Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Ana
Whirlwinds were not a good thing.
Ana liked a steady life. Ups and downs were part of any existence, of course, but she preferred an emotional range of experience that had a relatively low high point and a reasonably high low. No sharp ups and downs.
Gentle slopes were more her speed.
Even keeled was her jam.
This was anything but.
Less than two hours ago, she was walking down a hotel hallway, looking for a bathroom.
And now?
Now she was in his big, strong arms, being glided so smoothly across a dance floor, her body responding to the music and Dennis and oh, how she wanted him.
Wanted more.
Wanted it all.
Harris had put her through the wringer for the last month, leaving her with a constant stomach ache, several panic attacks, and an ever-present feeling of shame at being duped. Without her stepfather’s legal advice, she’d be in so much more trouble, and she hated needing Rick’s help.
The worst of it, though, was the discarding.
Harris threw her away like someone threw that kitten away.
Which did make her a stray, in a sense.
“You went quiet.”
“Enjoying the dance.”
“Are you?” Dennis’s finger slid under her chin, gently pushing it up so their eyes connected. “So am I.”
“You’re very tall.”
“Maybe you’re very short.”
“I think we’re both just very.”
“Something else we have in common. At least we’re being very together.”
The song wound down, couples disconnected, polite applause making her body move on autopilot. The reluctance she felt stepping out of his embrace reminded her of free-spirited, childlike moments on swings and amusement park rides, when you just didn’t want the fun to end.
But it had to, eventually.
Dennis watched her while they both clapped, then walked back to their seats as the band took a break. She reached for her bourbon but her stomach–and her head–said no.
Drinking too much right now would be a bad, bad idea because she could turn into a bad, bad girl if she weren’t careful. Never the type for one-night stands, she found herself so magnetically drawn to him that she was becoming unrecognizable to herself.
Where was even-keeled Ana? Careful, purposeful, steady-state Ana, who always found her equilibrium?
After her father died in such a huge, public way, life had been nothing but terrifying overwhelm in every direction.
Too much attention or too little. Too much energy in the wrong places.
Her mother had put on a brave face and done her duty in public, but behind the scenes she’d been depressed. Sedated.
Drunk, too.
A lot.
Thirteen-year-old Ana hadn’t understood the full extent of it until Rick had started appearing at their house way more than any tax attorney should. Even then, Ana just thought he was being helpful.
Overhearing her mother and her aunt fighting about her mom’s affair and guilt over it was a turning point. That night, teenage Ana had firmly decided she would never be like her mother, pulled in all directions by emotion.
Oh, no.
Ana would live in a constant state of emotional moderation.
And for the most part, she did.
Except for this moment.
As Dennis’s baby-blue eyes consumed her, all she wanted was to be consumed. To dive in. Fall deep.
Be swept away.
“Excuse me,” Dennis said, arm raised, flagging down the server. His words shook her out of her head, a gasp of air filling lungs that were holding tight, waiting.
Waiting for her to come back down to earth.
A tangy Provencal olive gave her something to focus on, and as Dennis ordered more water, he looked at her full bourbon.
“You okay?”
“Hmm?”
“Lightweight after all,” he proclaimed, nodding at her drink, then at her.
“Guess so,” she said slowly, smiling. “You’re welcome to have it. I haven’t touched it.”
“Nah, I’m good. But thank you. I want my wits about me.”
“That sounds so old fashioned.”
“I guess it is. Something my mother says all the time.”
“Sounds like you’re close to her.”
“Close enough. I guess. Weekly FaceTime calls. See my family once or twice a year. Pretty typical relationship.”
“Weekly FaceTime calls? While deployed? I don’t think I see my own mother and stepfather weekly, and they live fairly close by.”
“Meaning you don’t pressure them, or they don’t visit you?”
She smiled. “The latter.”
“So, all the expectations and none of the reciprocity? Seems unfair.”
How did he hit the nail on the head so clearly, so easily?
“You do sound like a therapist.”
That made him laugh harder than she’d heard all night. “I know my limits and my strengths. Definitely not a strength.”
“You have extraordinary clarity.”
“For other people’s issues. Not my own.”
You really could be a therapist, then, she thought but didn’t say.
The band began another familiar show tune, this one from Damn Yankees, done in a slow jazz style that made Ana sink back against the cushions. Dennis scooted closer to her, clearly more comfortable in their shared space after that dance. His fingers brushed her wrist as he captured her gaze.
As if she could turn away.
“You really are lovely,” he said, admiring her openly with a confidence that only fed her own boldness.
“And you really are direct.”
Her purse buzzed, the forgotten phone startling her, and she tilted slightly closer to him as she fumbled to find it.
“If that’s your mother warning you to drive carefully in the snow, I’ll eat this charcuterie board. The actual wooden board,” he said with a chuckle.
Though she’d like to see that stunt, it wasn’t her mom. This was Brie, her bestie.
How was the conference? I can’t believe you spent two whole days talking about nothing but trauma and neurofeedback, she wrote, followed by a shocked emoji.
Funny how she and Dennis hadn’t even talked about why she was here in the hotel. It wasn’t because he was full of himself; the time would come when he remembered to ask.
Brie was right, though. For the last two days, she’d thought about nothing but the sessions on trauma.
Continuing education credits for her license were a necessity, and conferences like this one, which had ended right before she’d gone on her quest for a bathroom before dinner, were part of the way she met her requirements.
But that wasn’t the primary reason she went. She went because learning how to connect with trauma survivors was crucial in her line of work.
It’s good. I’m kind of busy right now, she typed back as Dennis gave her a come-hither look that turned her panties into a puddle.
Busy watching more baking shows? Or some serial killer documentary? You’re never busy in the evenings at conferences.
Kind of am this time, Ana wrote back, knowing she was swimming in dangerous waters.
More shocked emojis greeted her, followed by Brie’s response in all caps.
OMIGOD WHO IS HE??
“Based on your reactions as you type, this is either your best friend or your other best friend.”
“Best friend. Brie.”
He looked at the cheese section of the board on the table. “You have a friend named after a cheese?”
“Her parents literally own a fromagerie.”
“Please tell me they didn’t name one of their kids Camembert.”
“Cam’s a really nice guy!” she answered, deadpan.
He snorted. “Let me guess. The twins, Wensleydale and Manchego, are so sweet!”
“No, of course not,” Ana said as she debated how to respond to Brie’s screaming response. “But her sister, Fontina, is a very sharp accountant.”
“Brie, Camembert, and Fontina? You’re pulling my leg.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me. You’ll just have to meet her one day.”
“Meet her, huh?”
The implications of her comment hit her, spreading warmth throughout her body. This was a chance encounter that wasn’t supposed to be more than a drink together.
Dennis added food, then a dance, and now they were getting to know each other with an ease that she not only had never felt before, but didn’t know could exist between two strangers.
Suddenly, she wanted him to meet Brie.
And not just to prove that her bestie’s parents really were that warped.
Ana turned her phone toward Dennis so he could see the exchange. As he chuckled reading the last line, he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear.
“Who am I, Ana? How are you going to answer that?”
Her shiver was pure lust, entering each cell of her body at the same time, a controlled invasion designed to take over. Every part of her wanted him, knowing she shouldn’t.
Strangers weren’t her style.
Instant attraction wasn’t real for her, too heady and emotionally charged. Give her a nice work acquaintance. Maybe a friend’s cousin. Someone you slowly warm up to and get to know, where the emotions play nicely together and follow the rules.
Harris, for all his flaws, stayed within her comfort range until the last few days of their relationship.
Instead of answering Dennis’s question, she looked back at him, her moderate, polished self standing back as the rest of her came roaring forth.
He leaned forward, his intent clear, and she’d been aching for this moment.
When anticipation became reality.
She met his mouth with a kiss as he came closer, their joining mutual and oh, so delicious. That he initiated the kiss didn’t surprise her. The attraction was impossible to ignore.
That she kissed him back so hard, her arms stretching to wrap around such a big, muscled man, certainly did.
This was no ordinary first kiss.
This was scorched earth.
No other kiss would ever measure up. The heat of his tongue against hers made her melt, his mouth seeming to understand who she was.
Their phones buzzed at the same time.
They both took them out, pressed the power buttons, and turned them off.
His arms wrapped around her as the music continued, the beat driving her hips closer to his. With every breath, their unspoken arousal flowed faster. One palm caressing her back, he tipped her chin up to meet him, the kiss charged but still restrained.
They were in public, after all.
But not for long.
Her decision was quick, decisive, like leaping from a great height into a swimming hole. Trusting herself took courage.