Free Sweet and Dirty by Christina Crooks Page B

luggage out when he’d gone shopping. Changed the locks.
    Exasperated, she patted his arm, twice—pat-pat—before surreptitiously edging away and turning her attention to the bustling promenade.
    People strolled the sidewalk, on their way to other restaurants, shops, and movies, going in twos and threes and individually, too. Did any of them have the same kind of issues, she wondered? Was there anyone out there balancing an unsavory task with painful personal growth? Would someone be able to offer her advice?
    Ro’s handsome visage flashed in her memory. She blinked, dissolving it. Not yet .
    She glanced at Ted and felt a spike of horror. He stared seductively at her; there was no other way to describe it. Her heart sank. He was wooing her.
    He had no clue that the time for wooing was in the past. If it had ever existed.
    Any other woman, she mused. Anyone else would be gobbling up such attention. He was handsome, in his own way. Dressed neatly. Had plenty in the finances department, with an upwardly trending portfolio. Enjoyed good food.
    She had to cut him off before it got worse.
    “Wine? Yes. Two bottles of your best Chianti,” Ted told their waiter.
    “No,” she objected.
    He waved away her words like so much wind.
    Ted always had been bossy. But not dominant. He was no Ro.
    The wine came. Ted tried it, gave the waiter the go-ahead to pour. He lifted his glass and said, “To us. To love. To us, my love,” and gulped it down.
    She shook her head and sipped a tiny amount.
    Encouraged, he took her hand. “I know things haven’t been perfect between us, but that’s all going to change now.” He gazed at her with a desperate sort of determination. He drank the rest of his wine.
    Before they received their appetizers, he flagged the strolling flower girl and ordered two dozen long-stemmed red roses delivered to their table. Again Lizbeth’s objections were nullified, so the blossoms bristled next to her empty plate, a thornless offering. But when Ted signaled the three strolling violinists to plant themselves at their table and play one love song after another, hot embarrassment rose to her cheeks—for him, and for herself. The servers had to bend themselves around the entourage to plant the entrees. Ted raised his glass again. “To meals shared with loved ones.” He drank.
    And drank.
    Liquid courage? Drowning his misgivings?
    She closed her eyes.
    Then opened them. She was being submissive! Just like Ro said.
    “Ted, I asked you to dinner tonight for a reason. We’ve known each other a long time—”
    “To know you is to love you. ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the—’”
    “You’ve got to stop this. I know it’s just the wine…”
    “I’m glad y’like it,” he said, his eyes glassy and heavy lidded. “I thought you didn’t love me, but you do, don’ you? We’re a pair. We got to hold it together.”
    She blushed, but didn’t lower her eyes. “Ted, we need to talk. I’ve recently discovered some things about myself. Los Angeles is so different from Alabama….”
    He pushed his chair back, shaking his head. She had her eyes trained on his. She saw his panic.
    “No. I do not accept that.” He pronounced his words with deliberate precision. “Band!” He summoned them closer with big arm-swings, knocking over his glass of water. He didn’t notice. He stood, his head cocked at the three violinists.
    “Play ‘That’s Amore.’”
    “Ted, sit down. Please?” He listened to her as well as the dogs did when she had no treats. Swallowing, she felt the first stirring of irritation. She remembered the power she’d had over Ro, the feel of the bullwhip in her hand. She wasn’t submissive! “Enough!”
    Ted didn’t sit down, but he cleared his throat and extended one arm toward her, palm up. “Yes, enough delay! This is the woman I love! Do you hear me?”
    Everyone on the patio heard him. Everyone walking by also heard him. The entire restaurant and all