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“Mrs. Pavlova-Harrison, can I get you to pose for some photos?” one of the photographers from our PR department asks me.
I cut him down with a glare. “It’s just Pavlova. And let’s get the players over here for that. This is about them, not me.”
The building contractors are explaining what’s going on at the job site, and I’m trying to pay attention but my focus keeps wandering.
Colby is still on his road trip; I had to fly back early for work. Strangely, I wanted to stay. I stayed with him for two nights, flying to St. Louis for one more game the day after the Chicago one. After the St. Louis game, we went out with several players from the team.
I tried to lay low, knowing no one wants their team owner hanging around in their off time. But the guys were all very nice, including me in conversations and even doing a group shot of Stoli to celebrate Colby and I getting married.
That’s the hardest part for me—being included in social things when I know I don’t really fit in. But they all made me feel like part of the group, which meant a lot to me. Bystanders who recognized members of the team stopped to take photos of us with their camera phones, and Colby made sure to sneak in several kisses, which warmed me in more ways than one.
I smile as I think of the way he cracks spontaneous jokes. It’s always funnier when he catches me off guard. On a whim, I take out my phone and text him.
Mila: Send nudes.
Colby: Mila???
I cringe, not nearly as good at joking around, especially via text, as he is.
Mila: That landed wrong. It was supposed to be funny.
Colby: I’ll take some pics for you tonight if you want. Or you can have the real deal anytime…
My heart stutters as I imagine him writing the text. Not only do I find myself daydreaming about the way he looked at me and spoke to me on our wedding night, but I’ve been thinking about the way his shaggy blond hair would feel on my skin as he kissed his way down my body.
I work up the courage to be flirtatious, which doesn’t come remotely natural to me.
Mila: Can I have both?
Colby: Put that corset back on and you can have anything you want.
I flush, feeling off-balance. All my adult life, I’ve refused to give men power over me. After seeing my father abuse his place of authority and use his power for selfish reasons, I knew I wanted to be in complete control of my life.
Sure, I’ve had sex. But always on my terms. When I want it. How I want it.
Somehow, Colby makes me feel like I’m powerful while submitting to his control at the same time. When he looks at me hungrily or uses his commanding tone, I’m totally at his mercy. I wonder if he realizes that.
Maybe I can be more than a bossy, demanding ice queen. I smile to myself, texting him again.
Mila: I can do that.
Colby: I want pics of you in my bed tonight. I miss my wife.
My chest fills with warmth. Somehow, he sees through me. He sees parts of me I can’t even see. Deep down in my power-hungry-badass-independent-woman heart, I like being desired by him. I don’t know that I deserve it, but holy shit, do I like it.
Mila: For your eyes only, okay?
Colby: Always.
The contractors are standing off to the side, waiting for me. I tell Colby I have to go and tuck my phone away, knowing I’m going to re-read his texts so many times this afternoon.
I meant it when I said sex would complicate things between us. But I thought about it a lot on my flight home. Colby can’t sleep with other women for obvious reasons. And we both want each other.
So complications be damned.
At the end of the workday several hours later, I switch off the lights to my office and then Quentin’s. He needed a half day off today so I’ve been all alone down here in the basement.
All alone. Re-reading Colby’s texts and googling how to take sexy selfies. I’d be mortified if anyone knew, but I’m a total newbie. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with it, but I know I want to please him.
He’s done so much for me and asked for so little. And I hate the thought of him looking at sexy photos of other women. With his looks, he probably has so many nude photos sent to him that he has to store them in the cloud. But he asked for photos of me. His wife.
What if, somehow, I could make him happy? It’s the first time I’ve considered it. We’re very different people. I can be intense and emotional or cold and detached, both ends of a wide spectrum. Colby generally stays in the middle, even-keeled with occasional ups and downs.
