Free Knots by Chanse Lowell Page B

surrounded with a feeling of love and peace, like nothing else matters. Birds fly over, and sometimes they squawk. It even gets a little humid in here at times if I sit in here too long, but my mind is always clear in this place.” She moved toward a love swing at the far corner.
    He caught up to her and set his palm on the middle of her back. Not overly intimate, but he needed this connection, the feel of her body on his skin somewhere, even if it was small.
    He sat and guided her down to his side—their thighs brushing against each other’s.
    “So, when your mind is clear, it’s much easier to make decisions. While I have you here and you’re in this state, tell me what you’re thinking about our little arrangement.”
    She stiffened at his side. “I’m thinking two weeks isn’t going to be enough.”
    He smiled. “I agree. What do you suggest we do about that?”
    She turned to him, and he smirked.
    “That’s not what I meant.” She sucked in some air, and her abs contracted. A moment later, she shifted away from him a little. “I’m feeling like I’m at a disadvantage, Sir. You’ve been finding out all sorts of things about me over the last few years, and I only know what I was able to find out in our brief, sporadic encounters, or if Pono shared something with me about you.”
    “Ask me anything—I’m open about my life, especially with you.”
    “I don’t want to do it this way,” she said, her lips trembling. Was she frightened? He took her hand and ran his thumb along the edge of it with soothing strokes. “I want a solid week of talking like this—of us getting to know each other in a natural way, organically, before I let you do whatever you want to me.”
    “I would never just do what I want with you. It doesn’t work that way.”
    “Okay . . .” She blew out a huff of air and stared up at the sky. “I’ll tell you my understanding of how this works, and you tell me if I’m right or not.”
    “Go ahead.” His thumb kept caressing, and a hum tingled in his hand from the contact.
    “I don’t know why, but for some reason I think of this lifestyle in terms of architecture.” He chuckled, and she continued on. “I envision myself as the designer of a home.” His insides warmed a little at the thought of her saying something as cozy and inviting as a home, instead of a building or something else a little more impersonal. She swallowed.
    He nodded. “Okay, I’m with you so far. Keep going.”
    “So, I set up the parameters and give the guidelines of what the home should look like after it’s built. You’re the contractor, and you get to build the scene or the home, with whatever materials and tools you choose. If I think it’ll mess up the outcome, then I can stop the building mid-process, and you’ll rebuild the scene another way.” She exhaled like she was exhausted and her shoulders slumped forward. “I know it’s dorky, but it’s all I got.”
    He smiled, and his thumb trailed up to her wrist. “Not dorky at all. You’re a very perceptive little one—yet another thing I love about you.”
    “It’s hard for me when you say that, because I almost get jealous.”
    “Jealous of what?” His brows pushed together.
    “That you have a head start on all of this. You’ve been trained, you know me, and I want to know everything about you and your world, but I’m so far behind I worry I’ll never catch up no matter how hard I try,” she said, her voice low and slightly scratchy.
    “You don’t ever have to worry about that. I’ll carry you.”
    She snorted. “I just don’t know who I am with you . . .”
    “You’re the woman you’ve repressed for so long—she’s a stranger to you. Tell me this—when you were married and you sacrificed everything for his happiness, what kept you going?”
    “I don’t know. I kept thinking someday I’d get it right, and it would all make sense.” She gave a half-shrug.
    “You’re submissive all the way, deep down to the