Splendor(80)

Tessa was shaking in his arms as he gently eased her to her feet, wrapping her in a fierce embrace.

“God, please tell me I didn’t hurt you,” he begged. “I didn’t mean to lose control that way, to be so rough with you.”

She shook her head as her arms banded about his waist. “You didn’t hurt me. And I like that you were a little rough, that I can make you lose control a bit.”

“Did you now?” he asked, amused. “I think if I let you, darling, you could turn me into a wild animal. Once again, I’m not certain I could even spell my name right now.”

She shivered in his arms. “I’m cold. Can we get into a hot shower, please?”

He grabbed two towels from a shelf in a corner of the room and wrapped one about her shoulders. “Of course, love. But what if we make it a hot bath instead? That way,” he murmured wickedly against her ear, “we can check off one more item from your list of firsts.”

***

Tessa seemed quiet and pensive the rest of the afternoon and evening, as though something was troubling her. But Ian tactfully didn’t push or pry, sensing that she was having an inner struggle with some matter.

He’d taken her again during their bath, but it had been a far cry from the frantic coupling they’d shared in the gym. He’d taken his time with her in the huge sunken tub, petting and soothing her with soft kisses and exquisitely gentle caresses. Their lovemaking had been slow and tender, but she had still been so wrung out afterwards that he’d had to physically lift her out of the tub and dry her off, as though she were a small child. Tessa had been sleepy, clearly not used to the multiple demands he’d made on her body in less than twenty four hours, and he’d laid her down carefully in his bed. She’d been asleep within minutes and he had watched her for almost half an hour before forcing himself to leave the room.

The fierce storm had finally ebbed, and he’d taken her out to dinner, this restaurant far more casual than Le Mistral. It was a charming Italian café not too far from his house, and the owners knew him well. Ian chatted with them briefly in Italian, and introduced them to Tessa.

Over a shared Caesar salad, platters of steaming, fresh pasta, and a bottle of red wine, he’d studied her with some concern. Even her appetite was off tonight, as she ate only sparingly and drank more water than wine. She looked beautiful, of course, wearing one of the outfits he’d bought her – skinny black jeans, a dark blue sweater that skimmed over her lush breasts, and black high-heeled ankle boots. Her cheeks were still flushed becomingly from her nap, not to mention all the sex they’d been having, and she was damned near irresistible. The restaurant was crowded, and Ian’s perceptive gaze didn’t miss even one of the very interested male glances that fell Tessa’s way. At one point he reached across the table and took her hand in his, sending out a silent message to anyone looking that this one belonged to him.

He longed to ask her what was wrong, if there was something he could do for her, but continued to keep quiet. Instead, he only made occasional small talk over dinner, giving her the space she so obviously needed, and tried to tamper down his unsettled feelings. He was more than half afraid that Tessa was having second thoughts about all of this – about him, them – that she was realizing he was in fact too old for her or that she wasn’t ready for another relationship so soon after being divorced. She was likely agonizing over how to tell him, especially given the fact that he was her employer and she didn’t want –

“Ian.”

He glanced up at her softly spoken word. She was worrying her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. He took a swig of wine, needing the fortification. “What is it, love?”

She slid her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “I want to tell you everything. About my mother. And my marriage. And, well, about me. I’m ready.”

He felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the exact time a wave of empathy washed through him. He squeezed her hand back reassuringly. “All right, darling. Let’s go home and you can tell me whatever you like.”





Chapter Thirteen



“My mother was bipolar. I didn’t know that’s what her illness was called until I was about eleven or so, when I was old enough to ask questions and do some research. Up until then all I knew was that sometimes Mom was happy and liked to do fun things, but other times she was very, very sad and didn’t get out of bed most days. As I got older, the sad times started taking her over more and more, until that’s all there was.”