at the shore, leaves rustling overhead.
There’s an owl hooting off in the woods.
I breathe deep and take in the familiar scent of the fresh water.
It’s not a strong scent, but it’s one of the outdoors, clean and pure.
“Take off your clothes,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
She makes a strangled sound. Then whispers, “I need to change.” Her fingers clutch her bathing suit.
I take a risk and look at her. I try to pour all my reassurance into my expression, hoping she can read the trust me in my eyes.
The moonlight practically gives her a soft glow, turning her skin silvery.
Her freckles are like stars and I want to trace them like a constellation.
My fingers actually twitch with the desire.
What have I gotten myself into? “We’re swimming naked.
I’ll get in first. You might want to close your eyes. ”
I strip, the night air cool against my bare skin, and then do a shallow dive into the water.
I like this spot because it gets deep so fast. The cold shock hits my system immediately, and the relaxation starts as soon as my bare skin adjusts to the temperature.
It’s the shock. It’s the whole-body thrill of being one with nature.
It’s not the same with a bathing suit. I start swimming and don’t look back, each stroke carrying me further into the darkness.
Will she follow? Will she trust me?
Seconds later, I hear the splash.
Again, my heart jerks around in my chest. I shouldn’t care this much so soon. I try not to care about any of the businesses or their owners. It’s a rule. But the sound of her moving through the water behind me makes my skin tingle.
I slow down until I hear her paddling close behind me. “You go first.”
She pushes ahead of me. Clouds have covered the moon and I can’t tell if she has her suit on or not. The darkness wraps around us like a blanket.
“No talking,” I command. “Just swim.”
It’s something about cold water and swimming.
It’s something about the largeness of the night swallowing you whole as you are a small part of an enormous world.
The water parts before us, our movements creating gentle ripples that spread out into the darkness.
It’s something about being the only one on the lake at this time of night as you move toward the middle.
Like one star in the entire universe. It has a way of stripping down the stress of this world to nothing.
Our problems, issues, troubles become irrelevant.
We’re about in the middle. “Stop and flip onto your back.”
Total trust issue, because she’d be baring her body to me, but I’ve already flipped onto my back, letting the water hold me up. The cold seeps into my bones, washing away the tension of the day.
I say, “Now float and look up at the sky.”
I do the same and the thrill is the same every time.
The moon might be hidden, but the stars are out.
Hundreds and thousands of them, shining, twinkling.
It’s the most exquisite painting out there.
And nothing can compare. Though, Mandy’s paintings of scenes like this come close.
I can hear her steady breathing nearby, nearly in sync with mine.
Just imagine. The glow of the universe. The cold water. The goosebumps and the prickles. Alone with your thoughts.
A beautiful and naked woman only feet away.
Okay, that is not usually part of it, but I have a feeling this ritual of mine will forever be haunted by the woman with me. The thought should bother me more than it does.
She’s either thinking I’m a control freak, a power-hungry man who gets off on telling women what to do—in and out of the bedroom, or she’s letting the experience wash over her. The gentle splash of water tells me she’s still floating nearby.
Mandy is one woman I can’t read unless she’s telling me how much she hates me. And right now, floating under the stars, I’m not sure what she’s feeling.