Free Freedom by S. A. Wolfe Page B

we’re doing. My job and being self-supporting is important to me, and getting mixed up with Dylan may cause conflicts I have not thought through as of yet. How can I think about being practical when I have this hunk hanging over me? We’re both frozen in time, deliberating what we should or can do next.
    “I’m going back to my room, and you need to go to sleep,” he says finally. His tone sounds regretful, and I am thankful for that. I’d hate to think this is easy for him, that I am just another prospective notch on his bedpost.
    “Are you sure? You can stay here for a while; we can just talk,” I whisper, wondering what I am opening myself up to.
    “I can’t do that.” He sits on the edge of the bed with one leg on the floor, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from my grasp.
    “You can’t talk?” I’m completely taken by his hulking physique coupled with his forlorn expression cast in the shadowed light.
    “Emma, I can’t talk to you while you’re in that little nighty and… not want to do other things.” He actually reaches across me and grabs a pillow and then rests it on his lap to cover his bulging erection.
    I would laugh, yet I don’t want him to leave.
    “I have an idea.” I jump off the bed, grab my robe off the door hook and wrap myself in the oversized, thick terrycloth that covers all exposed parts of my body in a very unflattering way. Then I grab the giant, decorative bed pillows from the floor and line them up down the center of the bed. “There,” I say. “You get on that side of the bed, and I’ll stay over here.”
    “That doesn’t work for me. I know what you have on under that robe, and I’ve already kissed you, so a few pillows are not going to deter the temptation.” His voice is deep and rather somber.
    “Dylan.” I almost sound like I am pleading, which is not my intention.
    “Get some sleep,” he says, standing up. He tosses the pillow on the other side of the bed and strides quickly out of the room.
    Oh, damn. Damn him. Damn Robert. Damn everything.
    Why couldn’t this job come with a fat, balding, funny guy instead of Dylan? On top of my uncertain feelings for him, I have to figure out what to do about Robert. I have to call my parents and discuss this new wrinkle in our plan of me starting over somewhere new and their focus on selling their business and moving to Florida. I don’t want to deal with Robert anymore, though. I want to spend more time with Dylan and figure out why he is giving me pretty butterflies in my stomach while Robert started giving me sickening goose bumps, the kind that make you realize you can’t be with someone anymore.
    ***
    I am showered and dressed, drinking coffee from the pot Dylan has left for me, when he arrives back from his run. He is wearing what looks like biker shorts and he is taking his t-shirt off as he comes through the back kitchen door. Egads. I get to watch him half-naked again. He doesn’t notice that I am sitting at the little two-chair, kitchen dinette set, working on my laptop—observing him.
    “Oh, hey,” he says when he finally realizes I am across the room.
    “Morning. Thanks for the coffee.”
    “We offer more than coffee at Chez Leo. I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll make you breakfast.”
    He tosses his shirt over his shoulder and walks towards me. He has no choice since it’s the only way out of the kitchen. It’s a struggle to drag my bulging eyes back to my computer screen.
    “You could run your own little bed and breakfast here,” I joke. “People sure would get a lot of sleep.” I click my tongue.
    He stops at my wobbly little table.
    “I barely slept at all last night.” His tone is firm. “Besides, I like having one guest.”
    I glance up at him and his mouth curves slightly before he leaves me alone with those confusing innuendos to ponder.
    I’ll over-think this until my head implodes. It’s just as well. I still don’t know how my new boss will react to this