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Why can’t I control myself and shut up?
His telltale smirk is nowhere to be found, but his intense stare hasn’t subsided. He waits. Observing. Scrutinizing. Analyzing.
After what feel like the longest ten seconds of my life, I get my bearings and snap, “What do you want? Don’t claim you’re here for personal styling!” Annoyed by my stupid brain and responsive body, I suppress the remaining zillion questions battling inside my head.
He eventually stands and rounds the desk. His arms cross in front of his muscular chest, and his butt rests on the front of the desk… I scold myself for thinking about his butt. It doesn’t last. His comment propels me to the present. “Some things never change…” It grates me the wrong way. Instead of a witty comeback, I let him chuckle at my expense. “I could be blunt, mention my wardrobe malfunction…”—He glances at the visible bulge in his jeans—“…that needs fixing, but I won’t.” Too preoccupied by the scary pace of my heart, I refrain from telling him that he just did. “What can I say? I didn’t expect my body to be so attuned to yours after all these years.” He shrugs.
He saunters to the rack to inspect my selections, placing some much needed distance between us, and shoots fleeting glances my way. The scraping noise of the hangers along the rod covers some of his words, forcing me to pay closer attention.
Silas, the mind reader, gives me more time to adjust to the situation. “I wanted this… reunion… to be a surprise. That’s why I used the second part of my last name instead of the one you’d recognize. Did my little presents please you?”
“Presents?”
He grabs a Neapolitan jacket that I should be holding for him to try on instead of just standing there, flabbergasted. “Don’t tell me you didn’t put two and two together!” My cheeks burn. How could I have missed it? How could I have guessed, though? “I take it you still surf since you moved back here, don’t you?”
“I do.” Apparently, his proximity turns my common sense into mush. I plop on the nearest armchair. How did he figure out my address? How did he enter my building? How did he know which floor I live on?
“I hope you’re using them.” Stunned, I avert my gaze and shake my head. Pursing his lips, he mimics my gesture in disapproval. “Such a bad boy…”
I register his deep lustful voice. Lost inside my head, I pretend that it doesn’t affect me and watch him. Despite his Hispanic ancestors, his skin tone is fair, and the olive green hue of the fitted jacket works better than the blue one he just tried.
He slips on a third one and berates me. “So, that’s it? After being apart for a decade,”—not quite, Silas!—"we’ve rekindled for less than thirty minutes, and you’re already being rude. You owe me at least a ‘thank you, sir,’ don’t you think?” My mouth has a mind of its own, and I comply. He nods. “Good boy.”
Finally wrenching from my stupor, I tear my gaze from him and recover the ability to speak. “You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?” My query comes out more impatiently than intended. Whatever linked us a million years ago, he is my client… for now.
“Believe it or not, I do need your clothing expertise. I mean, I probably could’ve hired someone back in Sydney.” He pauses and looks me in the eye to observe my reaction to his relocation. “My dad’s been having some health issues. I had to check in on him; hence, this unexpected trip.” I narrow my gaze and worry the corner of my lower lip. After all, Silas’s dad was my neighbor for years. Concern must be written all over my face because he adds, “He’s doing better now, thanks. Anyway, you know me better than anyone, and I trust you, so it only made sense to come here.”
I trusted you… long ago… Right now, confusion lingers…
“But you misled me!” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you book your initial appointment with me then? Why didn’t you use your actual last name? Why didn’t you list your name on the gifts you left on my doorstep?”
“Are you done?” He makes atssknoise that turns into a low growl. “How could I forget how irritating your endless questions could be?” Oblivious to my flushed cheeks and questions, he carries on. “Now, let me try on that dark blue suit that you so carefully chose.” He winks and yanks off his shirt and jeans and is standing before me in nothing but his deep red boxer briefs before I can protest and ask him to undress in the designated area.
My pulse accelerates as my gaze peruses his well-defined muscles. And to think that he was fit then!
Is my former dom and lover truly oblivious to the state he puts me in?
My job is to anticipate and tend to client needs, not to turn into a puddle of goo when flashbacks assault my memory. And yet, here I am, hyperventilating for no other reason than a past he deliberately stomped on. His fingers fisting my hair. His belt marking my skin. His cock pounding my ass.
He smiles at his reflection in the full-length mirror and tilts his head my way. “My driver will pick you up for dinner tonight. Six p.m. sharp… My treat.”
“What? No.”
In a flash, he stands in front of me, cages my knees so I can’t get up, and looks down at me. “Excuse me?” His outrage is clear before he calmly adds, “Since when is no an option?”
“I already have plans,” is all I can come up with; I’m not even lying.
Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t fight me, proceeds to change into his clothes, and presses, “Oh… In that case, let’s do tomorrow night. Now that I’ve found you, we need to kiss and make up.”
I pretend to examine my shoes instead of him. “You’re not listening, Silas. There won’t be any of that.”
“I’m buying all of these, by the way.” He waves his hand in the direction of the rack. “Everything fits my requirements and body perfectly.”
Is he insane?
“You haven’t tried on half of them! And don’t change the subject. No dinner. First of all, I have a boyfriend. Second of all, you are my client. And last but not least, we are no longer an item because you didn’t respect our contract. A written contract at that!”
He extends his hand to help me up. I decline and bolt out of the chair, brushing his bicep. My breath hitches.
