Free Submissive Desires by Carolyn Faulkner Page B

most inappropriate of places.
    Consciously trying to remember all of the courtesies his mother had so painstakingly drilled into him, Simon held the door open for her, which only seemed to add to her discomfort. Since she’d preceded him, she got the next door and held it for him, which made him grin down at the little women’s libber.
    They were seated quickly at a green wrought iron table with matching chairs, as the place really hadn’t filled up with the lunch crowd yet. The menu was the size of war and peace, but Maura didn’t even open hers.
    “Already know what you want?”
    “Yup.” Her eyes skittered nervously away from his.
    “I like that in a woman,” he teased gently, trying to help her settle down.
    She blushed, and he could only guess that it was full-bodied. It certainly was a deep red. “I don’t generally tend to be indecisive.”
    Simon laid his menu on the table. “Neither do I.”
    The waiter appeared, taking their orders quickly and efficiently and returning immediately with their drinks – fresh squeezed o.j. for her, and coffee for him.
    He watched her fiddling with her purse, rearranging her silverware – doing anything but looking at him.
    “Are you all right?” he couldn’t suppress the question. She looked so truly uncomfortable.
    Her eyes darted guiltily to him, then she sighed. “Yeah, I’m okay. I hope you have a cell phone on you so that you can call 911 when I have a heart attack, though.”
    Simon put his hand on the table, palm up. “Put your hand in mine.”
    She met his eyes, her gaze sharp with fear and a complete awareness unlike she’d ever felt before.
    Her eyebrow rose. “Or else?”
    He shook his head slowly. “No. No punishment, no negative consequences. Just when you’re ready.”
    Maura stared at his hand, then at him, then at his hand again. Why was she hesitating – it’s just holding his hand, for God’s sake! She did it all at once, like ripping of a band aid, placing her small hand in his tentatively. Simon felt as if a tiny bird had come to perch, warily. He didn’t try to grab her or hold her in any way, but he did place his other hand lightly over hers, sandwiching those freezing fingers between his warm palms and rubbing slowly.
    Although she was surrounded by him, she had the feeling that if she tried to retract her hand at any time that he wouldn’t try to hold onto her, and that feeling kept her snuggled happily in that warmth.
    “Your hand is frozen.”
    She chuffed. “A sign of a major nerves.”
    “Is it all that bad meeting me?”
    Another eyebrow raise. “I would hate meeting you under normal circumstances, and this hardly qualifies as normal.”
    “I thought we’d gotten to know each other pretty well in the past few months.”
    “We have, but that’s still quite different from actually meeting you.” Her fingers were growing gradually warmer as he rubbed them and squeezed them into his warmth.
    “Apparently.” Simon felt no need to chat constantly if he didn’t have something to say, and online they had definitely graduated to that point. Now he took the opportunity to watch her surreptitiously.
    The picture she’d given him had not done her justice. She was not classically pretty in any way; instead she had a mish-mash of pretty and half-pretty features that he was quite sure would glow if he could get her to 38

    relax and smile a little at him. The picture had been of her giggling uncontrollably – right now he couldn’t imagine her doing that – she was too stiff and tense.
    They chatted about stupid things – his drive up, how well she’d slept last night, which wasn’t at all – until someone stopped by their table. Maura couldn’t place where she knew the man from, but he was very familiar – it wasn’t until Simon called him by name that she recognized where she knew him from – he was a Senator.
    “Harry! How are you?” Simon didn’t smile, his face rock hard with no semblance of greeting in his