The Client(15)

I picked up plates as he made his way to the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sara doing the same.

“I've got it,” I said. “You don't need to do that.” The glare she sent my way had me raising my eyebrows in surrender. “Follow me.”

I led the way to the kitchen and set my dishes down on the counter. Sara was right behind me and did the same. Out in the hallway, I heard my father arguing with Martha about whether or not he needed to take a nap, but the sound was strangely distant.

“I suppose I should get going,” Sara said, but she made no move to go.

My stomach twisted. I didn't want her to leave. I hadn't really gotten any alone time with her, and while I now knew a bit more about her history, I didn't know the things I wanted to know. What she liked. What she loved.

If she wanted to see Tyrell again.

“Do you have a date tonight?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

She shook her head, her eyes meeting mine again. “I don't think Tyrell and I are a very good match.”

I resisted the urge to tell her that I agreed. Instead, I glanced at the clock. “Well, if you don't have plans for tonight, do you want to go into the gym and spar a bit? A couple of the guys are at matches, so it closed early. It'll be empty so we won't have to worry about spectators.”

She studied me for a moment, and I wondered if those dark eyes could see through me, see what I didn't want to admit to myself, let alone her. If she did see it, it didn't seem to bother her.

“All right,” she said. “Let's go. But if you think I'm going to take it easy on you because you fed me, think again.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” I said, trying not to stare at her ass as she turned to walk away.

I really hoped I knew what I was doing because this seemed to be heading nowhere good.





Chapter Nine





Sara





I wasn't so sure this was a good idea. I'd enjoyed lunch more than I thought possible and had sincerely liked talking with Mr. Forbes – Max. I'd done my research on the family, so I already knew he hadn't come from money. That was his wife's legacy. Max's father had worked the floor in a plastics plant his whole life, and his mother had been a housewife. When Max married Dorian's mom, people assumed Max had only been after the money, but he'd proved them wrong when his investments and business ventures had led to an increase in the family fortune.

I'd known all of that, but what reading a bunch of articles online hadn't been able to tell me was that Maxwell Forbes was a down-to-earth guy who would've been just as much at home in a blue-collar bar as he was in the boardroom.

I'd actually been more comfortable talking to Max than with Dorian, but I could no longer deny why that was. Yesterday, I'd tried to downplay how much he had to do with why I hadn't wanted a second date with Tyrell, but the moment I'd seen Dorian standing in the doorway of his house, I'd felt with him what hadn't been there with Tyrell. Tension. Electricity.

Butterflies.

Dorian and I had barely talked the whole afternoon, only snippets of conversation that had included his father, but nothing had kept me from being hyper aware of his presence the entire time. When I'd followed him into the kitchen, it was like I could feel something connecting us, an almost palpable current. It wasn't unpleasant, but it did make me uncomfortable...mostly because I liked it.

When he asked if I wanted to go to the gym, I thought the physical activity would be good for me, burn off some excess energy, maybe ease some of the tension. Then again, sparring with Dorian was usually a good way to increase my tension rather than lessen it. When we moved together...I was all too aware of his body.

But I still agreed to go.

I wasn't ready for the day to be over yet either.

We talked a little on our way into the city, mostly about unimportant things, the sort of mundane topics people talked about on first dates.

Except, I reminded myself, this wasn't a date. The lunch had been about me meeting Dorian’s father. A gesture of appreciation for that morning in the park. That was it.

I took a couple extra minutes while changing to remind myself to be professional – despite the fact that I was now wearing a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra – and then headed out to the gym. Dorian was waiting, and as his eyes ran over me, I felt my nipples grow tight. My stomach clenched when I saw that he wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of shorts. His torso was defined, his shoulders broad above a narrow waist.

Shit.

I looked away from him. “Shall we?”

I took a slow breath as I climbed into the ring. I couldn't let him see my hands shaking. Too many questions I didn't want to answer. When I faced him again, I was composed.

We circled around each other, feeling for the best opening. He moved first and I countered. Then I moved and he countered. Round and round we went, feinting one way and then the other, blocking kicks and hits. We fell into our familiar dance; the same way we'd sparred during our first session.