Between Hello and Goodbye(39)

“That’s them,” my assistant said. “With the Winter Olympics coming up, they’re circling the agency but want you specifically.”

“That feels nice,” I said and realized I wanted them too. I actually missed my job and the opportunity it gave me to be creative and—dare I say it—artistic. “Thanks for the info, Jess.”

“Of course. How are things there?”

I was about ready to burst with desire—sexual and otherwise—for a truly good man that lived thousands of miles away from me. That’s how things were.

Quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, Benson.

“Everything’s great. See you in a few,” I said.

I hung up with Jess and got ready for dinner. As I maneuvered through a shower and dressed, I noticed the vast improvement in my ankle, despite the day’s exertions. I could take halting steps without crutches now and the swelling was nearly gone.

I can handle a lot more physical activity…

“Stop it.”

I put on a dress that went to mid-thigh, pale blue with spaghetti straps. Back in Seattle, Viv called it my Man Killer. The dress was more like a slip than anything that should be worn in public. In my hurried exodus from the mainland, I’d packed it because it’d been one of a handful of garments appropriate for the Hawaiian climate.

It’s borderline inappropriate in any climate.

The silky material flowed over my skin like water, highlighting my breasts and teasing the outline of my nipples, since wearing a bra with it was out of the question. With only a thong underneath, I felt practically naked. Nothing a woman wore gave men implicit consent but when I put on this dress, I had an agenda.

“It’s an invitation,” I murmured and waited for the woman in the mirror to snap at me to take it off and put on something else. To be responsible instead of reckless.

Don’t you dare change.

So much for responsible.

Apparently, I was willing to toss my cards on the table and play them as they lay. Because depriving myself of Asher’s body wasn’t working. My stupid heart was stripping itself bare for him whether I touched him or not.

He arrived-slash-barged in at six-thirty, as the light outside was dimming to muted gold. One look at me and he came to a screeching halt, his dark eyes widening, then roving over me as I stood up from the couch.

“What are you wearing?” he demanded, alarmed.

“A dress,” I said, my breath catching at the heat in his eyes and the way his hands flexed, as if they itched to touch me.

“A dress,” he repeated, and for a moment I wondered if dinner was going to be postponed for the aforementioned physical activities I wanted. But he gave his head a shake and turned away. “Reservation’s at seven.”

“That’s half an hour from now for a place that’s forty minutes away,” I said with a smile, regaining my composure. “I thought the Autobahn was in Germany.”

He didn’t smile but held the door for me, and the same scenario as earlier that day repeated itself, only this time I heard his soft inhale of my perfume, felt his entire body vibrating as I passed. I waited for him to break free of his restraint and grab me, strip off this nothing dress, and take me right on the floor. Or against the wall. Or on the counter.

I wasn’t picky.

But either I was overestimating my sex appeal, or the man was a rock; I passed by untouched, and we got into his Jeep without saying a word.

As we headed north, I let my gaze slide over Asher as he drove with controlled skill along the winding forest highway. He’d dressed up too. My firefighter looked devastating in a lightweight black jacket over a white T-shirt and dark pants. His wardrobe, I’d noticed, was casual but not cheap. No jeans—denim was too heavy for Hawaii—but all high-quality items, likely made from sustainable material.

But Asher’s clothing was mostly notable for how much I wanted to tear it off of him.

Jesus, he’s a beautiful beast of a man. How have I not seen him naked?

Because of my Number One Rule. Asher respected my flimsy boundaries—boundaries that I was mentally tearing down every second I spent with him.

The restaurant was Italian and elegantly dark and posh—a slice of city in the middle of the rainforest. No doubt he’d chosen it for me, but it just served to remind me that I had four days left, three of which he’d be working.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, studying my frown as we were seated at a romantic table for two near a window with views of the ocean under a sunset in hues of purple and tangerine.

“No, I love it. It’s perfect.” I refused to think about my departure, so I steered the conversation away as we perused the menu. “So I was thinking of our Titanic discussion earlier.”

He rolled his eyes with his adorably irritated expression I’d come to love.

Too much. I love it too much.

“And?” he prompted.

“I was just wondering how you came to work in a field that’s all about saving lives. Like, the chicken or the egg—did you always have this heroic streak, or did you acquire it with the job?”

He frowned. “Heroic…”

“Don’t argue with me, firefighter. Heroism is in the actual job title.” I propped my elbows on the table. “So?”

Asher shrugged. “I don’t know. I had to take care of my brother a lot when we were young. My parents…”